Tenacious Tendrils: Replicating Nature in South Italian Vase Painting

Abstract

Elaborate floral tendrils are one of the most distinctive iconographic features of South Italian vase painting, the red-figure wares produced by Greek settlers in Magna Graecia and Sicily between ca. 440–300 B.C. They were a particular specialty of Apulian artisans and were later adopted by painters living in Paestum and Etruria. This lush vegetation is a stark contrast to the relatively meager interest of Archaic and Classical Athenian vase painters in mimetically depicting elements of the natural world. First appearing in the work of the Iliupersis Painter around 370 B.C., similar flowering vines appear in other contemporary media ranging from gold jewelry to pebble mosaics, perhaps influenced by the career of Pausias of Sicyon, who is credited in ancient sources with developing the art of flower painting. Through analysis of the types of flora depicted and the figures that inhabit these lush vegetal designs, this paper explores the blossoming tendrils on South Italian vases as an evocation of nature’s regenerative powers in the eschatological beliefs of peoples, Greek and Italic alike, occupying southern Italy.

1. Introduction

Flora first appeared on painted Greek ceramics during the Bronze Age, when it served as the vase’s primary decoration, exemplified by Kamares Ware and Late Minoan Floral Style vase painting. An interest in vegetal-inspired themes arose again during the 7th century B.C., inspired by contacts with the visual culture of the Near East and Egypt, but its function had shifted to a secondary role, often serving as fill or ornament around figures that became the primary decorative focus (e.g., rosettes; Cook 1997, pp. 42–43; Boardman 2001, p. 32). This trend continued into the black-figure and red-figure vase painting of the Archaic and Classical periods when stylized floral ornaments, such as palmettes, palmette-lotus chains, ivy, laurel leaves with berries, and lotus buds, could frame a figural panel as well as decorate subsidiary areas of the vase, such as on the neck or under the handles.1 Occasionally Greek vase painters of the 6th and 5th centuries B.C. included vegetation in their figural scenes, such as trees and bushes, to indicate a natural landscape, but despite their interest in rendering details of human anatomy, there was little interest in similar exactitude when depicting the natural world.2

Stylistically quite different from the plant-based motifs used by the vase-painters of the Aegean and Greek mainland are the elaborate blossoming tendrils often emerging from an acanthus calyx that were a specialty of artisans in the region of Apulia (corresponding to the “heel” of the Italian peninsula) (Figure 1). Such floral designs occur on over 1000 pieces in the catalogs of Apulian vases assembled by Arthur Dale Trendall and Alexander Cambitoglou.3 This motif is part of a larger phenomenon found in the red-figure pottery workshops of the Greek settlements of Magna Graecia and Sicily, which were repeatedly inspired by their ecological surroundings, from the speckled and sinuous rocks on Campanian vases that appear to represent forms of igneous breccia and cooled lava flows, respectively4, both geological features of the region’s volcanically active landscape (Trendall 1967, p. 227), to the wide range of recognizable species of sea life found on the fish plates made in Apulia, Campania, and Paestum (McPhee and Trendall 1987, 1990; Kunisch 1989; Donati and Pasini 1997). The lush flora on Apulian vase is remarkable not only for its detail, but because it is populated with a variety of figures, unlike other vegetal decoration and ornament in earlier Greek vase-painting. Close study of the motif’s use, including the personages that inhabit these tendrils and the other imagery paired with them, reveals that this lush flora was intended as an evocation of nature’s regenerative powers and the eschatological beliefs of peoples, Greek and Italic alike, occupying Magna Graecia.

2. A Phenomenon Blossoms

Floral tendrils first appear as secondary decoration on the necks of volute-kraters attributed to the Iliupersis Painter, dated to ca. 370–360 B.C.5 It is on this shape that the motif was most frequently painted6 (Figure 2). Within a generation, flowering vines occur on the necks, shoulders, and a narrow band around the belly of other large shapes—amphorae7, loutrophoroi8, and hydriai9 (Figure 3 and Figure 4). The motif became a primary decorative element around 360–350 B.C., concentrated at first in the work of the Salting Painter, the Painter of the Dublin Situla, and their associates. Perhaps a forerunner is the Salting Painter’s pelike in London, which features an embracing couple, likely Dionysos and Ariadne, on a couch, below which are sumptuous floral tendrils rising from an acanthus calyx and spreading out laterally to either side.10 Soon after, the floral décor took over nearly the entire surface of the vase, becoming a setting for the primary figural decoration on small-scale shapes including pelikai (jars)11 and situlae (wine buckets)12 (Figure 5). On certain small shapes, particularly alabastra13, squat lekythoi14, and bottles15, the floral décor may well have referred to the scent of the perfumed oil possibly contained in them.16 No clear differentiation between the types of flowers painted on large and small vases is apparent.

