Concepts of Space in Aegean Bronze Age Art and Architecture

This paper focuses on the close relationship between the two, in an effort to simulate the feeling and the perspective of the Aegean Bronze Age built environment.

In the neopalatial period, architectural space becomes highly articulated and the aesthetic aspect is a potent feature determining form and even structure. An ambience almost peculiar to the Minoan feeling of space is the blending of indoor and outdoor forms into one integral entity. Wall paintings are conceived in close relation to this bold style of architecture, and the built environment is the outcome of a sophisticated design process, meeting the functional and aesthetic demands of an equally sophisticated lifestyle.

Predominant elements of space articulation are: (a) mass and void, (b) continuity and horizontality. The resulting effects are: (a) panels and frames, (b) grids and boxes, (c) illusion, (d) projection. Finally, colour and light are important agents in conceiving space and surface articulation.

In an architecture with high standards of design, like the Minoan, the pictorial programme assigned to each building could have been known in advance, and we may well imagine the artist working together with the architect in conceiving space long before the walls were there for him to paint.

The rich literature on the wall paintings tells us much about their impact on Aegean Bronze Age scholars. The main interest, however, lies in archaeology and art, whereas the third component, that is architecture, is less well served. The main reason for this is the poor state of preservation both of the wall paintings and the architectural space they adorned. Yet, the finds at Akrotiri offer an invaluable aid in understanding the fragmentary evidence of other Aegean sites: entire rooms have been preserved, some with their wall paintings still in situ on the walls, and there are even instances where the restored wall paintings give an accurate record of missing parts of a building.

Mural treatment, of which wall painting is only one means, is an integral part of architecture. It is enhanced, and at the same time restricted, by architectural space, and it is experienced not in its own right (regardless of the context), but as part of the experience of being within a building. This paper focuses on the close relationship between the two, in an effort to simulate the feeling and perspective of the Aegean Bronze Age built environment.

THE BEGINNINGS

Since mural treatment presupposes walls, their construction is in itself important. Aegean walls are made of stone or mudbricks and are often reinforced with timber. Some early stone walls have their exterior face covered with upright slabs forming low dados (Shaw 1973, 78; Caskey 1971, 378; see also the site of Markiani on Amorgos). This is a simple and sensible way to protect the base of the wall - and hence the whole structure - from erosion. It is also, however, a prominent morphological feature: the thin vertical slabs are unmistakably a veneer - they carry no load - and therefore appear as a surface treatment, bordering the edifice and creating a distinct zone between the volume of the building and the horizontal level of the surrounding ground, between the man-made environment and the natural. These dados may well be considered an early form of 'mural treatment', and the ancestors of what was to become a popular decorative theme in later times.

Stone walls may remain exposed to weather conditions, but mudbricks need to be plastered over for protection. Clay plasters therefore appear along with mud structures as early as the Neolithic period, but are also common on early stone walls as a veneer on their interior surface for sanitation and protection (Shaw 1971, ch. iv, 207-224). A plastered surface, however, also provides a neutral background which is much more relaxing on the eye than all the irregularities of the stonework, and is therefore appropriate for living areas.

Many natural clays have a red-brown colour, and the plasters they produce are dark. This is a disadvantage in some ways, for they do not reflect light, thus producing poorly illuminated rooms, and do not lend themselves to surface treatment such as painting. It is no surprise therefore that one of the first means of mural decoration was to bring out and emphasise the basic colour of these clay plasters: namely red. Red was perhaps the only pigment that could be applied as a 'colour' on these clay plasters.⁽¹⁾

Red plasters were quite common throughout the early phases of the Bronze Age, and their popularity is indicative of a growing desire to enhance the man-made environment and mark out certain spaces by altering the natural appearance of the building materials. The power of red as a colour (blood, and consequently life, is red) and its long tradition in architecture may explain the reason why in later periods red plasters are associated with rooms that tend to have some special significance related to rituals.⁽²⁾

Lime plaster was gradually introduced as a wall finish for interior spaces, becoming purer and whiter through the years. A good quality of lime plaster is characteristic of Minoan architecture and the white, hard surface it produces is a perfect background, reflecting adequate light and providing a clean and calm space to live in. White, however, is also a challenge to the eye. Forms moving around the room are projected on the white surface, attaining a sharper outline and allowing their own colours to show. And every contact with this surface leaves visible marks, from the incidental touch of a hand and scratch of a finger nail to all the pigments that nature can provide.

