Archaeology Adventures in Athens

Hello again, loyal (and new!) followers. I realized that for some reason I have been accruing more and more followers over the weeks, and decided that it was quite possibly time for an update and perhaps an updated introduction.

First, introductions.

My name is Nadhira and I am currently a third year in the Classical Archaeology PhD program at Michigan. It has truly been the wildest, trying-est, most fulfilling past two years of my life, and I look forward to all of the new opportunities for growth in the next five. I am a self-proclaimed sherd nerd – although I have loved every minute (well, maybe not every minute) of the past three dig seasons I have participated in at the Athenian Agora and the Olynthos Project, I recently discovered my love of ceramic production in the Late Classical period of Greece, and am following my heart down a twisty rabbit hole full of black glaze pottery, petrographic analysis, stamped and incised decoration, and capacity calculations (which the side of me that has hated math for 24 years isn’t exactly excited about). I’m also (relatedly?) interested in drinking practices, both public and private, in ancient Greece, and how they, like ceramic production, vary between regions.

Maybe the highlight of my research this summer has been finding little remnants of fingerprints on one of my pots that (seemingly) no one else had noticed before!

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Although I came into this project (which may or may not form the foundation of my future/quickly impending dissertation) with some pretty solid questions, I look forward to the many and varied questions that can and will arise when considering production techniques. Black glaze may not be the most interesting style, but when you look at dozens of pots in a week you start to notice some patterns, or start to ask questions about “why are there weird splotches of red?”

I only have one more week here in Athens before heading off up north to Olynthos, but I feel much more knowledgeable about what I have been working with, and have had some promising meetings with others who work on similar materials and ideas. When I go up to Olynthos I will be trying my hand more with macroscopic fabric analysis after just one week (!!) of coursework in petrography, but I hope (maybe) to be able to land a studentship at the Fitch Laboratory at the British School in Athens (heh, can’t keep me away from this place) in Fall 2019. But we’ll see. But it’s gotta happen. It’s kind of my job now. Yay, being a specialist!

(No, seriously, how did I get so many research interests in the subjects I hated through most of my schooling? Math and science? Really???)

For the remainder of my time in Athens, I have some goals:

  1. Finish up pottery analysis by Tuesday
  2. Go to the Blegen to read about the excavations at Pistiros (a super cool Greek EMPORION in 4TH CENTURY Thrace) (still peeved that the lib doesn’t have the Olynthos pubs but…w/e)
  3. Hike the Philopappos Hill and see the Philopappos Monument
  4. Visit the Piraeus Archaeological Museum
  5. Eat some gelato (it’s hot, gelato is cold…ya feel me?)

As for updates, there aren’t many…I passed my qualifying exams in May and then took a week-long intensive course on ceramic petrography at the Penn Museum in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I spent two weeks in Connecticut sitting on my butt and watching mostly movies but also Westworld (10/10 would recommend). Aaaand then I came to Greece!

And went to see all the things I’ve seen before!

And took pictures of them!

But from different angles (and with a better camera)!

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Surviving as a POC in Classics

Almost one year since my very first post about Being a POC in Classics, I am back to reflect on what I’ve learned in the last year: about being a POC and a woman in Classics.

Last year’s post was prompted by a poignant blog post that brought attention to the fact that, at an annual conference meeting for the Archaeological Institute of America and the Society for Classical Studies, there was a sheer lack of diversity among the scholars in attendance. Although I had borne witness to this phenomenon myself, one hell of a winter storm (#BOMBCYCLONE anyone?) kept me from attending this year’s meeting in Boston.

But even as I find myself sitting in my mom’s living room, plans to participate thwarted like so many others, I still can’t shake the feeling that the scene this year is just as dire as the one last year. Not that I’d ever want to – that disparity is a significant one; one that weighs heavily on the minds of many scholars, though not always for the right reasons.

