Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2012.10.

24
Mark J. Johnson, Robert Ousterhout, Amy Papalexandrou (ed.), Approaches to
Byzantine Architecture and its Decoration: Studies in Honor of Slobodan uri.
Farnham; Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2012. Pp. xix, 309. ISBN 9781409427407.
$124.95.

Reviewed by Vasileios Marinis, Yale University (vasileios.marinis@yale.edu)

Preview
This volume of collected essays celebrates the distinguished career of Slobodan uri, an
eminent historian of medieval architecture who retired from the department of art and
archaeology at Princeton in 2010. The fourteen essays, all written by uris former doctoral
students, are divided into four sections: the Meanings of Architecture (14); the Fabrics of
Buildings (57); the Contexts and Contents of Buildings (811); and the Afterlife of Buildings
(12 14). These are supplemented by a tribute and introduction, a list of the honorees published
works, and an index.
The collection opens with a text by the late Svetlana Popovi that serves as a tribute to uri as
a person, as well as a scholar. The introduction by the three editors places uris contributions,
methodological and otherwise, in the wider context of Byzantine architectural history. In the first
essay in the Meanings of Architecture section, Amy Papalexandrou discusses the excavated
remains of two presumably ecclesiastical buildings in the Cypriot town of Polis/Arsino, Basilica
A and Basilica B, both built around 500 CE. Papalexandrou is primarily interested in their
mortuary contexts: Basilica A had tombs inside and outside; Basilica B had a series of ossuary
pits along the north and east walls that all contained secondary burials, an indication that the
building was conceived from the beginning as a cemetery church. Papalexandrous essay is
exemplary. The presentation of the archaeological evidence is unburdened by technicalities and
her interpretations are persuasive. Next, Ludovico Geymonat investigates several cases of spolia
in Thessalonike in a carefully constructed article. Predictably, in a city with such a glorious
ancient past, spolia attest to a sense of urban and historical continuity. Yet their conspicuous
absence from a building like Panagia Chalkeon (ca. 1028), Geymonat argues, is also significant.
By not reusing older material, this church, built according to the founders inscription in a
formerly impure (i.e., pagan) place, avoided any chance of contamination, visual or spiritual.
Mark J. Johnson next analyzes miraculous accounts pertaining to the construction of
ecclesiastical foundations in Norman Italy. Past scholars have customarily treated such accounts
as later inventions often intended, among other things, to bring prestige and attract pilgrims.
Johnson instead argues that some stories might contain particles of truth; after all, it is possible
that people wanted to commemorate a miracle by building a church. Yet he offers little help on
how to discern whether a story was totally or partially fabricated. While I would agree that
miracle stories offer valuable perspectives on the society and culture that produced them, I am
not as sure as Johnson that they provide important insight into the motives behind church

building in Norman Italy. That said, Johnsons careful analysis of these texts will perhaps
initiate a broader discussion on the role of foundation accounts in the study of medieval
architecture. Christina Maranci presents a succinct review of the historiography of medieval
Armenian architecture, making a case for its integration into the canon of medieval art history
(presumably she means the Western canon). One could not agree more. However, perhaps
because of the texts brevity, the reader remains unclear as to why it is seventh-century Armenian
architecture and not tenth-century Georgian (or thirteenth-century Seljuk for that matter)
architecture that should occupy this coveted place. The essays lack of any illustrations of the
monuments does not help Marancis otherwise reasonable appeal.
Marina Mihaljevi begins the section on the Fabrics of Buildings with an essay that deals with
continuity and change in Byzantine architecture. She traces the dissemination, adaptation, and
reinterpretation in the provinces of the atrophied Greek-cross type, exemplified by the katholikon
of the Chora Monastery in Constantinople as rebuilt by the sebastokrator Isaak Komnenos in the
1120s. Mihaljevis expertise in reading medieval buildings is evident throughout the text but
such analysis, useful as it is, tells only part of the story. A Byzantine churchor any other
buildingwas not only the result of workshop practices or knowledge of plans and styles.
Location, budget, function (episcopal, monastic, or secular?), and several other factors all
affected the end result. Next, Ida Sinkevi examines the location of the royal entrance in Marko's
monastery, near Skopje, a fourteenth-century foundation that began during the reign of King
Vukain and was completed under the patronage of his son Marko. Sinkevi's study is one of the
most clearly written and persuasive essays in this volume. By expertly connecting image (the
procession of saints on the north and south walls), word (the painted dedicatory inscription above
the south door), and the living image of the King Marko as he entered the church, Sinkevi
argues that it was the south and not the west doorway that the king used. As she herself notes,
this interpretation raises exciting questions about the definition of image in Byzantium.
Finally, in an impeccably researched article, Jelena Trkulja investigates the origins and
symbolism of Byzantine rose windowsa rather misleading term as they differ significantly
from their Gothic counterparts. The starting point is a group of fourteenth- and fifteenth-churches
in Serbia known as the Morava group. Trkulja argues against interpreting such elements as the
result of Western influence; rather, she argues, their origins should be traced to the late antique
oculus and its reinterpretation throughout the Byzantine period.
The Contexts and Contents section opens with two essays that investigate late Byzantine and
post-Byzantine towers in northern Greece. Nikolas Bakirtzis identifies the tower near the village
of Hagios Vasileios in Lake Koroneia as part of a monastery of Saint Basil, known to have
existed in the hinterland of Thessalonike. Bakirtzis does an admirable job with the admittedly
thin evidence and calls for scholars to take seriously local folklore and oral histories in addition
to traditional methodologies. In a field that has learned to mistrust even primary sources, this is a
tough sell.1 In fact, neither of the two cited oral histories (which claim that the tower was built
by a king), nor the two Ottoman sources (which do not even mention the tower) help the
authors arguments even if they do provide some general information about the area. In a related
essay, Jelena Bogdanovi offers a survey of seven towers in northern Greece, including Hagios
Vasileios. Most of her text is devoted to useful and accurate architectural observations and
comparisons; the rest examines of the role of the towers within settlements and the identity of
their founders and residents. In both cases Bogdanovi offers some tantalizing suggestions that