Colour was soon applied on the white surfaces, as sponge-like designs and splashes in the beginning (imitating the incidental?), and coloured bands later on (Immerwahr 1990, 21-23; Doumas 1992, 30). Incisions were another way of shaping the surface, and they too appear from early times. These are commonly applied in long straight lines, horizontal and vertical, that correspond to, or simulate, structural elements such as panels, jambs and lintels (see below).

THE 'GOLDEN ERA'

By the neopalatial period, the idea of adorning a wall in a colourful manner has evolved rapidly into a fully developed art of wall painting. This new and bold art appears simultaneously alongside an equally new and bold style of architecture, radiating from the palaces and affecting a large number of non-palatial structures as well.⁽³⁾ The art of wall painting and the newly developed style of architecture - both characteristic of the zenith of Minoan civilisation - are intricately bonded and interrelated.

In the neopalatial period, architectural space becomes highly articulated and the aesthetic aspect is no longer latent; it is a potent feature determining form and even structure, from the choice of the building materials to the manner in which they are combined. Wall paintings and other forms of space adornment are conceived in close relation to architecture, and the built environment is the outcome of a sophisticated design process meeting the functional and aesthetic demands of an equally sophisticated lifestyle.

CONCEPTS OF SPACE

The buildings of the 'golden era' (Driessen and MacGillivray 1989) are characterised by a highly developed architectural design. At Akrotiri, where two and sometimes three storeys still stand in place, one can observe a bold differentiation of space articulation from one storey to the other, with the obvious aim of creating larger rooms and more open forms on the upper storeys where the living quarters are situated. The basic means for achieving this are: a) diminishing the thickness of the walls, and b) replacing ground floor massive elements with columns, thin mudbrick walls and pier-and-opening partitions (Fig. 1). From the structural point of view, wood takes over from stone (Palyvou 1990).

Pier-and-opening partitions constitute the most ingenious novelty of Aegean Bronze Age architecture, for they offer an exquisite flexibility of space arrangement and movement. The intricate three-dimensional circulatory pattern resulting from the combinations of 'polythyra', corridors and staircases is neither arbitrary nor chaotic; it was wisely designed to perform in a multi-functional manner, not unlike the screen walls of Japanese architecture. It is a circulatory pattern that offers multiplicity of choice and not complexity (Palyvou 1987).

MASS VERSUS VOID

There are two different and virtually antithetical concepts of space, equally reflected in wall treatment, depending on the proportionality of mass versus void (Fig. 2):

       a) Mass exceeds void: volumes and membranes (Fig. 3).

The prevailing aspect is mass, resulting in extensive wall surfaces interrupted by minor voids - small windows, cupboards, a single door. Space is enclosed, wrapped up in a uniform membrane. The structural aspect is decreased and the walls act as a continuous barrier surrounding the spectator. Compactness and continuity are transmitted to mural treatment and further enhanced by creating 'panorama' effects: corners and minor voids are completely ignored and a global effect is achieved (Palyvou 1982, 27; Doumas 1992, 20; Televantou 1994,375).

Such a treatment may be applied to all four sides of a room, or only to adjacent sides (two or three) which share this characteristic. And since the subject matter of Aegean wall paintings is often taken from nature, it may result in a symbolic abolition of walls as boundaries and insulation from nature, thus relieving the rather claustrophobic effect of a room with very few openings.

       b) Void exceeds mass: frames and panels (Fig. 4).

The structural aspect of architectural space is predominant. The framework is conspicuous, and voids play the most significant role, often dictating an overall grid system for the articulation of space. Wall masses are not substantial, and look as if they were added only after the wooden framework was put up (which is indeed the case in some instances). This concept of space is characteristic of neopalatial architecture and creates an ambience virtually peculiar to the Minoan feeling of space, where indoor and outdoor blend in one integral entity.

Mural surfaces consist of a number of individual patches, or panels, standing separately and in juxtaposition to one another. The prevailing 'framework' aspect is taken over by the artist: each piece of wall surface is treated as an autonomous part, and structural elements such as sills, lintels and jambs are incorporated as guidelines to create borders and frames for the pictures.

THE UNIFYING ELEMENTS: CONTINUITY AND HORIZONTALITY

The ultimate goal in all concepts of space is unity, and this is achieved by two basic principles that relate the various parts into an overall composition:

     a) Theiconographical correlation of all pictures involved, and

     b) The uniform horizontal zoning of all surfaces.

These are well known features of Aegean Bronze Age art and have been treated extensively in the relevant literature (see e.g. Iliakis 1978; Linardou 1992; Morgan 1983). But let us return to the zoning concept from the architectural point of view.