The use of flowering tendrils continued to follow these two patterns—as secondary decoration on monumental shapes and as part of the primary decoration on small vases—until the early third century B.C., when Apulian red-figure vase production ceased. The motif spread elsewhere within Italy, but it never enjoyed the same popularity as it did in the region of Apulia. It occasionally occurs in the vase-painting of Campania17, from where the Etruscans, who colonized the region alongside the Greeks, likely borrowed the motif for their own painted wares18 (Figure 6). The Apulian penchant for floral vines also revealed the origins of the Aphrodite Painter, whose name vase, uncovered in a Paestan tomb in 1967, features the goddess in a translucent garment holding a tympanon and standing on a thistle flower in the presence of two Erotes.19 It is believed that he emigrated to Paestum from Apulia between 340 and 330 B.C., and he must have quickly realized that his skill in detailed florals was not appealing to Paestan clientele, as this is his only surviving piece to feature them.

Floral motifs strikingly similar to those on Apulian vases occur in other contemporary media, including southern Italian molded terracottas20, gold jewelry produced in Taranto (the single Greek settlement in Apulia)21, and pebble mosaic floors found in a variety of locations including Pella, Durrës (ancient Epidammus), Vergina, and Sicyon (Robertson 1965, pp. 72–79; Petsas 1965; Robertson 1967; and Salzmann 1982, pp. 14–19. 28. 51–52. 90. 105–8. 112–5)22 (Figure 7, Figure 8 and Figure 9). Roberston and García argued that these complicated patterns of flowering vines were derived from the flower paintings of Pausias of Sicyon, who was inspired by the garlands woven by his love Glycera (Pliny, NH 21, 4, 35, and 125; Robertson 1965, pp. 82–83; Robertson 1975, pp. 485–86; García 2015, pp. 23–25 and 57–67). Pausias’ flourit appears to have been around 370–360 B.C. (Harari 1995, p. 205; García 2015, pp. 3–11), nearly simultaneous with the earliest appearance of floral tendrils on Apulian vases, suggesting that the motif either developed simultaneously and independently in various areas of the Greek world or artisans in Taranto may have been the original source.23 To my knowledge, no examples of the motif definitively predate those occurring on South Italian vases. A further source of inspiration for the rising interest in the vegetal realm during the first half of the 4th century B.C. might be the botanical scholarship of Theophrastus of Eresus (ca. 372/1–287/6 B.C.), author of Enquiry into Plants and Causes of Plant Phenomena, who succeeded his teacher Aristotle as the head of the Lyceum in Athens.24

3. The Garden’s Inhabitants

Most of the flowering tendrils on Apulian vases are occupied by various figures that overwhelmingly adhere to particular types. The first group consists of mythological entities that repeatedly appear on grave monuments throughout the Greek world as early as the Archaic period, including Amazons25, sphinxes26, and sirens27 (Figure 3). The presence of characters connected with the sepulchral realm is not surprising as nearly all South Italian vases are uncovered in mortuary contexts. Many Apulian volute-kraters, amphorae, and loutrophoroi were clearly intended to function solely as grave goods due to their perforated bases, preventing them from serving as a container for the living.28 Dionysian subjects, including the god himself29, his consort Ariadne30, and his followers (satyrs31 and nymphs/maenads32, also occur in floral surrounds. Dionysos was a vegetation deity closely linked with victory over death, exemplified by the retrieval of his mortal mother, Semele, from Hades33, and his own physical resurrection according to the mystery aspects of his cult.34

