Domesticating the Medusa

 

When working on a long-term creative project such as a PhD, it is fascinating (and also a little scary) to follow the winding trail of one's own thoughts: circling around shifting themes, digging deep in details that might prove useful (or not), drifting away, then drawn in towards the core of the problem again. It is a privilege, and an art to learn and - hopefully - master one day.

Recently, those untamable thoughts of mine have dwelled a lot on Domination and Domestication, and on Control and Power. And, as almost always, an image started it all... This time, it was a blessed moment in the Yerebatan Sarayi, the 6th century "underground palace" in Istanbul, perhaps better known as Justinian's water cistern. 

336 columns, water, fish and coolness: Subterranean Istanbul magic

In the early morning hours of the last day in Istanbul and the ISCH conference, I managed to see this underground kingdom of sweet water, fat fish, stone columns and historical stories and layers literally placed on top of each other. I was amazed by the beauty and the vastness, and by the ingenious idea of a subterranean lake and food supply, accessible through holes in the courtyards of the Byzantine and, later, Ottoman inhabitants in the city.

For those of you who have been there, you know that the typical signs for tourists about Things Of Importance That Must Not Be Missed were there, too - the kind of signs that, I must confess, always make me more curious about what strange and exciting things might dwell in the other direction. This time, however, the notion of Medusa and her petrifying gaze made me actually follow the signs to see the two Antique Medusa stone heads placed as column bases at the far end of the hall. This is what I saw:

Medusa's head, de-charged by not only being used as a column base but also - deliberately - turned upside down. Domination and domestication, hands-on style.

The information signs told me that the two Medusa heads dated from an earlier Classical period, that the reason for why they were used as column bases is a matter of discussion among researchers, but that everyone seem to agree that they were deliberately placed here and in this way, and probably as a way to control and domesticate them. This goes along very well with the ideas in my dissertation project, on heritagisation (in my case, of religion) as an act of control and domestication of the disturbing and dangerous. However, down there, in the cool silence below the busy city and facing the upside down faced domesticated Medusa, yet another dimension of this struggle for power and domination in historiography struck me. Medusa, being the most terrible of three mythological Gorgon sisters, and the one whose mere gaze had the power to petrify any human meeting it, could in fact be a metaphor for the heritagisation process as I perceive it: the beholder (i.e., the museum curator, the heritage bureaucrat, the historian, the tourist guide, etc) has the power - knowing it or not - to petrify living things, environments, immaterial customs etc, and turn them into well preserved heritage with a designed narrative attached to them. 

In Medusa's case, the hero Perseus outsmarted her and cut her head off, and then used it - with its' petrifying powers intact - as a weapon against his enemies before finally giving it to goddess Athena to wear it on her shield (quite a shield..!). In this way, one could say that Medusa's terrible petrification qualities not only worked as harmful, but also in a protective way, to save the hero from harm. Turning to the heritagisation parable, the most frequent arguments and debates in the heritage field are about exactly this: protection, saving, taking aside from the course of time and destruction, and for the sake of memory, humankind and eternity (a little generally put, perhaps, but still). So, using this image to think with, we are dealing with a most powerful process that functions both as a petrifying or even a lethal tool, but simultaneously as a life saver and a protection from time, aging and decay.

This for the Medusa and the petrifying gaze. But what about next layer, the urge to dominate and domesticate this strong power?

The taming of the Beast - recurrent motive in human narratives

The main field of my PhD project, the domestication of religion through heritagisation, is overflowing with motives and drastic actions to dominate and make harmless narratives and beliefs that have come (our were forced) out of fashion. In my Northern territories, the Medieval images are frequent of St. George (Sankt Göran) piercing the dragon - in various contexts representing the Danes or other enemies at the time - or the Norwegian king St. Olav (Sankt Olof), stepping firmly on his enemy's head (which in fact is the head of his heathen brother, in the shape of a half-monster).

St. Olav the Holy stepping on his heathen brother Harald. Tricky thing even for a saint, the Love thine brother...

Here in Rome the cultural layers are, as you know, many and complex - almost like one of my favorite Italian desserts, the Torta Millefoglie: 

Torta Millefoglie, 'Thousand layers' cake'. Divine.

Layer upon layer of history, materiality, narratives - but also of controlling, domesticating, silencing, triumphing, showing who is now in charge. The basilica of San Clemente, one of my favorite churches to visit in Rome, is an example of this multi-layered material history: A Mithras temple, then a Roman house where Christians met secretly, then a 4th century church, then the present Medieval basilica - all excavated and possible to visit. In this case, the perspective of domestication but also of religious and historical continuity is strongly connected to the place: the place itself is a bearer of values and permeated with spiritual charges.