Horizontal bands of colourful stripes are very common in Aegean mural treatment and have a long tradition, though they are often only briefly treated in publications. Such bands constitute borders of monochrome surfaces, relating adjacent walls in a simple, straightforward manner. Horizontality prevails, and space is sliced up in superimposed zones. Most of them are found in fragments and their exact position on the wall is unknown, but those preserved in situ show that the lines were in relation to architectural features within the room.

Zoning became a fundamental principle of design in figurative art, as a tripartite arrangement corresponding directly to the three basic elements of space:

     Zone A - the floor: the base, 'the earth'.

     Zone B - the walls: the boundaries of the human body, adhering to its scale and verticality and defining the area of action. The openings act as breaks within the barriers and conduits of communication (for air, view, sound, bodily contact, etc.).

     Zone C - the roof: the upper limit, the shelter, 'the sky'.

The interrelation between art and architecture is straightforward in this case:

       Zone A. The lower zone of a wall painting represents the base, either artificial (a floor) or natural (a rock). It can be reduced to only a few centimetres or extended to a broad band. In the first case, the illusory base of the picture is almost identical with the real one (that is, the floor of the room), whereas in the latter it is completely detached; and, accordingly, the subject of the central zone is either brought close to the spectator or removed from him, dictating to a large extent his involvement with the happenings depicted on the walls.⁽⁴⁾

The plain insignificant lower part acts also as a protective zone that may be obscured by furniture - bed, table, stool - or damaged by wear, as for example with the relief wall painting of Xeste 3 which has a broad lower zone of quite worn plain red colour.

       Zone B. The middle zone is where action takes place, and this action is either 'seen through' the wall or 'projected' on its surface; in other words, it takes place either outside the room or within. When the ground level is raised the main theme is raised too. Yet, it is interesting to observe that the iconographic horizon adheres to the actual horizon of a man standing in the room (that is, 1.50-1.60 m. above floor level) (Fig. 5). This is a decision that the artist made consciously, so that the viewer can appreciate the picture naturally and with ease (Fig. 6). If the iconographic horizon was higher and the viewer had to raise his head, then his attitude towards the picture would be that of subordination, and if the other way round, then his feelings would be those of superiority. This eye-to-eye contact explains why figures on a raised base are commonly reduced to approximately two-thirds of real size.

The upper limit of this zone is usually at 'lintel level'. This is a practical way of arranging the wall surface according to existing elements, but the lintel also defines the average height of a standing man with raised arms (that is, with some 'air' on top of his head), and therefore the effective height of a picture that can be read with ease. In auxiliary spaces this is often the height of the ceiling too, but in living areas more 'air' is needed to avoid a claustrophobic effect and the ceiling is higher up, resulting in a substantial zone c.

       Zone C. The upper zone is the area beyond the scene of action. It varies in width and treatment, its most common form being a narrow band above lintel level that defines the upper limit of the wall and the transition to the ceiling. The band is either a set of multicoloured strips, or a painted frieze running all around the room. The continuity of the frieze is ensured by the thematic correlation of its parts (if figurative) or by the decorative motif.

A popular motif is the running spiral, in itself an interminable design. The circle, however, is not compatible with the angles and corners of a room. In the room with the blue monkeys at Akrotiri, this deficiency is overcome by adding large quantities of plaster at the corner until the angle is transformed into a curve (Fig. 7). This crude solution to the problem shows that the structural aspect of architecture is subordinated to the artistic principle of unity. Other types of decorative motifs may simulate architecture: the ivy leaf, for example, may be a reminder of the top of a wooden pergola supporting such an ivy leaf plant on the roof of a house, not unlike the Archanes model.

Above this band, there is sometimes more wall surface which is usually painted yellow to match the natural colour of the wooden ceiling beams. This yellow area accommodates all the irregularities and undulating lines at the top of the walls and belongs visually to the ceiling, allowing 'the wall' to end in a uniformly straight line at the top of the frieze. Such yellow bands are common in rooms that have the ceiling beams exposed (hence the undulating upper limit of the wall), whereas in rooms that have plastered ceilings held on reeds attached to the rafters they are not needed.

The urge clearly to mark the transition between two perpendicular surfaces (floor-wall, wall-ceiling) is strong, and is attested even in cases where no wall paintings exist. Where a monochrome lime plaster covers all the surfaces, this distinction is made by means of a simple incised line which is hardly seen from some distance (Xeste 3, Room 7; Xeste 4, Room with central column). Yet the artisan who plastered the surfaces, thickening the plaster at the joints between floor, wall and ceiling into a curved and rather ambiguous mould for extra strength, felt the compulsive need to draw this line as a symbolic marker of the transition from one surface to the other.

