1

Chapter 1.2

Conservation and

Restoration

Jerry P odany

Introduction

Perhaps it is in human nature to feel a sense of melancholy combined with awe when

we gaze upon ruins. Ancient fragments have, by chance or design, survived the passing

centuries far beyond our own options for longevity. Curiosity brings us to wonder how

they might have once looked, who made them, and for what purpose. And we ask: “Can

any of this be retrieved?”

he reception of the fragment is a complex issue. Our respect for historic evidence

and our desire to preserve it, whether for knowledge or as a romantic illusion, allow us to

engage with broken remains. But when the fragment is recognizably part of the human

form, our engagement oten shits to disgust. What Seymour Howard (2003, 30) calls

“empathic discomfort” triggers the desire to heal scars, to restore. Such complexities are

woven throughout the history of restoration. Two approaches, one to preserve as is and

the other to restore as we think it might have been, oten overlap and complement each

other, and are equally oten at odds. his duality makes it challenging to trace the evo-

lution of restoration to conservation. One approach regards the remains of antiquity

as decorative embellishments or romantic stage settings. Another sees them as basic

raw materials to continue an ideal. And yet another approach perceives these objects

as evidence for historicism’s restraint in support of authenticity. By tracing these paral-

lel tracks it is also possible to trace how restoration—and its more contemporary and

expansive counterpart, conservation—have responded (and now respond) to cultural

shits, contemporary fashions, and the dynamic world around us.

Restoration approaches have changed over time and have directly inluenced our

knowledge and perception of antiquity. Changes and additions to ancient sculptures,

almost always resulting in permanent alterations, relect shiting tastes and evolv-

ing knowledge. Jessica Hughes has called restored sculptures “multi-authored, hybrid

1

28 Jerry Podany

creations . . . remodeled according to later cultural contexts and art historical trends”

(Hughes 2011, 2). Even political and religious zeal add to the mix in which the classical

past is only one of the inluences shaping the hybrid’s form and future. Contemporary

theory in heritage conservation now requires that we consider all the values of an object,

including the historical value accreted to the object by its dynamic and multilayered

progression through time, which includes recent restorations.

Restoration in the Past

To consider how we might approach the conservation of a Roman sculpture today, we

must begin with the question of whether the sculpture is a recent archaeological discov-

ery or has been previously restored. Why that makes a diference can be best understood

by irst considering a brief review of how ancient sculpture was dealt with in the past.

Secrecy, misleading claims, lack of documentation, and the repeated replacement

of earlier restorations all make tracing the history of restoration challenging. Much

of the evidence has been lost. However, the evolving path of restoration can be clari-

ied through the examination of drawings, diaries, invoices, edicts, and, of course, the

sculptures themselves, as well as the countless restoration segments removed but not

destroyed.

From Antiquity to the Renaissance:

Raw Material and Homage

Reverence for artistic patrimony was evident in the maintenance of ancient objects

well before the Renaissance. One can ind early critical reviews of restoration, as in the

opinions of Pliny the Elder in 25 BC, who noted how a painting was ruined through a

botched cleaning efort: “He [Aristides] also painted . . . the Tragedian and a Child, in

the Temple of Apollo, a picture which has lost its beauty, owing to the lack of skill of the

painter to whom Marcus Junius as Praetor entrusted the cleaning of it” (Plin. HN 35.36,

trans. Rackham). We must assume, given the volume of sculpture in the Roman Empire,

that restoration was a fully formed industry. As early as the irst century AD, Cassius Dio

(60.5) complained about the density of sculpture in Rome and referred to it as ὄχλος, a

crowd or mob. By the third century AD the number of statues in Rome has been esti-

mated at over 500,000 among a population of 1.5 million, a ratio of one sculpture for

every three citizens (Barr 2008, 44).

hroughout late antiquity and into the early medieval period, architectural and sculp-

tural fragments were oten used as raw material for building and decorative projects.

Although lacking the prestige of textual remains, these sculptural fragments were val-

ued for their symbolic connection to the once-great Roman Empire, and, for this reason,

1

Conservation and Restoration 29

they were sometimes protected. heodoric’s removal of architectural fragments from

ruined sites to be built into new structures, for example, clearly has a dimension of pres-

ervation as well as politics (Brenk 1987). One might also consider the Roman Senate’s

declaration in 1162 that made it a capital ofense to damage the Column of Trajan.