The Mithraic temple below San Clemente's basilica

Returning to Istanbul, and to Hagia Sophia 6th century Cathedral-turned Mosque-turned museum (and now suggested to be turned Mosque again), the need to demonstrate new ideologies and domesticate - though not eradicate or erase - previous ones is more evident. Here, the crosses on the doors and in the mosaics have not been physically removed, but altered to become a non-religious element of decoration.

 

Altered cross on one of the entrance doors, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

Altered mosaic cross, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

Given the many and turbulent changes in the history of the city, mirrored in the changing regimes in Hagia Sophia (where the musealisation/heritagisation in 1934 forms an important chapter), it is interesting that so much of the previous layers are still there, and visible. The gigantic signs with Islamic verses is a dominant visual element in the interior of the building, but some Christian mosaics showing Mary and Jesus are also there and well preserved. And beneath the signs, the previous decorations can still be seen:

Cultural and religious layers, and a heritage preserving scaffolding, in Hagia Sophia

So, how to collect these meandering thoughts on domestication, death and preservation? Elaborating just a little more on the Medusa head in Istanbul, could it be that even the petrifying heritagisation process can be overruled - by something living, by a new power and regime? Continuing that line of thought, what will happen to the rapidly and globally increasing number of appointed heritage items and places and immaterial goods: are they really petrified forever, and saved from the ban of time and change, or can they be awakened again..? I have no answers to this, yet, and I hope you forgive me for letting you into this inner chamber of unfinished contemplations and unresolved problems. But please: feel free to contribute in the comment field below if you like!

For now, let's just remain another instant on this mind boggling topic, in the lucid company of Joni Mitchell and Taming the Tiger...

Memory Boxing

Thinking in images, or with the aid of images, might sometimes be a useful help to approach and analyze theoretical matters. For me it comes naturally since I have been associating people, feelings, processes, music, etc, with images for as long as I can remember.
One such image, or model, was presented and discussed in a session during the ISCH conference in Istanbul, namely: The Memory Box.

I have had a least two serious memory boxes in my life; the first, a Hofnar cigar box in wood where I collected a treasure of immeasurable value (others would have called it old, broken jewelry that my mom gave me); the second, a tin box with an 18th century woman in a white and blue dress printed on the lid. In this latter box I collected things that were charged with special, and not necessarily material, value to me, through memories of persons, events and emotions. I keep it still on the shelf in my study.

The project presented is a collaboration between universities in Mainz and Turku (Åbo) initiated in 2011, and they use the Memory Box as a method for analyzing the transfer of media (art works etc) between cultures. Aleida Assmans book Cultural Memory and Western Civilization (2011) was referred to as a starting point for the project's use of the concept, and she was said to stress the origin of the word 'box' in Latin's 'arca', arc. A memory box, also when used in this metaphoric way, was described as a fragile container, equal to the human mind. We were given examples of memory boxes in the shape of artefacts, 'topoi' (a collection of stereotypes, used for example as a rhetorical tool) or persons, and an emphasis was put on the content in the box and the (eventual) opening of the box. The papers were very interesting and the project fascinating, and it generated a vivid discussion with objections as well as acclamations, and many questions.

For me, I found myself being most interested in what was left outside of the box (still in this metaphorical sense). Some things, actually most things, are always left outside of the memory production, either on purpose or because they are forgotten, and I believe much of interest can be discovered by turning the museum/memory spotlight in the other direction for a while. This process is referred to by Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett as 'the agency of display'; by pointing out things, by highlighting them and appoint them to be representatives of a certain narrative, we also point away from other things. I find this shadowland of forgotten or deliberately dismissed things tremendously fascinating!

And, for the same reasons I guess, I find the wrapping and the wrapper of this imagined memory box even more intriguing than the opening and the opener. Opening a memory box is a question of reception, emotion and associations, while wrapping it - deciding what should be in it, what not, and for what reasons - is in my understanding an act of power and control. This Power Of The Wrapper is executed by museum practitioners, researchers, authors, artists, policy makers and everyone creating narratives of the past - with or without an outspoken agenda. Continuing my reflexions on the memory box as a relevant tool for analyzing the production of memory and heritage, I come to think of a George Orwell quote: "Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past."

One crucial question demands an answer from me: As a researcher exploring heritage, heritagisation and museums, who am I: the Wrapper, the Opener, or even a kind of Memory Box?   