To sum up, the zoning concept is the most powerful principle of design in mural treatment. It is in itself a manifestation of continuity and horizontality,⁽⁵⁾ the very same horizontality that prevails in architecture: despite the two and three storeys of the buildings, the basic concept is a structure which adheres well to the ground and stretches out in all directions; the palaces of Crete are literally conceived on this basis. The overall morphology of Aegean architecture declares horizontality through the horizontal timber zones of rubble walls, the ashlar courses and cornices, and the overall design of the buildings. As in art in general, there are hardly any vertical marking elements, unlike those characteristic of Egyptian architecture for example. The Minoan world is a horizontal world, on good terms with the earthly elements, and this is expressed also in social stratification, through the blending of palaces and towns, the rich range of buildings, and the coexistence of terrestrial and supernatural powers.

PANELS AND FRAMES

To use M.A.S. Cameron's description, 'panels' are "artistically divided, and often architecturally separated, compositions" (Cameron 1978, 584). Panels are typical of spaces where void exceeds mass and architectural elements (jambs, sills and lintels) provide the borders. There is a difference, however, between a panel and a frame, and painted frames as such are not common in Aegean art. The Taureador panels from Knossos offer perhaps the closest example of painted frames bordering the pictures (Cameron 1987, 327 fig. 12). But even here continuity and horizontality prevail, for the horizontal bands are continuous, and hence dominant, whereas the vertical partitions are short intermissions marking the rhythm of continuity.

The framing concept is latent, and is achieved basically through the composition of the picture, by the axiality or autonomy of the theme: by the two figures flanking the bull in each panel, and by the two antelopes and the two boxing children facing each other. The fisherman with his hands outstretched also conveys the framing aspect, whereas the other fisherman, with his hands folded on one side, evokes the notion of movement breaking through the borders of the frame. The latter, however, was drawn this way out of necessity, for the wall surface was narrower and could not accommodate two outstretched arms.

GRIDS AND BOXES

Aegean Bronze Age architecture is based on a sophisticated system of design, one of its highest expressions being the gridiron pattern (Palyvou 1990). Organising space along the lines of a grid is an early feature, attested in the First Palace period in the way storerooms are set out and in the regular spacing of timber reinforcement in walls (for example, the Hypostyle Crypt at Mallia). The latter is closely related to the concept of the pier-and-opening partition that became characteristic of neopalatial architecture.

Gridiron patterns are not necessarily strictly applied in terms of dimensions, but they are clearly present as an overall scheme for organising space, especially in rooms including pier-and-opening (door/window/cupboard) partitions. When such rooms are decorated with wall paintings it is interesting to observe how the gridiron concept is transferred to the paintings as well. Room 5 on the upper floor of the West House, Akrotiri, is the best example of the gridiron concept (Figs 4, 8). From the structural point of view, it consists of a timber framework extending to all four sides of the room and kept in place by four stone corner pillars. Each side is divided by intermediate posts into five parts, and each part is further treated as a window, a door or a cupboard, and in two cases they are filled in as walls (the 'fishermen' walls).

Wall paintings cover all available wall surfaces, and the prevailing gridiron pattern is taken over by the artist and further enhanced by continuing the main lines of the grid (jambs, sills, lintels and rafters) with coloured bands and strips. The result is an impressive three-dimensional grid of boxes that cuts through the whole of the room (Fig. 9a). Despite the box effect, however, the overall feeling is one of unity and coherence. This is achieved by the unifying elements discussed above: by the thematic correlation of the miniature frieze and the gridiron pattern itself that integrates all parts, architectural and artistic, into one overall concept of space.

The effect has a timeless quality of discipline and beauty; it could well have sprung out of the workshops of the Bauhaus and the collaboration of geniuses such as Le Corbusier and Mondrian (Fig. 9b).

THE 'ILLUSION': SIMULATING ARCHITECTURAL ELEMENTS

The simulation of architectural elements is among the earliest forms of mural treatment. It aims to imitate materials and techniques in order literally to deceive the viewer as to the quality and texture of the real architecture he is experiencing. The basic motivation is to enhance the appearance of a structure when, for instance, there are inadequate means of actually doing so. All elements are depicted in full scale and in close relation with the architecture of the structure to which they belong. These simulations should be distinguished from architectural elements depicted on a wall painting as part of the setting of a scene. The latter belong to the narrative of the picture, and are not related to the actual architecture of the room. Their scale is commonly reduced to that of the figures included in the picture, as for example the facade of a shrine in the scene of the 'crocus gatherers' in Xeste 3, Akrotiri (Fig. 6b). To this category belongs the architectural wall painting of the House of the Frescoes at Knossos: the three courses of ashlar masonry capped by a wooden beam have dimensions reduced to approximately one-third of real size, and therefore do not function in relation to the real architecture of that room (Evans 1928, 443-444, fig. 260) (Fig. 10).

