When LCD Soundsystem meets Roman Houses, by way of Bourdieu

Yep, so an NPR program has hit me again with another example of economic capital, cultural capital, and social capital all collaborating to assist in self-fashioning. This time it was a Fresh Air interview with LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy, carried out by Terry Gross.

[NB: Gross' speech patterns often drive me bananas, but Fresh Air keeps me good enough company on the bus ride to work.]

LCD Soundsystem’s song “Losing My Edge” is all about the anxiety one feels about getting older and being surpassed by the new generation coming up. Specifically, the lyrics deal with jealousy over a music collection.

Yeah, I’m losing my edge.
I’m losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I’m losing my edge.
I’m losing my edge to the kids from France and from London.
But I was there.

…

I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody. Every great song by the Beach Boys. All the underground hits. All the Modern Lovers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import. I heard that you have a white label of every seminal Detroit techno hit – 1985, ’86, ’87. I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good ’60s cut and another box set from the ’70s.

This seems to have particular resonance with some of the anxiety Roman aristocrats felt about the nouveaux riches buying luxurious homes and filling them with the typical “collectibles” of the day–silverware, Greek or Greek-like sculpture, costly purple-dyed cloth, etc. There was a resentment that economic capital could be used to acquire social capital and the lower classes could share–if not usurp—the habitus of the intellectual elite. These aspirational aspects of consumption and symbolic possessions are the background for some of the critiques of luxury and collecting found in Roman satire. Martial’s disparagement of Eros (Ep. X.80), Mamurra (IX.59), and Charinus (IV.39) emerges from not only an awareness of the convertibility of symbolic and cultural capital, but also a veiled anxiety over self-completion through consumption.

In talking about writing “Losing My Edge,” Murphy says about naming obscure bands at the end of the song:

This is what you do when you know things….Knowing things, knowledge, your attachment to them, or your self-association with other bands or with books or whatever. It’s often this weird amulet that protects you. You’re like ‘I am serious. Look at my library or listen to this. I’m going to list all the books I’ve read and now you know I’m a serious person.’

To this, Terry Gross responds: “I think a lot of people have experienced that. What you read, what you listen to as who you are.”

In this instance, the books or albums are strong indicators of Murphy’s erudition, but talking about the books or music is what really fulfills his identity. There is a knowledge that goes along with the possessions which completes the picture of the real hipster with encyclopedic musical taste and awareness. The habitus of this particular type includes the record collection as well as the esoteric knowledge of, say, the genealogy of CBGB stars.

So I continue to imagine the relationship among identity, status, the house and its contents in the Roman world to include the education–formal or informal–to discuss the display of works of art in the home. The elite habitus, as far as the house was concerned, was comprised of both the material, economic capital and the cultural capital required to discuss it with one’s peers.

And just to bring it back to the house, here’s LCD Soundsystem’s song “Home.”

Prospectus conspectus

Now that my research year is coming to a close and I am preparing to move on to my new digs, I am writing up my book prospectus and about to send it off  with a sample chapter to the publisher. So for those of you who aren’t interested in reading a 300-page book or even a 10-page prospectus, here is a word cloud from the proposal, giving you the pithiest and most visually appealing overview of my research.

Word cloud by Wordle.

Heirlooms in Roman domestic decoration

Hollow hands clasp ludicrous possessions because they are links in the chain of life. If it breaks, they are truly lost.

Ernest Dichter 1964.