Last year, I made a point to call out the things we shouldn’t be doing – trying to coerce students of color into joining classics departments so as to ease our own minds about the lack of diversity in our classes – and suggest some things that would actually make a different – like hiring more people of color as professors and archaeologists to serve as actual role models for students to learn from; and having more people of color writing about topics concerning people of color – not just classicists from the white majority, like Sarah Bond and Mary Beard (though I’m sure they’re lovely people).

I have found myself becoming more and more inspired by the female scholars I have had the pleasure of working with in the last year and a half, and I can only imagine how much more inspiring it would be to work with a woman of color who did what I did. But, alas, women of color in classics – and archaeology – are hard to find, unless you know where to look (I honestly don’t).

However, not every female scholar I have come into contact with has been as inspiring as the rest. It’s incredible how the brain can block out a terrible incident, a moment that rubbed you the wrong way, until something much later triggers that memory once again. As I was reading the Preface of Reno Eddo-Lodge’s Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race (Our Shared Shelf’s pick for Jan/Feb 2018!), I found myself agreeing with almost every word I read, especially:

I just can’t engage with the bewilderment and the defensiveness as they try to grapple with the fact that not everyone experiences the world in the way that they do. They’ve never had to think about what it means, in power terms, to be white, so any time they’re vaguely reminded of this fact, they interpret it as an affront. Their eyes glaze over in boredom or widen in indignation. Their mouths start twitching as they get defensive. Their throats open up as they try to interrupt, itching to talk over you but not really listen, because they need to let you know that you’ve got it wrong.

Why, oh why, would something like this trigger me? What incident could it have possibly recalled for someone who, apparently, has only ever once experienced a direct, verbal, racist assault in her life (Did I not post about that? It was a pretty traumatic – non-academic-related day…)? Well, let me set the scene: Colleague A gives a presentation on her experience at a school abroad (no to be named) that is known for its institutionalized racism. Someone makes a racist joke, blatantly neglects to learn the names of two girls who are, actually, two different people, but happen to be of the same or similar race, and no one bats an eye. What’s worse is the fact that everyone’s together 24/7 and there’s no way, at all, to get any reprieve from the situation.

As a deeply introverted, socially anxious person of color, you can see where my concerns lie. However, Colleague B did not see it my way. Instead of sympathizing, she shot down my legitimate concerns, saying that it was only one person’s perspective and that it’s probably not always like that and that the experience would be worth it. To her credit, it was only one person’s POV, but who knows how long the atmosphere had been that way? How else would the people there have become so comfortable with saying such things or being so negligent if there weren’t people around them perpetuating the behavior? Who’s to say that it has or will stop?

Speaking with Colleague B was so psychologically damaging that I refused to bring it up with anyone else again afterwards. I had a meeting with a professor about my future plans and, when the program was mentioned, I expressed uncertainty about wanting to attend, but let him ramble on about the merits of the program without speaking about the concerns I had. Why? Why wouldn’t I say anything? Well, because I felt like he, a white male tenured professor, would never understand.

I think that all of this – the surge of racist incidents both towards myself and towards others, the current political climate, and my anxieties – has made things a little clearer than they were a year ago. Back then, I was wide-eyed and hopeful, urging for a change not in the curriculum but in the people teaching that curriculum, the face of classics, but with no plan for the forseeable future.

Now, I find that I was grasping in the dark for something I couldn’t see, couldn’t fully understand. In that first blog post almost a year ago, I quoted statistics about minorities in the Classics, but they are long outdated, and don’t really tell us much of anything. Last year, my blog post gained over 400 notes on Tumblr and here on WordPress, 8 likes. I know that you are out there – I remember reading so many moving responses to the post on Tumblr – and I want this to be the first step for us to come together, to lean on each other, and to find some way to make our voices louder in a discipline that still, to this day, forces us down even when it tries to lift us up.

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Minorities in Classics Poll Results

Please vote if you can! It would be really great to see how many of us are out there, but obviously don’t feel pressured to do so. This is just a random social experiment that I thought of while spending Too Many hours at home (is it time to go back to school yet??).