Architectural simulations include elements of decorative value, such as cornices, dados of variegated stone and friezes. Evans points out that multicoloured bands "suggest copies in the flat of plaster cornices" (Evans 1928, 460, suppl. pI. XX; see also Graham 1972, 201). Painted 'dados', however, are the most common architectural simulations (Fig. 4). They go back to the Old Palace period, an early example coming from the Loomweight Basement at Knossos, while later examples are numerous (Immerwahr 1990, 145-146, 178 (dados); see also Fyfe 1902). The popularity of the theme reflects the popularity of real dados in Aegean architecture (Fig. 6), attested as far back as the sixth millennium BC, as mentioned above. Quite often they are interspaced with vertical yellow bands imitating the wooden beams that accompany real dados as supports and fastenings to the wall. In one case, on the sill of a window of the West House at Akrotiri, variegated stone is simulated as a veneer on a horizontal surface, obviously imitating the kind of sill stones existing in other windows.⁽⁶⁾

Painted friezes depicting rows of spirals, 'triglyphs' and half-rosettes simulate real friezes sculptured in stone or moulded in stucco (Evans 1935, 221-228, 256-258; Immerwahr 1990, 141-145). To these we should add the motif of rows of rectangles in alternating colours, black and white or blue. Examples are seen in the relief wall painting from Thera (Doumas 1992, fig. 136), and in double rows on the Grandstand fresco and the Taureador panels from Knossos (Immerwahr 1990, pls. 22 and 41).⁽⁷⁾ Their architectural prototypes are fragments of mouldings in stucco with triple gradations bearing such painted rectangles (Fyfe 1902, 116-119) (Fig. 11).⁽⁸⁾

An interesting example is the Stepped Pavilion of the Caravanserai at Knossos (Evans 1928, 109-110) (Fig. 12). Here simulation does not refer to independent decorative elements but to the whole of the room, in an effort to enhance its appearance by creating the illusion of a polythyron. The structure is open towards the front yard, and is approached by four steps occupying the whole length of that side of the room and interrupted by a slender column in the middle. The rear wall has a door to the right, whereas the two side walls have no openings. The three walls were painted in a simple manner, with vertical bands simulating wooden pillars on a white background; the base was red, the shaft yellow, and the top blue. Above the blue capital, there was a horizontal yellow band corresponding to the lintel beam, and further up there was a beautiful frieze with partridges running all around the room.

The overall illusion is that of an elegant pavilion open on all sides with pier-and-door partitions arranged on the basis of a grid pattern of three by three, and topped by the typical frieze commonly adorning polythyra. The dimension of the module, i.e. 'the door', was given by the real one at the rear wall, and the length of each wall was such that it could accommodate three doors in total. Though the pillars were not absolutely symmetrical (Evans comments on this deviation), the overall effect is clearly that of a design based on the gridiron pattern. The way the existing door is incorporated in the simulated architectural space is very indicative of the intention and process of design: reality and illusion - architecture and art -work together in shaping space.

Finally, a similar concept lies behind the plain yellow vertical bands incorporated in certain wall paintings. These correspond to existing wooden elements within the room, and function as the painted counterparts of missing door jambs and pilasters. Two examples from Akrotiri, namely from the House of the Ladies and Xeste 3 (Fig. 13), are well attested since the architectural details of the rooms they belong to are well known.

Another way to simulate architectural elements is by incising lines on the surface of a monochrome plaster. An early example is attested in the main room of the Early Helladic 'House of the Tiles' at Lerna, where the incised lines form zones and panels (Caskey and Blackburn 1977, 13). At Mallia, there is an 'ashlar facade' incised on a wall of the palace (Pelon 1980, 112), and in Quartier Mu a peculiar design of rectangles in a row adorns a wall of the polythyron room (Schmid 1985, 63-73).⁽⁹⁾

A further example is found on the first floor of Xeste 4 at Akrotiri (Fig. 14): the room with the central column has its walls, and probably the floor too, covered with lime plaster painted red. Part of the north wall, next to the doorway leading to the auxiliary staircase, shows incised vertical and horizontal lines forming posts and beams (Palyvou 1999). They all correspond to alignments dictated by the structural elements of the existing door (jambs and lintel), and therefore relate to real architectural members as if forming their continuation. These lines are not very prominent, for they are thin and shallow incisions on a dark monochrome surface, yet they seem to be important in conveying space; for instead of a uniform red skin enveloping the room, the walls are now articulated in an architectural manner.