Winged or flying creatures, reminiscent of the many species of insects and birds that hover over blossoms in nature, are also common in the presence of flowering tendrils. Sometimes they may be part of a narrative, including Bellerophon’s triumph over the Chimaera35 and divine abductions that resulted in immortality for the god’s beloved, such as Boreas and Oreithyia36 or Zeus and Ganymede37 (Figure 1). The ability to fly suggests a liminal status, the capacity to exist between earth and sky, and thus might have been seen as appropriate for objects intended to accompany the dead in the journey between mortal life and the hereafter. Indeed, Thanatos, the personification of death (Vermeule 1979, pp. 148–52; Bazant 1994), and the eidolon (the soul of the deceased separated from the body)38 are depicted as winged (Siebert 1981; Peifer 1989; De Velasco 1995, pp. 73–91; Vollkommer 1997; Bardel 2000; Oakley 2004, pp. 211–13). The soul is even occasionally shown as a bird, such as the soul-bird hovering over the dying Prokris on a column-krater by the Hephaistos Painter in London39, and the frequent presence of birds on Attic grave stelai, often shown as pets in their owners’ hands, may allegorically reference the departure of the soul from the corpse (Woysch-Méautis 1982, pp. 39–53 and 110–24; Clairmont 1993, pp. 81–84; Oakley 2003, pp. 180–81).40 The birds occupying the blossoming vines on Apulian vases might be interpreted similarly.41 Given the vases’ funerary context, other flying figures in floral surrounds could reference the overcoming of death, such as the appearance of Helios in his chariot on the necks of three volute-kraters, who could perhaps serve as a symbol of daily regeneration and hoped-for continuation of the deceased in the afterlife42 (Figure 10). Similarly, Nike’s repeated presence in lush flora on Apulian vases of varying shapes might visually embody victory over the grave through nature’s regenerative powers wielded by the divine43 (Figure 5).

Eros is the most frequent full-length figure enclosed in blossoming tendrils and seated on flowers, occurring on nearly 80 examples, sometimes in the presence of his mother, Aphrodite (Figure 10). Likewise, women appearing alone in floral settings might also be interpreted as the goddess.44 Eros’ presence may refer to Aphrodite’s repeated associations with flowers, such as her tears over Adonis’ death as the origin of anemones (Giesecke 2014, p. 53), and her art of using of floral scents to enhance physical comeliness.45 Another possibility is that when selecting to include the god’s image on these funerary objects, Apulian vase-painters and their Greek and Italic clientele considered Eros’ role as a primordial creative force, documented first in Hesiod’s Theogony (116–22) and especially emphasized in the Orphic cosmogony (Guthrie 1935, pp. 83–84. 95–97; Kerényi 1950 pp. 72–75; West 1983, p. 70; Edmonds 2013, pp. 163–65).46 Perhaps it was thought that Eros’ powers could be called upon to ensure the continuation of life after death. Plato describes Eros’ conception as taking place in the garden of Zeus during the banquet celebrating the birth of Aphrodite47, and mythical seductions repeatedly happen in fertile flowery meadows or gardens, including the hieros gamos of Hera and Zeus48 and the abductions of Persephone49 and Europa50. Eros’ regular ties to the vegetal realm in literature as well as visual culture, as Cabrera has pointed out, suggest that flora was considered both by-product of the god’s procreative powers and the ideal setting for reproduction to occur (Cabrera 2005, pp. 153–55).

However, most occupants of the extravagant Apulian floral tendrils are isolated heads rather than full-length figures, typically truncated at the base of the neck and rising from flowers or acanthus leaves.51 The most frequent variations, appearing on over 700 vases, are those of women (Figure 2 and Figure 4). Occasionally they are flanked by Erotes, perhaps identifying the head as that of Aphrodite, but such easy recognition is relatively rare.52 Generally, the female heads are indistinguishable from their mortal and divine full-length counterparts on South Italian vases, and even when they are given possible indications of immortal status, such as polos-crowns53 or a nimbus54, they are still too indeterminate to afford more specific conclusions (Figure 11).