Seeing Diversity in a Dig: Olynthos 2017

I know that my post on my time at Olynthos is nearly a month late now, but I had been struggling to decide what to write about. Sure, I could talk about my experience excavating (with little to no detail) or my experience working with special finds, but I think that what with the state of the world today I felt that this might be a little more pertinent.

Ever since I wrote my first post on being a PoC in classics, I have been more aware of the ways in which I have stood out – in the classroom, in my PhD program, in the field. I actually got the idea of writing about this when I got curious about one of our other projects, and whether or not they had any PoC this year (or ever). It turned out that, at least not at the time of their group photo, there wasn’t a single PoC in sight.

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The 2017 team at the Gabii Project

Now I should make some things clear here: first, this post is not about being mistreated or discriminated against in any way. I loved working on the Olynthos Project this year and 100% plan to return in the coming years. Second, as you look at the photo above, you may think that some of these people could be classified as PoC – and maybe they are. I don’t know for sure, because I did not excavate in Italy or at that particular site. But even if there are, the point is that there are not a lot of PoC on excavations in general.

Ethnically, the situation is very different, of course. At Olynthos alone, there were (at least) 16 different countries represented on the project – United States, Greece, United Kingdom, France, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Germany, Italy, Spain, Bulgaria, Netherlands, Switzerland, Austria, Croatia, and Cyprus. Being run by the University of Michigan, the British School at Athens, and the Greek Archaeological Service, it is no surprise that the word about the project gets out and it gets out widely.

So how come there aren’t more PoC working on it?

I don’t have an answer to this myself, but it is something that I have been thinking a lot about recently. Why aren’t there more PoC in archaeology?

The ‘obvious’ answer – interest

It’s probably not a good idea to assume that PoC are so few in Mediterranean archaeology because of a lack of interest in the subject, and more interest in other types of archaeology, but it’s also probably true. In the list of countries represented on the Olynthos Project, how many of those are European countries? How many of those countries represent other continents in the world? The answer is one – the United States.

There aren’t any African countries, South American countries, or Asian countries – not because people from those countries aren’t interested in archaeology, but because they are probably more interested in the archaeology of their regions. I can imagine that there are far more PoC on projects in Egypt and the Sudan, in Latin American countries, and in China and the Pacific Islands than you might ever see in the Mediterranean. This is because it’s expensive to travel and even more expensive when you have to pay for field schools and room and board on projects you have no affiliation to – so why not work on the archaeology in your own backyard (so to speak)?

The United States is weird and different because, while we have our own archaeology, there are a lot of people who pay the money to go and work in Europe (or in Latin America, Africa, or Asia) because the opportunities for these things are more abundant. PhD students tend to join projects that are associated with their program, and the costs are usually covered. But there are still many anthropological archaeologists at many schools (Michigan included) who continue to work in America because that’s where their interests lie.

On the other hand, sometimes PhD students join the projects associated with their program because the opportunities to work in other places aren’t advertised widely enough. I knew many people at Olynthos who were graduate students in Europe and that either didn’t know how to apply to the Athenian Agora excavations (run by the American School at Athens) or had never heard of it. I have friends now who work on Keros and at Lefkandi but these are both British School excavations and thus I had never heard of them (and they cut into my school year quite a bit).

The numbers

Another crucial factor in why there may not be so many PoC in (Mediterranean) archaeology might be the numbers of PoC in the field. I haven’t been able to locate a survey of archaeologists, but this survey by the Society for Classical Studies speaks volumes about the disparity on all levels.

In 2014, while there were 9% minorities in undergraduate Classics majors in the United States, there were just 7% minorities in PhD programs and 3% in terminal MA programs. (For comparison, the number of minorities in tenure track faculty positions was 5%, with only 2% minority tenured professors!) This is staggering because, with so little PoC in Classics graduate programs to begin with, it’s no wonder that the opportunities for archaeological fieldwork fall on deaf ears.

I can only hope that there are perhaps more PoC in archaeology programs, or even anthropology (or anthropological archaeology) programs, due to the wider range of topics and places covered. If anyone knows of a survey with the numbers, please share!