In her book On Longing, Susan Stewart discusses the heirloom as a version of the souvenir. In her definition, the heirloom is an artifact whose value is not directly related to the possessor, but to the object’s history or provenance; the owner is in a vicarious position in terms of renown. One literary example of such an heirloom is the Hercules Epitrapezios owned by Novius Vindex, as described by Martial in Ep. IX.43 and IX.44. Inasmuch as a souvenir–as part of Roman domestic decoration in my research–can be an autobiographical touchstone, the heirloom packs an additional punch. The heirloom is evidence of longstanding family status, venerable ancestry, and because of its age (any heirloom must be at least a generation old) it might also play into a general appreciation for things that appear old (as per the patina system, described by Grant McCracken 1990). If the heirloom has a high intrinsic value, corresponding to the general unwritten rules of Roman collecting and domestic display, then the object has even more potency, permitting its owner to demonstrate knowledge of a variety of antiquarian and aesthetic concerns. Naturally Vindex’ Hercules was renown not only for its status as a work of art, but also for its authorship by Lysippos and its provenance, having once belonged to both Alexander the Great and Hannibal. The value of the statuette was therefore both intrinsic and acquired over time.

For those who inherit an heirloom, the cost of acquisition is time spent waiting:  “‘Earning’ the collection simply involves waiting, creating the pauses that articulate the biography of the collector.” (Stewart 2007, 166). The patina of age and ancestry accrues and appreciates over the generations, falling in line with some typical Roman values–at least as far as we believe we understand generic antiquarian and genealogical concerns. Along with the heirloom itself, the owner inherits a sense of antiquarian good taste which could be valuable social currency to his clients and peers who see the heirloom in its domestic context. The heirloom is a “conversation starter,” permitting the owner to mention the ancestor(s) who passed the object down and thus he can present evidence of his solid family status through allusion. Naturally this is but one personal narrative which could be initiated by the heirloom; others concern formal aspects, subject matter, ideological symbolism, etc.

But what if one’s entire domestic collection is inherited? Does that undermine the display’s function as autobiography, since ancestors would be emphasized over the current patron? If every narrative relating to aspects of a domestic display can be connected to the status of the pieces as heirlooms, how might that raise or lower the owner’s reputation as a collector? I would guess that provided the owner has sufficient knowledge about the objects to be able to tell multiple narratives about the display, that he might maintain a certain level of social capital in his guests’ eyes.

This question of “the problem with heirlooms” came to mind as I am planning to move into a new house. I will have space for more furniture & other things than I have had in a while. My mother has graciously offered up pieces from our own family collection to help me make the house a home. I am happy to have the things, since they have aesthetic and personal value for me. But at the same time, I wonder how I will ever be able to develop my own personal style/taste if all of my domestic display is comprised primarily of heirlooms. This was likely less of a problem for Roman inheritors, since taste in domestic display was far more corporate than our own and the house was not a shrine to individuality as our modern houses frequently purport to be.

(This last issue seems somewhat ironic, given my interpretation of domestic decoration as autobiography. If you want to know more about it, you’ll just have to read the book when it comes out!)

And speaking of heirlooms & the patina system…

On the Roman house as a container of memory

I’m working on a section of my book in which I discuss the various ways in which a Roman house could reveal the status and identity of its owner. This is not new news in the field, but it is a crucial part of my argument in favor of reading domestic decoration as autobiography. So I am essentially summarizing some of the more famous bits of textual evidence for this phenomenon, like this passage from Cicero, De officiis I.139,

A man’s dignity may be enhanced by the house he lives in, but not wholly secured by it; the owner should bring honor to his house, not the house to its owner.

It’s a sort of “clothes make the man” sentiment. Vitruvius has similar bits as well, and today’s scholarship, like Shelley Hales’ book, is all over this concept. So again, I have not come across some major discovery, just incorporating this concept into a different argument.

So another ancient idea I need to grapple with in this section is that of the house as a container of memory, actually a mnemonic device described by Cicero, Quintilian, and the anonymous author of the ad Herrenium. Bettina Bergmann, in a 1994 Art Bulletin article, summarized this rhetorical trick:

Begin by fixing the plan in your imagination; then order the ideas, words, or images that you wish to remember, placing the first thing in the vestibule, the second in the atrium, then move around the impluvium, into side rooms, and even onto statues or paintings. Once you have put everything in its place… start again at the entrance and move through the house, where you will find all the images linked one to another as in a chain.