Heads of youths or bearded men are likewise challenging for the same reasons as are heads of indeterminate gender, like the winged heads that resemble Nike as much they do Eros, a popular figure in Apulian vase-painting often shown in highly effeminate guise55 (Figure 12). Another head type of unclear sex is one that wears a Phrygian cap, which has been interpreted as an Amazon, Artemis Bendis, an Arimasp, Paris, and even Orpheus56, the latter perhaps even a reference to Orphism, which, with its promises of a blissful hereafter for its adherents, seems to have found particularly fertile ground in southern Italy and Sicily.57 (Figure 13) With the exception of the few heads of satyrs or Pan in floral settings58, the vague identity of the heads seems to have been wholly intentional.

In only one instance is such a head inscribed, labeled as Aura (“Breeze”) on the neck of a volute-krater now in the British Museum.59 Either the meaning of the heads was so recognizable to the ancient viewer that further iconographic or written identifiers were deemed unnecessary or the ambiguity was desirable, perhaps to allow for greater flexibility in interpretation and function dependent upon the user’s ethnic and religious background in the cultural melting pot of pre-Roman Italy and Sicily.60 Nevertheless, the image of a head springing forth from vegetation and surrounded by it does visually imply that the iconographic combination has to do with concepts of the cyclical continuation of life, a crucial component of nature and eschatological beliefs. This interpretation is greatly strengthened by examining the types of scenes painted in conjunction with floral tendrils on Apulian vases.

Flowering vines and their inhabitants often occur as secondary decoration on large-scale vases whose primary décor consists of illustrations of mythological stories involving the demise of one or more individuals, such as the beheading of Thersites at the hand of Achilles for his disparaging comments regarding Penthesilea on the body of a volute-krater in Boston61 (Figure 10), the death of Hippolytos by the Darius Painter on a volute-krater in London62 (Figure 13), or the gradually petrifying Niobe weeping at the tomb of her lost children on a loutrophoros in Malibu.63 (Figure 14).

The rescue of figures from certain death, either through heroic intervention or the granting of immortality (sometimes via forcible abduction by a deity), are also paired with floral tendrils. For example, a female head in a floral surround appears above Perseus saving Andromeda on a loutrophoros by the Darius Painter in Naples64 and above Aphrodite and Persephone pleading for Adonis’ life in the upper register of another loutrophoros by the same hand in New York65 (Figure 15). The lush flora also appears in conjunction with representations of the Underworld and its inhabitants, exemplified by the Underworld Painter’s name-vase in Munich depicting Orpheus before the palace of Hades and Persephone, perhaps with a family of Dionysian or Orphic initiates beside him, in the presence of Sisyphos, Tantalos, and Herakles taking Kerberos, among other denizens of the afterlife66 (Figure 16).

Even more frequent is the pairing of floral tendrils with scenes of figures bearing offerings around funerary monuments, either in the form of a naiskos, a small temple-like shrine, or, less often, a rectangular stele, seen on hundreds of Apulian vases67 (Figure 10). Often the placement of the vegetal décor on the neck and shoulders of vases makes it appear as though it springs forth from the top of the grave marker itself, a visual expression of life coming forth from death. On Apulian and Campanian vases, grave markers occasionally take the form of a statue of the deceased standing on a rectangular base framed by spiraling vines68 (Figure 17).

Similar florals and tendrils occur in, on69, and beside70 funerary naiskoi; naiskoi containing plant-motifs occur on at least 53 Apulian vases and first appear in the work of the Lycurgus Painter during the mid-4th century B.C. (Lohmann 1979, pp. 115, 127–30; Schauenburg 1957, pp. 198–202; Jucker 1961, p. 214)71 (Figure 18). Starting in the late 4th century B.C., naiskoi made of local limestone were built in the cemeteries of Taranto (Klumbach 1937; Bernabò Brea 1952; Carter 1970; Carter 1973; Carter 1976), and at least several had floral decoration that strongly resembles their earlier painted ceramic counterparts.72 (Figure 19) A floral scroll frieze with a female head in the center, nearly identical to those seen in bands on the bellies of Apulian amphorae and loutrophoroi, was carved in relief in the entry passage to a 4th century B.C. chamber tomb uncovered in the Palazzo Palmieri garden in Lecce (Bendinelli 1915, pp. 10–11, 18–19, 23–24).