With all of this in mind as I embark on my second year of my PhD program and look more and more towards the future, I am more determined than ever to work hard and succeed and spread the word about this disparity. As I’ve said in the past, I think that it’s crucial for PoC to have more representation in Classics and in Archaeology programs, and the fact that the numbers for students and professors alike are so low is concerning – but it confirms my suspicions.

We need to show everyone that times are changing, that Classics is for everyone, and the only way to do that is by getting out there and being visible – not just throwing up some slides about slavery or PoC in ancient frescoes.

I hope that as I go into my first year of teaching I will inspire someone – really anyone – to get involved in archaeology or classics. But if they’re a PoC, then that would certainly be a bonus!

 

I Can Dig It – 3 Weeks for my 3rd Season at the Athenian Agora

At the end of my final week at the Athenian Agora Excavations 2017 in Greece, it’s only just occurred to me the irony of the fact that, in my third season participating as a volunteer on the excavation, I have spent exactly three weeks digging there out of the usual full eight weeks.

The reason for my short tenure is simple: after finishing my first year of graduate school, I felt that it was not only important that I participate in an excavation that the University of Michigan sponsored, but also that I get to work on an excavation where we were digging things that were relevant to my research interests – domestic space and ceramic analysis. Of course, I can study ceramic analysis just about anywhere, and have not missed the opportunity to use the Agora as a place to refine my skills (what little there are). But I look forward to continuing to learn and grow as the summer continues and as I make my way to Olynthos on July 1st.

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View of the Acropolis on the morning of my last day at the Agora, 6:45 a.m.

While my participation at the Agora was cut short because of my desire to split my time between excavations this year, I have felt that this season has been my most rewarding season yet and only hope to be able to continue returning in the future – and hopefully move up the ranks to assistant supervisor at some point. Here are some (non-specific) highlights.

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Trenches Beta Theta East (foreground) and West (background)

Setting up the total station. One of the biggest transferable lessons I learned this season was something that I had already learned in the past, but had somewhat forgotten during my brief hiatus from the excavation in 2016. However, once I was assigned to help set up the total station one day during my first rotation (in trench Beta Zeta), I quickly recalled how everything worked. I have only had a chance to shoot points with the Leica rod on occasions when we would open and close baskets (or new contexts within the trench), but other uses for the total station included taking points on cool finds that were to-be-catalogued, taking points for cross-sections (which would be used to later draw cross-sections), and other things. Although the Agora is organizationally different from Olynthos (i.e. the Agora is an open-area excavation as opposed to using the 5 by 5 meter squares of the “Wheeler method“), I hope that knowing how to work the total station will be useful on other projects I work on in the future.

Ceramic washing, sorting, and analysis. As someone who is very interested in the analysis of ceramics (as I have probably mentioned in previous posts), this was a very enjoyable part of my three weeks at the Agora. I only was able to do ‘pottery washing’ for a few days out of the three weeks, but I made sure to ask questions about what was happening, what I was looking at, and sometimes even technical aspects of the reading process (which the supervisors/assistant supervisors ultimately do). For example, I asked about how one supervisor chose to save certain pieces out of an entire context of objects. The short answer was that she chose things that could give her a date of some sort, like certain types of decoration, and diagnostic pieces that could be linked to vessels that might be indicative of the date of the context. In addition, she chose to keep things that were generally interesting and things that could serve as a sample of a larger group of ceramics, like tile or marble.

Of course, the same conventions as the Agora might not be followed in other excavations like Olynthos, where the seasons are shorter and the pressure is on to learn as much as we can about the site in a much briefer time frame. Moreover, at Olynthos, there is a ‘ceramics processing team’ that goes through all of the pottery that comes out during excavation, so the diggers might not even be exposed to it except when they pull it out of the ground and when we meet to discuss what has been going on in the different areas (survey, ceramics, excavation) throughout the day. Things like being able to recognize the different glazes (black, red, byzantine) and fabrics (tile vs pottery) of ceramics as well as the appropriate dates for glazes and decorative patterns might be a transferable skill, but I don’t claim to be anywhere near an expert (yet).