With the rediscovery of antiquity in the Renaissance came an expansive growth in

collecting. At his death in 1637, Vincenzo Giustiniani let a collection of some 1,800

sculptures (Raggio 2005, 197). he growing incorporation of ancient artifacts as decora-

tive elements in palaces and palazzi, oten to enhance the status of wealthy individuals,

began a division between those fragments that were treated as exceptional works of art

and those that were used as raw material.

he restoration of these collected objects increasingly became the norm in the six-

teenth century. heir physical destiny depended directly on their degree of grazia (or

grace), deined as the perceived, sometimes assumed, visual rhythm and movement of

the object. In describing Lorenzetto’s arrangement of ancient fragments and sculptures

in Cardinal Andrea della Valle’s courtyard around 1525, Vasari wrote:

Within the courtyard he [Lorenzetto] arranged columns, antique bases and capitals, and distributed around the basement piles of ancient fragments [carved with] sto-ries. On an upper storey, beneath some of the larger niches, he made another frieze made up of antique fragments; above these he placed statues—also antique and of marble—which, although they were not intact, some headless or missing an arm and some with no legs at all, that is all missing some portion, he never the less man-aged the whole thing very well, having had excellent sculptors replace all the missing parts. And this is why other gentlemen, following this example, had many antiquities restored. And it is true, these antiquities have much more grace when restored in this manner, than have those imperfect trunks, or those limbs—headless or in some other respect defective or incomplete. (Vasari [1568] 1912, 5: 55)

In judging the fragment as defective and resolving this by completion, Lorenzetto

undertook the irst systematic restoration of ancient sculpture.

Even at this early date, however, the two discordant paths of restoration and conserva-

tion were present. A few ancient fragments were recognized in the Renaissance as hav-

ing grazia even in their incomplete state (though not because of it, which was a later

Romantic consideration). he Belvedere Torso, known since the 1430s, which inlu-

enced artists from Michelangelo to today, is one of the best-known examples.

Expressions of dissatisfaction with poor restoration also continued, sometimes to

the point of suggesting, as Vasari did, that “it would be better at times to reserve the

work of excellent masters half ruined, than to have them retouched by those who are

less able” (quoted in Conti 2007, 39). Nonetheless it was the grazia and disegno (design)

of ancient fragments that the restorers of the sixteenth century desired to enhance, rein-

state, and sometimes invent. Today’s interpretive restraint was lacking, and little consid-

eration was given to the fragments as historical documents. Fragments represented an

opportunity to continue an ideal in the form of what Seymour Howard (2003, 31) called

a “circumspect homage” to antiquity, even though the ideal changed many times due to

fashion, knowledge, and evidence.

1

30 Jerry Podany

hat “circumspect homage” helps us understand why, when the mannerist artist

Benvenuto Cellini was presented with a fragmented ancient torso, he exclaimed that

the artist called upon him to serve. He did so from 1548 to 1550 by creating a wholly new

and invented object that depicted a young Ganymede with an eagle, now in the Museo

Nazionale del Bargello, Florence. It must be understood that those viewing the sculp-

ture at that time recognized the Ganymede as Cellini’s creation and not as a retrieval of

the fragment’s previous form. Cellini’s homage was, in efect, a partnership between the

restorer and the viewer.

Seventeenth through Eighteenth Centuries:

Invention and the Sciences

By the early seventeenth century, restoration gained a degree of legitimacy through

a close link to antiquarianism. Even though the President of Antiquities for Rome,

Monsignor Francesco Bianchini, felt that restorations should be restricted to draw-

ings, in some form or another restoration had become indispensible to collecting, dis-

playing, and understanding ancient sculpture. Restorers sought to assure not only the

proper igural pose and proportions but also a connection to ancient mythology and

history. Restoration was both a physical and an intellectual activity, no longer simple

reconstruction but rather a vehicle for presentation and comment. Orfeo Boselli, in his

Osservationi della Scultura Antica (1642–1663), noted that the ability to do restoration

well was an activity for an enquiring mind and not as simplistic as many might assume

(quoted in Weil 1967, 86).

At this time two distinct reasons existed for collecting ancient sculptures, which

determined the approach taken by the restorer. he objects viewed as true works of

art and exhibited in loggias with other masterpieces (usually paintings), were restored

in an interpretive way. In contrast, those sculptural fragments destined to be incor-

porated into the general decor and gardens of palazzi were restored with less care and

more license. In such cases pastiches abounded, and Boselli was highly critical of these

creations (though he himself had done such work), likening the results to “monsters

described in Horace’s Ars Poetica” (quoted in Weil 1967, 86).