Youths and women flanking these tomb monuments frequently bring branches and flowers73 (e.g., the youth on the lower right on the reverse of Figure 10), a practice that corresponds well with literary references to vegetation being laid in graves (Sophocles, Elektra 896; Euripides, Trojan Women 1144 and 1247).74 Cabrera (2005, pp. 160–62) has interpreted the offering of such flowers as a sign of initiation needed by the deceased to enter into a paradisiacal afterlife blessed by Dionysos and Eros, as well as a symbol of the promised immortal transformation of the believers through death.75 Painted floral garlands and suspended wreaths decorate the walls of southern Italian tombs, especially at Paestum (Pontrandolfo and Rouveret 1992, pp. 33–36 and Andreae 2007, pp. 46–47)76 (Figure 20), and particularly distinctive are the flowering plants, including lilies and rock-roses in a barrel-vaulted tomb in Taranto, which are reminiscent of the blossom types on Apulian vases (Pontrandolfo 1990, p. 379; Pontrandolfo 1996, p. 470; Lippolis 1994, p. 135).77 At times, the deceased were buried wearing elaborate wreaths and floral diadems strongly resembling the draftsmanship of Apulian vase-painters, such as that found in the tomb of the Daunian aristocratic woman Opaka Sabaleida, dated to the late 3rd century B.C. (De Juliis 1984, pp. 122–24)78 (Figure 21). Indeed, descriptions of the underworld itself often include flowers. In the Odyssey, the dead in Hades are said to occupy fields of asphodel, a plant belonging to the lily family (11.539; 11.573; 24.13).79 Pindar describes the islands of the blessed, the afterlife awaiting the virtuous, as a place where “flowers of gold are ablaze, some from radiant trees on land, while the water nurtures others; and these they weave garlands for their hands and crowns for their heads” (Olympian 2, 73–75). Even in a comedic rendition of Hades, Aristophanes notes Persephone’s blossoming grove and flowery meadows full of roses (Frogs 441 and 449).

4. Horticulture for the Hereafter?

The connection between the funerary realm and flowers and spiraling tendrils for the occupants of ancient Apulia is demonstrated by the vegetation’s appearance in a wide variety of media in mortuary contexts. The effort expended by the region’s vase-painters in creating such complicated floral motifs would suggest that the species they selected to represent was far from accidental, possibly serving as a pictorial language of flowers alluding to the sepulchral function of their products and expressing the hopes of the deceased and their survivors for a continuation of life beyond the grave. Certain native Mediterranean florae are readily identifiable on vases, such as thistles80 and oak acorns81 (Figure 5 and Figure 19). While these plants are noted in ancient texts as potential sources of food, albeit for the impoverished (Alcock 2006, pp. 47–48, 55–56), and for their medicinal qualities, such as the healing of wounds and stimulation of milk production, neither has a clear symbolic or mythological association with funerary practices or eschatological beliefs.82 Other flower types painted on Apulian vases might have been inspired by plants with multiple health benefits known since antiquity, such as the “tiered” flowers that resemble the chandelier-like sage blossoms, such as Salvia argentea (Pignatti 2011, vol. 2, pp. 502–7; D’Andrea 1982, p. 82; and Baumann 1993, pp. 123–24)83 (Figure 22). However, in most instances, the stylized manner in which the flora on Apulian vases is drawn or the combination of features characteristic of multiple floral genera makes it challenging to identify particular species. For example, the flowers with a high sepal and between six and twelve petals with rounded or rectangular tips often highlighted in added white, could have been inspired by features of a variety of southern Italian wildflowers such as a member of the Silene genus (Baumann 1993, pp. 126–27)84 or the white-tipped petals of the Chrysanthemum coronarium (Pignatti 2011, vol. 3, p. 87) (Figure 23). Some vegetation, such as when different types of flowers spring forth from each other (for example, in Figure 11), may be flights of the painter’s fancy, fantastical creations perhaps thought appropriate for a divine or otherworldly garden setting.