And, of course, digging! (Pictured: me sweeping aka 75% of my last week; Not pictured: me actually digging) The first two weeks were great because I actually got back into the swing of things pretty easily – perfecting my scarp, moving loads of dirt, finding some cool stuff (but more often being adjacent to people who were finding cool stuff elsewhere). I can’t disclose what /sorts/ of cool stuff I found myself, but I can say that it was definitely a rewarding experience. Plus, if I actually am going to be on the ceramics team at Olynthos, I can at least say that I got to dig for part of the summer. I definitely have the sore limbs and extremities to prove it…

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Even though the work was tough, I started to feel just how out of shape I really was after bending over and squatting far more than usual, the heat was brutal (but we actually got to go home early because of 100+ degree heat on my last two days!), and the dirt was literally everywhere, I can honestly say that there’s probably no place I’ve ever felt more at home than at the Athenian Agora. I’m definitely going to miss it and all of the people – the old and (some of) the new – but now it’s time for the next archaeological adventure.

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Trench Omicron Omicron (OO), where I spent week 3
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Trench Beta Zeta (BZ), where I spent weeks 1 and 2

Familial Love and Funerary Stelae

On my would-be annual trip to the National Archaeological Museum of Athens (‘would-be’ because I wasn’t in Athens in 2016, but visited the museum in 2014 and 2015), I probably spent far too much time looking at funerary stelae.

I can explain.

This past term, while taking a course on Greek Cities and Sanctuaries, I thought that what I wanted to write my final research paper on was sanctuaries of Hera. I worked for several weeks on that topic, ordered dozens of books from the library, and even struggled through German publications, but in the end I had to throw in the towel and pick something else (for various reasons). This led to me choosing to research marble funerary lekythoi instead, and their relationship to marble loutrophoroi and the cultural attitude towards the death of unmarried young men and women. So, naturally, my affinity for funerary stelae was set in stone (no pun intended).

I could probably talk forever and a day about marble lekythoi – I not only have photos from the National Archaeological Museum but also from the Kerameikos Museum (which I refrained from bombarding my Facebook friends with because there are A Lot of photos). But instead, I realized that I found myself thinking a lot about the depictions of animals on funerary stelae. This is probably because there was an entire room full of stelae depicting people holding things – from pyxides to fruits to birds – and accompanied by dogs.

But what intrigued me the most were the birds. In that room alone, there were three funerary stelae depicting scenes featuring a bird being offered by one figure to another.

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Funerary stele depicting Mnesagora and Nikochares, ca. 420 B.C.
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Funerary stele of Philokles and his son Dikaios, ca. 410 B.C.
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Funerary stele of Chaireste and Lysander, ca. 410 B.C.
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Funerary stele of Chaireste and Lysander, ca. 410 B.C.

Upon seeing these stelae, my first impression was that it was interesting that all three of them depicted a similar scene involving a bird, but it wasn’t until I got back to my apartment and started looking at them more closely that I could see how similar they really were. In all three of the scenes, there are two people depicted, the figure on the left always older than and offering the bird to a younger figure on the right. What’s more is that I realized that a similar composition had appeared to me before, in my research on marble lekythoi several months ago.

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Funerary scene from a marble lekythos, ca. 375-350 B.C. Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In this scene, there are four figures depicted, but on the left side of the composition a seated older woman, like in the previous three scenes, offers a bird to a young girl to her right. So, if this motif is depicted on so many different funerary monuments, they must mean something, right?

The first discussion of the symbolism of the bird in funerary art was this 2013 blog post entitled “The Symbolism of Birds on Ancient Greek Grave Steles.” In this post, the author discusses the relationship between the bird and funerary stelae for deceased children, emphasizing the bird’s liminal existence and its use as a ‘plaything’ for children both in life and in death. The second half of the post deals with the connection between doves and Aphrodite, explaining that, in this capacity, the dove represents “love, joy, procreation, and sexuality.” However, the author goes on to say that this reading cannot apply because “children are not sexual nor have they procreated.” I disagree with this on a few levels.