An over-life-size marble igure discovered in the early eighteenth century, missing

its head, right arm, and parts of the feet, illustrates how most restorers of the period

harmonized their restorations with the ancient fragments. By 1704, the fragment had

already been restored and illustrated in the Raccolta di Statue Antiche e Moderne by

Paolo Alessandro Mafei and Domenico de Rossi (igure 1.2.1). Known irst in the house

of Carlo Carioli, it soon became part of the Albani collection. By providing the frag-

ment with a helmeted head, right arm, and staf, the irst restorer presented the object

as Alexander the Great. It is understandable that the remains of an imposing sculpture

of high quality would be interpreted as a signiicant ruler, and portraits of Alexander

the Great had been known since the Renaissance from Hellenistic coins. Curiously,

1

Conservation and Restoration 31

however, the missing head had been replaced with one from an ancient portrayal of the

warrior goddess Athena. his reused head was combined with an invented helmet, pre-

senting the fragment’s new identity. Ater the statue entered the Saxony princely collec-

tions in Dresden, it was illustrated again by R. Leplat in 1733, with an added ig leaf and

spear-end rather than staf.

A robust antiquities trade existed in Rome at this time and provided perfect con-

ditions for such completions. he Grand Tour made it possible for those of means to

acquire the inest antiquities, and those purchases created a restoration industry within

Italy with attendant brokers, middlemen, advisors, investors, laborers, and, of course,

scoundrels. he eighteenth century also saw the birth of archaeology and a further

expansion of collections, which ultimately led to the formation of public museums

such as the Palazzo Nuovo in 1734, the British Museum in 1753, the Uizi in 1765, and

the Louvre in 1793. hese public institutions promoted the idea of antiquities as more

than decorative objects and nurtured a more restrained attitude toward restoration.

Museums added to their responsibilities the stewardship and preservation of ancient

sculpture. In 1770, for example, Gaspare Sibilla was appointed the irst oicial restorer

of ancient sculpture for the Museo Capitolino and the Vatican Palaces and Gardens. His

Figure  1.2.1 Engraving of a statue of a god restored as Alexander the Great, 1704, Robert

van Audenaerde (Belgian, 1663–1743), 18 3/4 × 14 9/16 in. (Mafei and de Rossi 1704).

1

32 Jerry Podany

shop and staf were located within the Museo Pio-Clementino and, as such, deined an

important new aspect of museum practice.

Johann Joachim Winckelmann, through his 1764 work Geschichte der Künst des Ältertums (History of the Art of Antiquity), revealed that the majority of objects in col-

lections were Roman copies of Greek originals and noted that they had been compro-

mised by restorers. Winckelmann held that the mistakes of connoisseurs were oten due

to undiscovered restorations, and he encouraged detailed recording.

Restorations fell further under suspicion as they proved inaccurate when com-

pared to the growing variety of artifacts and fragments being uncovered following the

mid-eighteenth century discoveries at Herculaneum and Pompeii. But ancient frag-

ments were also seen to have a didactic value and were restored with that in mind.

Antoine-Chrysostome Quatremère de Quincy, for example, praised the full restoration

of the Aegina pediment igures, for which Bertel horvaldsen (1770–1844) had created

new elements in the “ancient style” to complete the fragmented group (Quatremère de

Quincy 1818, 82).

Although antiquarian interests and Winckelmann’s insights changed the underlying

dictates of restoration in the eighteenth century, the deceit necessary for the practice

continued in one form or another until the nineteenth century, particularly for private

collections. In 1787, the restorer Vincenzo Pacetti needed an Apollo igure for a temple

commissioned by Marcantonio Borghese. None being at hand, he set about reworking

an ancient sculpture of Pan for the purpose.

Such guises were particularly attractive to British collectors. Viccy Coltman’s study

of British neoclassicism between 1760 and 1800 describes how fragments of sculptures

were patched together for invention, like blank canvases (Coltman 2006). Indeed, many

of the Roman mythological igures in English country houses owe their identities to

eighteenth-century restorers.