THE 'PROJECTION' TECHNIQUE

It has been suggested that actions and rituals possibly taking place within the room are projected on the walls like a photograph, capturing a momentous event. Nanno Marinatos believes that this was a major function of the wall paintings of Thera, for "by painting these scenes the Akrotirians made the power of the ritual effective for ever" (Marinatos 1984, 49-51).

The processional figures are good examples of the projection technique: either walking along a corridor or climbing up a staircase, they are literally shown in the act of doing so. The base line is minimal, hardly distinguished from the actual floor or the step, and the figures are depicted at full scale. These pictures convey a very strong feeling of involvement: one might almost recognise oneself among the figures in the procession.

Objects are also depicted this way: a typical example is the flowerpot on the jambs of a window in the West House at Akrotiri, simulating a real vase standing on the sill of the window. And to make this even more clear, the picture on the jamb includes painted 'jambs' and a 'sill' of variegated stone inclined in an upright position (Doumas 1992, 49). The overall effect is a kind of 'architecture within architecture'. Another possible example comes from Zakros: on the back wall of a niche over the lustral basin of the Domestic Quarters there is a painting of a pair of horns of consecration. Such an object may well have stood within the niche itself at some point (Platon 1974, 169).

Most interesting is the wall painting of the shields in the Domestic Quarter at Knossos. Evans believed that these large objects were depicted at true scale, and comments at length on their position on the wall crossing over the painted rosette frieze. He was so convinced that this was the way they were actually hung on the wall, that he made models of such shields and hung them "with pegs" on the wall of the Hall of the Double Axes, overlapping the rosette frieze that was found there (Evans 1930, 301-345). There is perhaps a further explanation for this: the frieze corresponds to a wooden beam behind the wall plaster (Fig. 15), and it is much easier to insert a peg in wood than in a stone wall, just as Evans himself did. It is quite possible that these characteristic friezes have a practical function as well, for they indicate the inner structure of the wall and mark the area where wood is inserted in the stone wall - information that may prove useful in many ways.

THE X-RAY TECHNIQUE: BEAM ENDS

This technique implies that the wall surface is treated as transparent, showing its inner structure. There is no clear evidence of such treatment (the friezes with spiral motifs discussed above may indicate wooden beams behind them, but they do not actually depict the beam). It is suggested, however, through architectural representations in art.

A popular element featuring in many house facades drawn in miniature (for example in the Town Mosaic) is the rows of circles interpreted by most scholars as 'beam ends'. There is only one life-size example of such a painting, which comes from Pylos: the beam ends have a diameter of approximately 0.32 m. and are placed on top of a wooden beam (Lang 1969, 131-136).⁽¹⁰⁾ The drawing is very realistic, for the wood has grains and even knots, but its position on the wall is unknown so it cannot be ascertained that it functioned in an X-ray manner.

Akrotiri offers a possible architectural prototype, though unfortunately the colour is very faded and the motif remains somewhat ambiguous: it is a fragment of a stone frieze found in the debris of Xeste 3. Its surface is plastered and painted with what seems to be a row of blue circles. Such a frieze was most certainly placed on the top of a wall, in which case the design was an X-ray of the ceiling beams lying behind the wall (Palyvou 1999).

Judging from the Town Mosaic, the circles correspond either to floor beams or to the transverse beams of the timber reinforcement of the wall, depending on their position on the facade. Their dense arrangement seldom represents reality - especially in the latter case - and the actual beam ends are always halfway into the thickness of the wall. If such paintings did not exist on real facades, then what we see in the miniature depictions is the X-ray technique applied in art.

THE TEMPORALITY OF COLOUR

Nature is colourful, and this is transferred to architecture directly through the use of her resources and indirectly as a source of inspiration. Minoan architecture is particularly colourful; the plentiful and multiform resources of the Aegean islands offer a rich range of colours and textures of stone (and wood presumably), and the Minoans exploited these qualities to the full.

The natural colours of the building materials are often purposefully selected and combined to create orderly effects. This, after all, was a simple way to adorn the built environment, and one that would come to mind almost naturally when dealing with materials as diverse and multicoloured as the Minoans did. Colourful effects created through the combination of different building materials are typical of Aegean architecture. Floors and pavements are the best known, but at Akrotiri one can appreciate the colourful effect on the facades of the buildings as well.