One exception is the acanthus, from which floral tendrils regularly emerge85 (e.g., Figure 2 and Figure 5). This plant has a long tradition in funerary art, seen on Attic marble anthemia stele starting in the third quarter of the 5th century B.C. (Kurtz and Boardman 1971, p. 124)86, as well as on funerary monuments painted on Classical Attic white-ground lekythoi87 (Figure 24). According to Vitruvius’ anecdotal story, an acanthus plant growing above the grave of a girl who died before marriage was the source of Callimachus’ inspiration for designing the Corinthian column (De Architectura 4.9–10; Jashemski and Meyer 2002, pp. 85–86). There is good reason to believe that other flowers on Apulian vases referenced plants whose behaviors and properties make them well-suited for mortuary imagery. Trendall and Cambitoglou typically identified the flaring, trumpet-shaped flowers on which heads often emerge or full-length figures either stand or sit upon as a type of convolvulus (Trendall and Cambitoglou 1978, p. 190; Trendall and Cambitoglou 1982, pp. 436. 722. 724. 858)88, although they might also be another type of bindweed, such as the Calystegia sylvatica or Calystegia sepium89, both prolific in southern Italy (Pignatti 2011, vol. 2, pp. 385–86) (Figure 25). Both are fast-growing climbers native to southern Europe with flowers that open to full bloom in the early morning with the dawn and close at dusk before falling off the vine to allow the seedpod to grow. This action could have been appealing as a metaphor for a cycle of life and death, following the sun’s daily path across the sky.90

Trendall recognized the many smaller flowers as either dianthus or rock-roses (Trendall and Cambitoglou 1978, p. 190; Trendall and Cambitoglou 1982, pp. 436 and 858) (Figure 26). The former grows abundantly in Apulia91, and certain species had sacral connotations in the Greek world (Baumann 1993, pp. 81, 84; Jashemski and Meyer 2002, p. 108; and Pignatti 2011, vol. 1, pp. 265–73). Rock-roses are also indigenous to the region, such as Cistus creticus and Cistus salviifolius (Pignatti 2011, vol. 2, pp. 120–23), and they are remarkable for their fast renewal after wildfires, often becoming the first plant to germinate after a conflagration, the heat of which softens or cracks the seeds’ hard coating (Thanos et al. 1992; Ferrandis et al. 1999). This unique trait similarly has potential symbolic meaning as decoration on a funerary object since it is plant that quickly remerges from soil that otherwise is empty or “dead.” Nevertheless, either identification is problematic as both of these flower species have five petals, and the edges of dianthus petals are ragged, whereas the flowers so frequently painted on Apulian vases have four, round-edged petals. A more plausible interpretation is that they are poppies, several species of which, including the sleep-inducing (and potentially fatal) opium poppy (Papaver somniferum), are native to the central Mediterranean region (Pignatti 2011, vol. 1, pp. 354–35) (Figure 27). The narcotic effects of the plant’s latex may well have been viewed as a suitable allegory for death as a blissful, painless sleep, and thus appropriate subject matter for a funerary vase.92

5. Conclusions

Whether intended to evoke the characteristics of specific plant species relevant to the sepulchral sphere in the minds of the ancient viewer or not, it is difficult to deny the visceral abundance of life suggested by the flowering tendrils in Apulian vase-painting reminiscent of literary descriptions of divine and paradisiacal gardens. The full-figures that occupy these intricate floral surrounds repeatedly have clear mythological and iconographic ties with mortuary iconography, such as sphinxes, sirens, Amazons, and Nike, or refer to narratives of mortals gaining eternal life including Dionysos, Oreithyia, and Ganymede. Eros and Aphrodite—the most frequent individuals surrounded by lush flora on Apulian vases—also have a potent chthonic guise in Magna Graecia and Sicily, closely linked with the cult of Persephone (Prückner 1968; Zuntz 1971, pp. 156–57; Torelli 1977, pp. 175–78; Kilmer 1977, pp. 197, 262–63; Sourvinou-Inwood 1978; Costabile 1991, pp. 127–50; Schmitt 2016, pp. 71–92, 345).93 Even the heads, as incomplete figures emerging from the vegetation, effectively embody the very essence of hope for life after death itself—a desired, yet unfulfilled outcome that mirrors the regenerative cycle of nature (Heuer 2018, pp. 302–4). This interpretation is further strengthened by the consistency of the types scenes paired with the floral décor when it is utilized as a secondary decorative motif, either mythological narratives involving the concept of death, including triumph over it through immortality (such as scenes depicting Dionysos), or mourners gathered around tomb monuments. Indeed, the Greek and Italic populations of Apulia might well have agreed that death itself was no match for the tenacious tendrils that bloomed eternally on their funerary vases.