deserve to be further developed in forthcoming publications. Next, Katherine Marsengill argues

that funerary panel portraiture did not cease after the rise of the icons. This is not terribly
surprising as scholars have known for quite some time the passage in the Kosmosoteira typikon
in which the founder, Isaak Komnenos, asks that his portrait not to be transferred to his new
foundation. More interesting is Marsengills suggestion that the form of a panel portrait,
comparable, if not identical, to that of a panel icon of the Theotokos or Christ, was intended to
present the depicted worthy of admission among the heavenly hierarchies. In the final essay of
this section, Matthew J. Milliner makes a smart contribution to the ongoing debate about Manuel
Panselinos, the legendary late Byzantine painter of the Protaton church in Karyes, the primary
church of Mount Athos. Milliner diligently avoids the by now nonsensical question of whether a
painter named Panselinos ever lived (the meticulous research of Maria Vassilaki, whose work is
duly noted throughout this essay, has largely settled this matter).2 Milliner instead turns his
attention to the meaning of the painters name (Panselinos translates as full moon) and argues
that it can be understood as a metaphor for the perfect painter who reflects the sunlight of Christ
or the Virgin, the same way, as some Byzantines knew, that the moon reflected the light of the
sun. But if true, this compelling interpretation seems to me a late, post-Byzantine, development.
The name Manuel Panselinos is unattested before the early seventeenth century, when such a
glorified position for a painter would fit better anyway. Furthermore, the paraphrase from the
ninth-century iconophile Theodore of Stoudios offered as a parallel (Just as the seal imparts its
impression while retaining the prototype, so an icon reflects the prototype without becoming it)
refers to the object, not to the painter.
Opening the section on the Afterlife of Buildings Robert Ousterhout, in a chapter that reads
almost like a crime story in its fastidious presentation of archaeological and documentary
evidence, offers new insights into two now-lost churches in Silivri, in Turkish Thrace.
Ousterhout expertly combines travelers' reports, archival photographs (some newly discovered),
and previous publications to suggest that the church of Saint John, constructed in the first half of
the fourteenth century by the then parakoimomenos Alexios Apokaukos, was very likely built by
the same workshop as the monastery of Chora in Constantinople; it was indeed domed; and it
underwent significant alterations during Byzantine times. Ousterhout dates the second church,
Saint Spyridon, to the eleventh century and connects it convincingly with the Nea Moni, an
eleventh-century imperial foundation on the island of Chios. Both cases reinforce
Constantinoples role as a broker of architectural styles throughout the Byzantine world. In an
informative essay Nicola Camerlenghi surveys the complex history of repairs to the old basilica
of San Paolo fuori le Mura21 in total between 442450 and 1823, all but the earliest partial
repairs. Camerlenghi offers interesting observations about the economies of purchasing,
transferring, and installing in Rome long timbers from outside the city. The author also corrects
historical misinformation due, ironically, to the merger of folklore and nascent archival
research. The books final essay, by Asen Kirin, discusses Catherine the Greats use of
architecture and topography in order to underscore Russias assumed role as the inheritor of both
ancient Greece and Byzantium. Political propaganda of her time called Catherine the New
Justinian; indeed, she sought to draw parallels between herself and the sixth-century emperor in
her legislative work, her plans to reconstitute the Christian eastern empire, and in her ambitious
architectural projects. The Kekereksinen palace, built to commemorate the Russian naval victory
over the Ottomans in Chesme in 1770, was a re-creation of the Hebdomon, a suburban palace
in Constantinople rebuilt by Justinian. Kirin unravels a host of associations with Byzantium,

mainly topographical; on the other hand, the palaces plan and Gothic features were nods to
Russias relations with the West, particularly England. Kirins essay is a fine example that proves
that tracing of origins and investigation of symbolism in architectural language can be revelatory.
Because this is a book of collected studies, the usual caveats apply. The quality of the papers is
uneven; some do not quite fit the premise of the book; there are some misspellings, especially of
Greek names and titles; and the price is high. However, the editors have done an admirable job in
pulling together from disparate sources a coherent collection of essays that provides much food
for thought. Beyond the specific issues dealt with in each contribution, the book is a valuable
overview of many current and traditional methodological approaches and as such it might serve
as a useful teaching tool. There is nothing here of the nowadays obligatory avant-garde
methodologies, and I mean this as a compliment.
This Festschrift has another role that is not immediately apparent. uri taught at Princeton for
twenty-eight years and during his tenure that university was one of the worlds most influential
and populous centers for the study of Byzantine architecture.3 This collection, therefore, is also a
reflection of scholarship at Princeton and, as such, it is of great historiographical interest for the
field. Far it be from any single reviewer to pass a judgment so early; current and later readers
will have to decide for themselves.
Notes:
1. See, for example, Anthony Kaldelliss assessment of the tenth-century Vita Basilii in BMCR
2012.04.25: In fact, the contents of this text are largely fictitious, as are many its individuals
and events.
2. ; in (Athens,
1999), 39-51.
3. Of all the contributors only Ousterhout studied with uri at the University of Illinois at
Urbana-Champaign.