First, perhaps this connection between birds on the stelae of children could have been for the purpose of “sad irony” because young girls who had died had not procreated yet and would never be able to, but this seems unlikely in many cases. Several of the examples of stelae that the author of the post uses depict girls far too young to have been able to bear children, so, while it is possible that their parents were always thinking of their duty to the family and to society (as mothers, wives), I can’t bring myself to believe that a parent would have included a bird on the stele of a young girl to symbolize something they would have been more suited for in their early teens.

My second point leads into my main argument: that the birds (perhaps turtle-doves or sparrows), contrary to what the author of the aforementioned post may think, did symbolize love because of their connection to Aphrodite. However, I do not think that this love was sexual at all – I argue that this love was familial, whether representing the love of one’s parent(s) or sibling(s). This is in one part due to the fact that turtle-doves were not only associated with Aphrodite, but also with Demeter.

“White Turtle-doves are often to be seen. These, they say, are sacred to Aphrodite and Demeter.” –Aelian, On Animals 10.33 (trans. Schofield)

Demeter’s love as a mother, especially in the case of the abduction of her daughter Persephone by Hades, is a perfect example of the kind of familial love I am thinking of. In many ways, Persephone’s descent into the Underworld symbolizes a kind of death, which can find parallels with the death of the children depicted on funerary stelae like the ones I have been discussing.

While it is nearly impossible to truly know who the deceased is on a funerary stele depicting several figures, it has often been argued that the deceased is the person or persons who is named in the accompanying inscription. I have argued that the deceased, on stelae which depict seated figures shaking the hand of a standing person, is the figure who is standing. In the case of these stelae (excluding the marble lekythos), I would say that the deceased is in fact the younger figure, depicted on the right side of the composition.

Birds are “metaphors to suggest [the funerary scene’s] emotional message…The bird petted by the boy represents his parents’ love for him…” –A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds, ed. Beryl Rawson

The reason for this goes back to the idea of familial love. If the turtle-dove does, in fact, symbolize the love of a family member for the deceased young person as I have suggested, then it should follow that the older (possibly living) figure is offering this symbol of their love to the deceased in these particular scenes. Moreover, all of this is in accordance with the idea that birds are most often depicted on the funerary stelae of children, because in all of these scenes (including the marble lekythos) there is a young boy or girl depicted interacting with the bird.

These are just some thoughts I had, but I am totally open to any other interpretations you all might have! Grad school has made me a much more analytical museum-goer than I was before… I can’t tell if I like it or not…

 

Classics in Color: A View From the Minority

“Do we make it easy for people of color who want to study the ancient world? Do they see themselves in the ancient landscape that we present to them?” -Sarah E. Bond, Why We Need to Start Seeing the Classical World in Color

When, almost a week ago, I came across this article, I will admit that I didn’t actually read it. I thought that it was an interesting interpretation of art history, shared it on Facebook, and left it at that. But after a more recent article, entitled “Classicist Receives Death Threats from Alt-Right over Art Historical Essay,” I thought maybe it was time I gave it a look.

Although I agree with many of her sentiments and don’t deny the harsh reality of the racist investigations of early classicists and more recent alt-right groups, I think that the questions that Professor Bond asks (quoted above) all but scream for the perspective of the people she mentions – people of color who want to study the ancient world. People of color who are studying the ancient world. People like me.

Although I agree with her, when the white majority (91%, according to a 2014 survey of undergraduate Classics majors) of the field is the only one speaking and publishing and making their voices heard, it’s hard to fully understand the experiences of the minority and it’s easy for us to be overlooked save for the occasional statistic.

But despite all of that, she certainly does not deserve the response that she got. No one deserves to be attacked with death threats solely because their views do not align with your own.