The volcanic rocks of Thera provided - and still provide - architects with stones of exquisitely vivid colours: red, black, grey, brown, white, green and purple. Dressed stones of such colours were used at the corners of the buildings, as cornices at floor levels, and as frames around doors and windows (Fig. 16). In all cases, colours are carefully matched to create intentional effects: corner stones alternate from black to red, frames have different colours for each side, while cornices usually retain one colour throughout.

The ashlar buildings, on the other hand, are either red-brown (ignimbrite) or whitish (tuff). All have interstices stuccoed and painted accordingly: the former in red, and the latter in white. These ashlar stones provided the basic means for mural treatment of exterior facades, for there is hardly any painted lime plaster on exterior walls.⁽¹¹⁾

Walking around an Aegean settlement would have been in itself an experience strongly imbued with colour; a fact suggested, moreover, by the colourful depictions of towns in art. Colours would also swarm out through the large windows of the upper storeys, adding to the overall experience of the townscape.

At Akrotiri virtually all the houses have one, and commonly two, rooms with wall paintings, while some of the remaining rooms are painted white, yellow or red (Fig. 17). Other sites are less well preserved, but there is enough evidence to show that coloured plasters existed at all major sites. Floors and ceilings were colourful too, and sometimes painted; their materials varied from the dark grey or greenish flagstones for the floors, to the warm ochreous yellow of wood for the ceilings. The latter must have been a predominant colour, for wood is abundant in Aegean architecture.

But we must also bear in mind that colour is everywhere, and that it is reflected in architecture in many ways: through the beautiful vases standing on tables, shelves and window sills; the textiles, hides and mats hanging around as rugs, covers and curtains; and even the dresses people wore.

We must further bear in mind the temporality of colour in nature (Santorini in springtime has an incredibly different range of colours from those of summer, which are mostly what we know today) and its analogy in architecture. As in nature, so in architecture, too, colours react to environmental conditions. When stones are wet, for example, their colours become deep and bright, and sometimes they actually acquire colours that were not discernible before. What better example than Akrotiri again: the ruins under the shelter are kept permanently dry, and dust settles on their surface without any hope of being removed either by rain or wind. As a result, the houses look colourless - the uniform yellowish beige of the volcanic dust is the only colour - and it took some years to observe the simple fact that stones piled outside the shelter had bright colours; and, of course, so did the stones on the houses (Fig. 16).

THE TEMPORALITY OF LIGHT

Light is the most important agent in conceiving space and surface articulation, for it accentuates or softens the effects, brings out latent qualities of texture and form and enhances colour.

Aegean architecture of the 'golden era' is an architecture of openness, the prevailing concept of space being that of 'void exceeding mass', as mentioned above. Light wells, porticoes and stoas make up a unique feeling of constant interchange from indoor to outdoor, sheltered to open, mass to void and dark to light.

Light penetrates deep into the fabric of the buildings from a large number and variety of openings. Doors, however, had door-leaves, and the majority of windows - if not all - had composite balustrades and some perhaps had shutters. Light, therefore, was controlled to some extent. But most important, light would filter into the building through a dense web of vertical and horizontal wooden elements - especially through pier-and-window partitions. As a result, it would reach the inner surfaces decomposed into horizontal and vertical strips of light alternating with shadows (Fig. 18). This effect would create impressive wall patterns, and when hitting painted surfaces it would enhance their appearance (or perhaps disturb it) (Morgan 1988, 4; Graham 1972, 240-241).

Dark spaces are in some cases also adorned with wall paintings; their context is the main issue, and just being there fulfils their symbolic function even if they are not easily discernible in the dim light. Most wall paintings, after all, were seldom seen as a whole, the way we see them today in a museum exhibition; usually, there were only partial views in between door jambs and columns, but also among furniture and people moving around.⁽¹²⁾

Light varies constantly according to the hour, the day and the season as well as the orientation of the openings and the surfaces it is reflected upon. And when daylight is gone, oil lamps are lit; placed on high stands, hanging from above or carried around, these would create a different feeling of space, with sharp contrasts and dark peripheries that would bring out surface textures and irregularities on the wall paintings that were not there in daytime, while the colours will emit an entirely different range of shades. These fascinating cycles of living tissues of architecture often escape our imagination when dealing with ruins from a purely archaeological point of view.