Now, the mnemonic technique is rather straightforward and it also makes clear that paintings and statues were probably as essential an element in an (elite) Roman house as an atrium. Yet I continue to wrestle with an explanation for the question: Why the house? Am I crazy for not thinking this is as self-evident as it sounds?

It can be argued that the house was chosen for this technique because those were simply the buildings most familiar to the speakers. It is probably likely that they imagined their own houses when using this method for remembering tricky sequences of arguments in speeches. (It becomes tricky if the same house & contents were used over & over again for different speeches.) But Roman houses are quirky things. Regardless of how textbooks want us to envision the “typical Roman house,” there really is no such thing. Roman bathing establishments–the large, public ones at least–have more traditional, symmetrical, regular, and logical layouts than most houses. I’d reckon that most Romans could find their way in a bath upon the first visit much faster than in an unfamiliar house.

So if it is not a standardized layout, or even standardized contents which make the house a perfect tool for recalling memories, then what is it? If it is indeed the personal-ness of the house which assists the speakers, that the familiarity of one’s everyday surroundings cemented the rhetorical points in one’s mind, then it becomes easier for me to make my argument for an autobiographical reading of the house and its contents 0verall. Just as specific facts in a speech were pinned on otherwise commonplace objects and spaces, things which would have been seen every day as the “background noise” of domestic life, specific and personal memories–even subjective responses–could be hung onto this conventional framework as well. Domestic decoration functions then, in part, as a visual and metonymic curriculum vitae and calendar.

This is just one way of approaching questions of personal, individualized readings of rather widespread imagery in domestic decoration. It’s a good and healthy first step to acknowledge subjective responses, but it’s a step into the abyss to try to figure out what those varied responses were. And so I am contending with a somewhat generic way to recreate the breadth of individualized viewing experience. If that makes sense!

Ice-T, Vanilla Ice, and Symbolic Self-Completion Theory

So as an NPR dork, I listen weekly to the “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” podcast. It’s funny and it’s also a way to test myself to make sure I have not become completely out of touch with American pop culture and politics during my year in Canada!

So the “Not My Job” guest for last week was Ice-T– known formerly as the original gangsta rapper and currently as the worst actor on Law and Order: SVU. (Seriously, T. Just because it’s ironic that you, of all people, play a cop on TV doesn’t mean that you are really a gifted thespian.)

During the back-and-forth before the Q-and-A of the quiz, the topic of Vanilla Ice came up. This seems to be a perfect case of symbolic self-completion gone horribly wrong.

Part of symbolic self-completion–as I understand it–is assuming the habitus of the desired status. Wear the right clothes, get the right haircut, use the right mannerisms and lingo. But another big part of it is convincing those members of the ideal status group that you do, actually have the right stuff. As Ice-T mentions, even though Vanilla Ice put on the habitus (OK, he didn’t use that word) of the rapper from the street, none of the real street guys were buying it:

one of his mistakes was he came into the rap business saying he was from the street. And we were like, what street, Sesame Street? You know? But that was a mistake. He didnt have to say that. All he had to do was say hey, I’m a white kid, I’m trying to rap, and I want to be accepted. You dont have to lie and say you’re from someplace you’re not, you know?

It sounds as though Vanilla Ice would have been better off attempting to construct an entirely new habitus, rather than trying to appropriate that of the gangstas. Maybe this is why Eminem was so successful as a “white kid trying to rap.”

The distinction between the expectations of the real street rappers and that of Vanilla Ice’s actual practice was one problem; his personal narrative was another.

Like Trimalchio, Vanilla Ice attempted to walk the walk (and was almost successful) as well as talk the talk (which is really where he failed). When it comes to Roman domestic decoration and symbolic self-completion, I believe it is more than simply having the correct kinds of frescoes, statues, etc. in order to convince the audience that one is “a member of the club.” The informed personal narrative, the cultural/academic knowledge, is what completes the picture.

Should your new buildings look old? And why?