In her article, Bond focuses on the origins of the white supremacist view that emerged among early classicists that color in sculpture meant barbarism and that the Greeks were far too sophisticated to color their white marble sculptures. It is no secret, at least to art historians and archaeologists, that pigments do sometimes survive on sculpture even today, leading to articles like Bond’s which point out the fact that the Greeks did, in fact, color their sculpture on many occasions, if not all the time. But she misses two important points.

First, the fact that the vibrant colors of sculpture sometimes served utilitarian as well as decorative purposes. Imagine looking at the pediment or frieze sculptures on a monumental temple from the ground – would it be easier to make out those scenes if they were in the same white marble as the rest of the building or if they were in color? Those vibrant colors, though sometimes gaudy and unbelievable, made it easier for the visitors of sanctuaries and public areas to see the magnificent handiwork of the artists who carved and decorated them.

The Archer from the western pediment of the Temple of Aphaia on Aigina, reconstruction, color variant A from the Gods of Color exhibit (photo by Marsyas/Wikimedia, CC BY-SA 2.5)

Second, in almost every reconstruction of the colors of marble sculpture, it seems to be the case that, although Bond and others champion the idea of diversity in the ancient world, many of those reconstructions feature people of just one race – white. That is not to say that there weren’t other races of people living in Greece and in Rome and their territories, but the fact remains that those who create these reconstructions of marble sculpture more often than not have an idea in their mind of what a ‘Greek’ or ‘Roman’ looked like.

Painted terra cotta cinerary urn (150–100 BCE), originally from Chiusi, now at the British Museum (photo by Bond for Hyperallergic)

Returning to my original quote, I have to return to a point that I made in a post I made earlier in the year. My sentiment remains the same: I do not think that it’s representation in the classics (that is, the literature, the art, the archaeology) that is the problem. I don’t think that simply knowing or seeing that there were people of color in Greece and Rome would make me more likely to have become a Classics major in undergrad.

I know now that there was, in fact, a lot of diversity throughout the Greek and Roman worlds – take, for example, Egypt and Asia Minor – but that does not necessarily mean that everyone was equal. On the contrary, there was a great deal of disparity between classes almost all of the time, and it was more often than not that the people who were wealthiest were Greeks and Romans in the strictest sense of the word. Even during the Hellenistic period, the first Ptolemy was just a Macedonian Greek who was assigned the kingdom of Egypt while actual Egyptians were more usually of lower status.

Slavery is, of course, another aspect of the disparity that existed. Sure, especially in the Roman period, slaves could be freed, take up trades, and become wealthy in their own right. But it is important not to think of slavery during the Greek and Roman worlds as equivalent to the slavery that occurred, for example, in North America. Slaves were not necessarily of a different race or ethnicity than those who owned them – they were mostly war captives or debtors during the earlier periods. Chattel slavery and slave trade came into play in later periods, but people were not enslaved because of the color of their skin. Difference or inferiority was most often determined based on the way someone spoke (i.e. if they didn’t speak Greek) or for cultural reasons (i.e. barbarians were people who wore pants and hats, rather than the traditional toga).

My point is that diversity existed in the Greek and Roman worlds, but we cannot let that automatically mean that everyone was living in harmony all of the time. We also cannot begin thinking that because there were people of color that they were always living good lives as opposed to the persecution minorities often face today, because ancient POCs were persecuted too, if for different reasons.

This is why I don’t think that representation in the materials we study will bring more students of color to the classics. I don’t think that seeing a statue painted with darker skin in a reconstruction based on some scholar’s interpretation or reading something about the lives of slaves or freedmen will make people of color interested. I stand by what I said when I said that it has to be more about getting more representation in the faculty and, maybe even if we have more people of color in the field speaking out about issues that we only ever see the white majority speaking about.

As someone who is actively experiencing the discrepancy between the majority and the minority, more often than not being the only person of color in a classroom or an excavation team, I think it would be a lot more encouraging to see people who look like me doing the things that I want to be doing. But I know that, with such small numbers, it is a difficult task to accomplish. However, I keep hoping and I will keep making blog posts as I see fit because people of color in the classics need to start speaking up.