Authenticity and the irresistible desire to touch

I couldn't resist. I just had to touch the column beside the place where the 9th century Viking Halfdan once carved his name while visiting the by then already 300 year old church of Hagia Sophia. It was mind-boggling.

Finally home again after a long journey from the ISCH (International Society for Cultural History) conference in Istanbul. Going to a conference has many potential values, such as trying your research ideas/results/questions on a competent and hopefully benevolent group of colleagues, getting feedback, learning from others, giving feedback, and - of course - the ever important networking. This time, I left the busy and yet-to-be-explored city filled to the brim with impressions, discussions, new knowledge, new ideas - and some really nice new acquaintances. I get more and more convinced that one of the main raison d'êtres for academia is sharing: by listening, by commenting, by teaching, by the constructive disagreements. I believe the digital development makes sharing so very much easier (and more fun!) - given that people want to share, of course.

Back to the conference, and to the ever present theme of authenticity. In a city like Istanbul where the cultural layers are many and diverse, the question of what is real and what is fake, or what is original and what is a later addition, is an inevitable framework. And for me, being born and raised in a Western European context, the materiality aspect of reality is initially hard to avoid when understanding and interpreting heritage and history. One side of this, the connection between authenticity and materiality (as bearing witness of an authentic past?), is the irresistible desire to touch. I believe there are numerous parallels to the physical relation to sacred objects here.

I have seen them at countless heritage places and in numerous settings: the visitors who, sometimes with a partly ashamed, partly guilty appearance can't hold themself back, but have to touch the walls, the objects, the ground which presumably bear witness of certain events in history or just of a very distant time. They do this despite knowing that touching is generally not permitted in heritage environments due to preservation, and despite, perhaps, a rational doubt why they do this. During my visit to Hagia Sophia and the Cistern in Istanbul, I saw in both places a certain column associated with stories about wishings coming true and other magical events for those who touched it in a certain way. In both cases there were people lining up to perform this ritual of magic touch, and in both cases the people doing this were laughing and making funny faces to a companion with a camera; this was obviously something inviting, thrilling, sensual, but also something a bit shameful that needed ridicule to pass.

 
Visitor touching the ornamented pillar in Justinian's 6th century cisterns in Istanbul


Not only touching, but performing a full circle with the thumb in the hole in the Sweating Pillar or Wishing Column in musealised church-turned-mosque Hagia Sophia is a popular ritual for fulfilling wishes, or just for fun - or because it's a must-do according to guide books?

As for myself, despite considering myself both respectful towards heritage authorities and - in some sense, at least - a sensible person, I am an incurable toucher. There is something to it - but what, exactly? For now, my best answer leans towards the problematic concept of 'Authenticity'. Input, please..?

Becoming a digital historian

Embarking on yet another new journey - for, yes, there have been a few during my one year as a PhD student and the decision some time before that to re-enter Academia after many years in what is commonly known as Reality. In order to learn more about Digital Humanities, I have been given the assignment to start a research blog. The idea is not strange to me; on the contrary I have been pondering reasons for and against blogging since I started working on my PhD. However, being advised against blogging by some of my colleagues (and for seemingly good reasons: it takes time from my main work, I risk getting my results stolen if I publish them in a blog, etc), and with both good and bad previous experiences of professional blogging, I wanted to be very careful about 'how' and 'why' before committing to regular on-line publishing.

But... Here I am, having started a most thrilling PhD course in Digital History, and being sent out in the world (the physical as well as the digital) with the words: "Go forth and start a blog!". So here we go: "Fiat blog - et blog erat"! After last week's inspiring first days of the Digital History course, and after giving a lecture in Museology about the history of nationalism (a topic that seems to stick to everything connected with heritage, and sometimes also with religion), I now prepare my paper for the ISCH conference in Istanbul starting Wednesday this week. I look very much forward to going, since Istanbul itself is in a way an illustration of my research topic with layers upon layers of re-charged religious identities ending up as heritage and narratives. I will give a report on this when I get back - until then, you are welcome to join me on twitter @helena_w_strom for immediate impressions from the conference.

Apart from this, I am also preparing for a research period of six months in Rome, where I will enjoy the company of my 17th century travelers and follow in their footsteps (and, according to plan, doing some digital visualization of some kind of their meeting with the Eternal City. I'll get back to that). Very much to get in order before leaving, and therefore an even wilder dance of joy at the letterbox when a good old CD arrived today packed with photos of a 17th century diary in manuscript. Each job has its moments of bliss, I suppose, but I feel particularly grateful to be dancing for joy over a digitized manuscript on office hours!