This article in yesterday’s Chronicle of Higher Education on “old” and “new” architectural styles on college campuses got me thinking. Or rather, it touched on something I’ve already been thinking about quite a lot: why are older styles appealing? It’s a huge question, but one I am currently boiling down to domestic decoration in the Roman world, especially in terms of sculpture collections, in my research.

Lawrence Biemiller’s article on university architecture gets at the issues of stylistic eclecticism and of integrity in period style, questioning why campuses like the University of Virginia really need their basketball arena to look like Monticello. He wonders whether it is possible to do “good Gothic” architecture in the 21st century and if honesty matters. This second query he ties to design plagiarism and lack of originality. Yikes.

But retrospective styles are everywhere in our culture. And are everywhere in many other periods from antiquity on. We’ve got to go beyond acknowledging the existence of old-looking buildings and attempt to suss out the why, beyond such issues of venerating a great architect–e.g. Thomas Jefferson.

The patina system and Susan Stewart’s “heirloom” model certainly fit the bill when attempting to understand why we continue to go back to older styles. It really might be as simple as a desire to evoke distant golden ages. The psychological, chronological, and geographic distance between 21st-century America and, say, Elizabethan England glosses over the negative aspects of the older period. We forget how cold & smelly a Gothic castle might have been, preferring to highlight the positive associations.

The positive associations of older styles in architecture can also extend to the nuances of “old money” or venerable ancestry. In this respect, it might be even more apparent why a university might choose a retrospective style over a modern one for a new building. Red-brick walls with classical design features (with or without ivy) recall elite campuses. Glass-and-steel buildings evoke…what, exactly? Maybe I’m too much in antiquity, but it is difficult to associate Machado & Silvetti’s work at Bowdoin with clear concepts or allusions. Is that the point? Choose your own adventure (in architecture)?

As to why campuses should have concinnity in their buildings… I’m not really a fan of it. Although the Modernist houses at my alma mater were widely reviled when I was a student there, I felt that the stylistic eclecticism on campus also showed the history of the school. (Or at least I recognize that now.) The amalgamation of all these styles can also demonstrate venerable ancestry, in a way that I can’t imagine a ready-made and consistent Gothic-style campus can (with all due respect to my new employer). Stylistic heterogeneity can give us a sense of place, of the passing of time as well.

And speaking of historic architectural gloss, get a load of this home in the Philippines:

How would Machado & Silvetti enjoy being referred to as “epic portico fail”?

Bourdieu and Roman domestic decoration

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been challenging myself in a couple of different ways and reaping the rewards. One challenge involves exercise; the other reading with and writing about theory in my own research. The former challenge is much less risky for me, because I was always fairly confident that the results would be positive. But taking the chance on theory–specifically Pierre Bourdieu’s notions of capital and habitus–meant gambling with time and effort, since in entering the (intellectual) exercise I was not sure that I would even be able to fully grasp the material, much less find it helpful for my project.

The exercise challenges have involved a Yoga for Runners course at a local studio and upping my running mileage in preparation for the Memphis Marathon. I already knew I was pretty good at yoga, at least in terms of my own expectations of my own body. After a few weeks of the course, I have renewed my opinion of myself as a balancing savant! And since I have already run a half marathon, I was confident I could manage last week’s long run of 9.5 miles. As I hobbled around my apartment after the run I caught myself saying out loud “That was actually kind of fun!”

Now for the intellectual challenge. For three years, in three different offices, in two different states and one Canadian province, I have had a copy of Bourdieu’s Distinction on a shelf. But I had only barely cracked the cover until about ten days ago. Bourdieu is one of those theorists that people mention, saying “You know, Bourdieu might be helpful for you.” But no one has ever really told me why. After muddling through parts of Distinction and Outline of a Theory of Practice, I have been writing some rewarding things about habitus and the various kinds of capital (symbolic, economic, etc.), as well as a more general theory of “symbolic self-completion.”