My Solo Trip to Sounion

It might not seem obvious to anyone (I hope), but I am a very anxious person. I overthink everything down to the last detail, take photos of Google maps just in case (even though I can still use the GPS without wifi), show up too early in fear of being late, and generally avoid eye contact with anyone who might accost me on the street in a foreign city that I actually know pretty well (even if I’m still learning the language).

It certainly doesn’t help that I’ve spent a week alone in said foreign city with little knowledge of the language (I know some key phrases, and lots of words for fruits and animals) and zero company save for my Airbnb host. But I’ve made my peace with it all, and have somehow managed to do one thing I was most anxious about doing all week: leaving Athens on my own.

It was really my Airbnb host’s idea – to go to Sounion. I remember when she first suggested it I kind of laughed and thought to myself “that’ll never happen” and “I’ve got a whole month to go, maybe I’ll find someone to go with me” but as the days passed, I felt like this was something I needed to do. The best things happen outside of your comfort zone, no?

So, as I do, I planned it all out. Did the research: What time does the bus leave and where does it leave from? How long will it take on the metro to get to the bus station? How much will it cost? What is there to do at the site? But, of course, no matter how much research you do, there are always bound to be surprises.

The first surprise came when I arrived at the bus station, KTEL Attikis, located on a moderately busy street in Omonia (a 2-ish minute walk from the Victoria metro station, if you don’t get lost like I did). I asked the Greek men at the counter where the bus to Sounion left from, and he directed me to another counter about 50 meters down the road. So I went there and checked the timetables, only to find out that the information about the bus times I got both from my Airbnb host AND the internet were incorrect. I had arrived at 11:45am in the hopes of leaving by noon, but there were no buses leaving at 12:00pm. Only 11:05am and 1:05pm.

Of course, I could have just given up and gone home. That’s what the introvert in me would have done. But I figured I was already there and I’d brought my lunch, so I might as well stick around. So I walked to the National Archaeological Museum and sat outside eating my sandwich until about 12:30pm, then walked back over to the bus station and waited till the bus was about to leave.

The second surprise came when I was already on the bus and we had left the station. As the man who collected the fare came around, I was prepared to pay the 5 or so euros I had seen on the internet as being the fare for the trip, but found out that instead it was 6 euros and 90 cents! One of the reasons I convinced myself to go was that it would only cost me approximately 10 euros roundtrip, but despite my disappointment I was already on the bus and had to make due (good thing I brought a few extra euros just in case).

The trip from Omonia to Cape Sounion in all was about 2 hours long. We took a beautiful coastal road (though it was mostly cloudy all day) and switched buses in Anavyssos. The bus dropped us off right at the site, which consisted of a taverna, a gift shop, and the oh-so-commanding temple of Poseidon. There might have been a small museum as well, but I could be mistaken.

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I also saw some super cool settlement foundations that got the archaeology student gears in my head working, because – if you know anything about me at all – one of the reasons I chose the U of M and why I chose to work at Olynthos (in July) was so that I could learn more about ancient domestic space. However, I will leave my reactions to these particular archaeological ruins to a different post (I have a lot of feelings)!

I spent about an hour at the site, but of course you could spend anywhere from an afternoon to a whole day there if you wanted. I was trying to save money so I didn’t eat at the taverna, and couldn’t figure out how you got down to the beach from the site, but I’m sure I could convince people to visit the site with me again before I leave Attica in July…

tl;drHow do you get to Sounion? Take the metro to the KTEL Attikis station in Omonia, wait at the bus station until the time the bus leaves, pay 6,90 euros, after a two hour ride you’ll reach your destination! Can you do it in less than a day? Sure! I did it in an hour! There’s a nice taverna, a gift shop, and beaches down below the site. Was it worth the trip? As an archaeologist, I am biased, but I definitely think so! There are super cool ruins and a beautiful view! Plus, it’s nice a cool up there thanks to the cross winds from the sea (and some cloudy coverage).

In other news, my friends will be here this weekend and archaeological excavations start on Monday! Thanks for reading!