THE ARTIST, THE ARCHITECT AND THE USER

Strictly speaking, mural treatment comes after the erection of an edifice. The art of wall painting, therefore, is subordinated to architecture. The artist arrives when the building is practically finished; the surfaces he will deal with are clearly defined, and so is the manner in which his art will be experienced by the users of the building (access, light, visibility). He can intervene in the architecture only superficially, by moulding and shaping the final layer of lime plaster; for this layer was presumably left for the artist to prepare. He can also work independently of the architect, for the walls may be repainted at any time. The artist is summoned, and a new surface of lime plaster is constructed for him to paint, starting all over again.

The suppleness of the plaster allows the artist to adjust the final surface as he thinks best, and to prepare the arrangement of his themes by 'drawing' lines with a taut string and sketching the outlines of the figures with sharp tools on the wet plaster. This small advantage can prove quite redeeming, as in the room with the blue monkeys at Akrotiri, where the artist constructed an exceedingly thick plaster at the corner of the room, rounding it up into a cylinder in order to accommodate the circle of a running spiral that would be impossible to draw had he worked on the kind of sharp corner that the architect leaves behind. The final layer of lime plaster usually covers large parts of the wooden elements; in most cases door posts, sills and lintels would show only their outer edge - more like planks than beams - and sometimes no wood would show at all, for it was all covered with the lime plaster (Palyvou 1999).

But who decides which rooms should be painted, and in what way? By answering the first question, we are only one step away from the answer to the second. At Akrotiri, where observation is facilitated by the excellent state of preservation, there is evidence of a standard pattern of room arrangement that points to an overall 'house model' (Palyvou 1990). Lyvia Morgan extends this observation to Kea, pointing out that, as on Thera, next to the room with miniature paintings there is another room with paintings in panels, and concludes that this pattern is specifically Cycladic (Morgan 1990, 258).

The Aegean house model, as expressed through its idiomatic variations in the Cyclades and in Crete, was presumably the outcome of a long tradition and was well known to all members of the community. Mural treatment was only part of this model, just like the entrance system, the circulatory pattern, the distribution of storage area, and also the stone appropriate for a threshold, a column base, etc.. The rooms that ought to be painted, therefore, were well known from the beginning, and, obviously, so was the reason why these rooms had to be painted, that is their function. Mural treatment, after all, aims at providing each room with the kind of ambience appropriate to its function.

This common knowledge guided the artist just as much as the architect, and it is only one step further to suggest that part of this knowledge was the 'theme' as well: not necessarily the precise subject to be depicted on each wall, but its associations with whatever factors determined it, for example the identity of the owner or some specific function peculiar to that house. In an architecture with high standards of design, like the Minoan, the pictorial programme assigned to each building could have been known in advance, and we may well imagine the artist working together with the architect in conceiving space, long before the walls were there for him to paint.

(1). There is a possible black painted mud plaster fragment from an EM II house at Knossos, and some "ochreous washes" (?paint) from Myrtos (Cameron in Warren 1972, 310).

(2). Marinatos (1983, 13) emphasises the significance of red pigments. For the popularity of red painted plasters in other eastern Mediterranean sites, going back to about 9,000 BC in Palestine, see Cameron in Warren 1972, 311.

(3). Boulotis points out that the art of wall painting was transplanted from Crete to Thera along with architectural forms (Boulotis 1992, 89).

(4). When the grounp level is raised upwards, it acts as "a transition from the realistic level of the actual floor to the illusory space of the picture on the wall" (Linardou 1992, 72).

(5). Evans's inspired architect, Theodore Fyfe, noted as early as 1902 that "the value of the horizontal line was appreciated, that line forming an important feature of the Mycenaean method of wood-construction" (Fyfe 1902, 110).

(6). In Sector A, for example (Marinatos 1968, 21, fig. 21).

(7). Similar designs are seen in Mycenaean wall paintings, for example the Taureador panel from the Ramp House, Mycenae, and the Shield fresco from Tiryns (Immerwahr 1990, pls. XVI-XVII).

(8). See also Evans 1930, 513-514, fig. 359, though not exactly an architectural fragment but a painted stucco base supporting a frieze of sphinxes and columns.

(9). The lines are not exactly incised but in recess.

(10). Lang (1969, 28) comments that there are no parallels from Crete. See also Immerwahr 1990, 145.

(11). At Akrotiri there is one well preserved case from Xeste 3, where the south facade is painted orange-yellow, and a possible one from the House of the Ladies. In Crete there is the north wall of the central court of the palace at Phaistos with the painted niches.

(12). See Marinatos and Hägg 1986, 57-73, on the significance of polythyra in controlling access, visibility and light in ceremonial areas.

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