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Dark Hospitality |
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written
by peeter / 10.24.2005 |
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| Monumental Architecture vs. the Everyday |
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Assignment |
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The various layers of this stratified house have been accumulating for more than 2700 years, since the historical founding of Rome in the seventh century B.C. Residential neighborhoods did—and still do—exist in Rome, although they are often times greatly overshadowed by what the city has to offer in terms of its refined marble monuments, decorated palazzos, and overstuffed museums. Case Romane del Celio, excavated and made up for public viewing, does not pretend to be more than it is—an original Roman house so authentic and undisturbed by the age of Re-ism that its walls are still providing insights into the function of a house in both symbolic meaning and practical function.
“Normal” citizens of Rome lived in this house, some of whose walls are covered with paintings meant to imitate marble, others showing their distinct masonry pattern. The same people saw each other in these rooms day after day, living together in one community of unchanging faces. Ownership changed hands as wealth continued to flow into Rome. What were two separate houses became one, the long narrow lane dividing them converted into an internal corridor. This passage way represents the resources used by one man who was not content with the amount of space provided by a single house—a big, fat man with pale pinkish skin and a beard of thick brown wires. Private ownership of property thus revealed its ugly, greed-driven side that would never be satiated.
Public spaces are not as susceptible to such quick handing over of rights. Modifications are surely made, but always under the scrutiny of Rome’s taxpayers. What happens inside a house stays within its walls, allowing residential plots to sow darkness and reap a harvest of secrets. Early Christians destined to be martyrs lived here during the reign of an oppressive Emperor. The pile of their bones at the musty base of a long brick-lined shaft would qualify the house for reliquary status, thus adding even more significance to its walls. Pilgrims would come and cast their fishing lines into the relic-filled abyss, hoping to take away something more eternal than the meal that had just filled them.
Darkness truly fills this house, somehow finding its way out of the deepest cavern to reach the most superficial doorway. This house is not on display for all to see. Even before the arrival of the storefront façade, the depths of the house effectively hid behind the masking dining room. Marble once covered its walls, suggesting its importance. People were entertained in this room—a controlled environment where the host dictates the sensual experience of his guests and distracts their judgmental instincts.
Public spaces are not so personal. They have no hosts other than architects permitted one synchronic moment of inspiration to hold our attention for all eternity. Ancient public spaces must be illuminated to the highest degree possible, thus relying on the sun and its interaction with reflective surfaces. They are exposed to all of Rome’s elements: pounding raindrops, sediment-filled winds, and reactionary mobs always on the verge of revolution.
Houses are buried by new ones and thus preserved along with their inhabitants’ histories. They may on occasion pass beneath the radar of archaeological and historical inquiry, but public spaces will forever erode under the unremitting footsteps of their admirers.
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