Here is one paragraph, produced today. The thoughts are still quite raw, and there is some considerable fleshing-out to do. But like the first 9-mile run in training for a much longer distance, this short passage is giving me the confidence I need for the long run (ha! see what I did there?).

Bourdieu’s concept of méconnaissance, usually translated as “misrecognition,” might be another useful concept for understanding how domestic decoration could be viewed in terms of economic and symbolic capital. Méconnaissance may perhaps best be interpreted as a willful refusal to recognize one value in favor of another, rendering one aspect invisible by reconstruing it through other aspects of habitus. In social practice, this could involve ignoring a friend at a party if acknowledgement of that relationship could be potentially embarrassing—the friendship is deliberately disavowed to save face. A more concrete example is gift-giving in which the economic capital of the gift is meant to be “misrecognized” and the symbolic capital emphasized, as it might seem socially objectionable to focus attention on the gift’s price tag. With respect to domestic decoration in the Roman world, we acknowledge how suites of sculpture or mosaic could be impressive to viewers and could make it known that a home’s owner was wealthy; as noted above, this is related to the convertible characteristic of some types of capital. Yet with the textual evidence for a widespread anti-luxury mindset, at least among certain groups of elite Romans, one wonders how expensive decoration could be simultaneously a social benefit and something of an undesireable hindrance to achieving or asserting some of the more ancient mores relating to avoidance of luxus. In other words, méconnaissance might explain how costly aspects of decoration, and especially foreign ones, came to be viewed as something of a “necessary evil” for the established elite as well as up-and-comers. The qualities of, say, Hellenizing sculpture in imported stone which alluded to an intellectual refinement could be deliberately misrecognized by a viewer with an anti-luxury bent. The economic capital of the expensive statue is ignored while the symbolic capital is accentuated; this puts both patron and viewer at ease and allows them both to reveal their cultural capital which comprised part of their habitus.

Now my LOST passion is, well, found

In which my knowledge of archaeology, ancient culture, religion, etc. is used for television geekery and not academic geekery.

Looking at the Visual Clues: Q&A with Dr. Francesca Tronchin on the Archaeology of Lost

Sadly, I didn’t really put that much effort into my “interview” with friend Pauline. I think there is lots of material in LOST which could be analyzed in terms of classical mythology & literary tropes. And then there is all that Egyptian material to go hog wild with!

Had I known my responses would be published verbatim, I might have tried to sound more erudite! Well, this probably is a good lesson in not taking myself too seriously.

The latest LOST thing which caught my attention is the lighthouse/panopticon. The fact that the original panopticon was invented by Jeremy Bentham–Locke’s Los Angeles alias after leaving the Island–has compelling ramifications for Locke’s role on the Island itself.

What I’m working on (part)

This, from Alessandro Barchiesi’s 2001 essay “Occhi Eruditi,” has inspired in part a section of my book in which I’m thinking about how collecting/decorating can be status symbols:

Gli studi recenti sul collezionismo mostrano di voler distinguere con chiarezza fra il ruolo dell’imperatore e quello dei collezionisti privati: si può dire che l’imperatore si costituisce come modello trascendente, è una sorta di Primo e Unico collezionista di statue e pitture, e che il collezionismo privato oscilla tra imitazione e prudente presa di distanza; è influenzato da gusti e scelte ufficiali, ma si costituisce anche come alternativa privata.

What’s on my desk?

Books I currently have close at hand:
Bourdieu, Pierre. 1984. Distinction: a social critique of the judgement of taste. Cambridge.

Chevallier, Raymond. 1991. L’artiste, le collectioneur, et la faussaire: pour une sociologie de l’art romain. Paris: Armand Colin.

Habinek, Thomas. 1998. The politics of Latin literature: Writing, identity, and empire in ancient Rome. Princeton.

Leach, Eleanor Winsor. 2004. The Social Life of Painting in Ancient Rome and on the Bay of Naples. Cambridge.

And I’m just about to read E. Mayer’s review of Stewart 2008.