As a result one sees again the two approaches continuing on parallel paths, propelled

by diferent interests: the collector, who preferred perfection and so encouraged resto-

ration and invention, and the museum collections, whose curators were more inclined

toward an academic balance between the didactic and the documentary. In most cases,

restorers served both interests. But the published philosophies of prominent restorers

of the time were not necessarily applied in their workshops. here is a stark contrast

between Winckelmann’s attempts to categorize “style” systematically and the restorer’s

work to assemble unrelated fragments into invented objects serving the desires of those

willing to pay the price. Indeed, one of those restorers was both befriended and admired

by Winckelmann: Bartolomeo Cavaceppi.

Ennio Quirino Visconti noted that Cavaceppi “introduced an improved manner

to restorations, he adapted marbles which were completely disigured by their condi-

tion, restored the missing parts without removing any of the original, introducing a

new, more correct and truer method by which to return monuments to their antique

splendor” (quoted in Conti 2007, 228). While this may be true, when compared to the

inventive freedom employed by earlier restorers, Visconti’s own words reveal the desire

to “return” the objects to their perceived earlier “splendor.” he goal remained full

1

Conservation and Restoration 33

restoration, which, in the hands of Cavaceppi and his apprentices, quite oten included

invention.

Cavaceppi employed a number of clever techniques to fool the viewer’s eye and cam-

oulage additions. Despite Visconti’s words, Cavaceppi would in fact oten dramatically

cut back the broken areas of ancient marble fragments, so that the joints between the

fragments and his additions would be located at strategic areas, such as drapery folds,

and would be further disguised. He let the ancient segments unpolished and textured

his restorations to create an illusion of authenticity. False breaks were oten chiseled into

the surfaces of both ancient segments and additions to further confuse the viewer.

Cavaceppi seems to have been successful in two quite distinct worlds: that of private

collections and that of public museums. In 1744, he was hired by the irst director of

the Museo Capitolino to restore the fragments of an antique red marble faun. By 1746,

he had added the missing sections of the faun in such a manner that, even today, close

examination of the striations and inclusions in the dark-red marble is necessary to

delineate his work from the ancient parts.

By his death Cavaceppi had amassed over 1,000 ancient marble fragments, along

with many engraved gems, coins, terracotta models, plaster casts, and molds. It is no

wonder that his studio was called the “Museo Cavaceppi.” But he was not unusual in

this. Vincenzo Pacetti also sought raw material from archaeological sites for his res-

torations and creations, particularly from the excavations of Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli

and in the collections of wealthy families in Rome. Such material was abundant in the

late eighteenth century. For example, the marble feet, hands, and other sculpture frag-

ments, recovered from the Pantanello (“little swamp” or “bog” in Italian) at Hadrian’s

Villa and then purchased by Pacetti, were surely intended for future restorations

(Ramage 1999, 83).

In comparison with earlier restorers, however, both Cavaceppi and Pacetti were seen

to be applying rigorous antiquarianism. Certainly Cavaceppi wanted to appear to be in

line with the latest philosophical thinking and Winckelmann’s support suggests that he

was successful in this.

As progress was being made toward historical accuracy, propelled by the discovery of

new archaeological evidence and resulting advances in scholarship, the demand for the

removal and replacement of earlier restorations grew. Indeed the idea that restoration

was wholly unnecessary took on signiicant importance as illustrated famously by the

insistence of the renowned neoclassical sculptor Antonio Canova (1757–1822) that the

fragments of the Parthenon frieze sculptures at the British Museum not be restored. Yet

at exactly the same time, horvaldsen was praised for his imitative, in-the-style comple-

tion of the Aegina pedimental sculptures. Canova made no objection to horvaldsen’s

work, since he saw these pieces as having a didactic purpose rather than as perfect artis-

tic exemplars in the category of the Parthenon igures.

All of this made the life of the restorer complex and somewhat schizophrenic. In 1787,

Carlo Albacini had let the torso of the Psyche of Capua unrestored (though interest-

ingly its broken surfaces had been cut smooth in preparation for restorations). So as

not to mislead future scholars, no restoration was to be done unless it could be fully

1

34 Jerry Podany

justiiable. And yet when Albacini was called upon to restore a Discobolus fragment

found in Tivoli around 1791 (now in the British Museum), he added an incorrectly

placed head that did not belong.

he Nineteenth through Twentieth Centuries:

Science and Compromise

he irst decades of the nineteenth century were pivotal for the shit from restora-

tion toward less intervention. In 1820, the Pacca Edict restricted the export of artistic

treasures from Rome, and at that time members of the German philological school

combined their knowledge of ancient texts and Roman sculpture to seek better under-

standing of Greek originals. For them, previous restorations were obstructions that

should be removed. he distrust of restoration emerged in Britain through the Society

of Dilettanti, whose members expressed an interest in authenticity and exactness in

recording condition. Just as at the Royal Society of London, which was at the leading

edge of science and accurate observation, measurement was all-important. In Specimens of Ancient Sculpture, Egyptian, Etruscan, Greek and Roman:  Selected from Diferent Collections in Great Britain (begun in 1799 and published in 1809), many of the engrav-

ings clearly illustrated restorations. In a publication of a marble bust in the collection of

Lord Egremont, Richard Payne Knight, who championed the Specimens project and felt

that restorations constituted fraud, commented: “he head . . . is now mounted upon a

cumbrous modern bust, from which we have delivered it in print, and from which we

could wish to see it delivered in the gallery” (quoted in Redford 2008, 147). Clearly sup-

port of derestoration was on the horizon.

he previously mentioned fragment restored as Alexander the Great (igure 1.2.1)

relects these changes in attitude. he object was illustrated in an 1804 catalogue of the

Dresden collections of antiquities by Wilhelm Gottlieb Becker with the right arm and

spear shat gone and the joint in the middle of the torso clearly delineated (igure 1.2.2).

Although the head remained in place, the sculpture was now referred to as Bacchus,

relecting a more accurate interpretation of the body type.

Although this new treatment was partial, it illustrates the direction being espoused

by the Italian architect Camillo Boito, who promoted, as part of “scientiic restoration,”

the recognition of objects as both artistic and historic documents (Boito [1883] 2003).

In his “Prima Carta del Restauro,” Boito encouraged the removal of all restorations in

the treatment of buildings and monuments. A full circle had been scribed in which res-

toration, once the way to heal disigurement, was now avoided and seen as the source of

disigurement.

In nineteenth-century Rome debates about restoration focused predominantly on

monuments and relected a desire to codify rules for practice. he results had a signii-

cant impact on the treatment of ancient sculpture. In 1807, Rafaello Stern stabilized the

side of the Roman Colosseum, relecting a respect for the fabric of the ruin through his

1

Conservation and Restoration 35

choice of materials and the functional form of the addition. In 1819–21 the restoration of

the Arch of Titus, started by Stern and completed by Giuseppe Valadier, not only inte-

grated a diferent material from the original, but also simpliied that new material to be

distinguishable from the ancient parts. his approach soon found its way into the col-

lections of Rome, such as the Villa Giulia and the Capitoline Museum, where Baroque

restorations, following Boito’s advice, were being removed and then replaced by lat,

monochromatic, and sometimes recessed inills. hough some may see these works as

the irst “purist” restorations, they were not. hat distinction belongs to the Egyptian red

granite obelisk of Montecitorio, which Giovanni Antinori restored between 1789 and

1792. Pope Pius VI should be credited with this exemplary instance of forward thinking,

since he required that the additions be of plain stone with a lat surface and devoid of

any invented hieroglyphs (common in the earlier restorations of other obelisks around

Rome) so as to distinguish clearly the new work from the original parts (Collins 2000).

Romanticism in the mid-nineteenth century came to view the fragment as an

embodiment of purity and a source of melancholic loss. Sculptures that, despite inac-

curacies of restoration, had gone unassailed for centuries and had served as touchstones

for developing art historical thought, were now reduced to the preferred (and assumed)

pure state of the fragment.

Figure  1.2.2 Engraving of a statue of a god restored as Alexander the Great, 1804, ater

Schubert (German, active 1700s), 15 7/8 × 12 1/16 in. (Becker 1804, pl. 18).

1

36 Jerry Podany

By the end of the nineteenth century the practice of derestoration lared into a kind

of iconoclastic rage fed by the antiquarians’ search for truth, the insistence on mate-

rial proof born from positivism, and the prominence of romanticism. Sculptures were

stripped of previous restorations, oten leaving behind no more than amputated forms.

In their resulting state, these could no longer accurately represent the ancient fragment,

given that they had been extensively recut and that their surfaces had been dramati-

cally reduced through polishing during the restoration process. hese were permanent

changes that could not be altered, and the narratives presented by these amputated

forms were less archaeological than medical.

Despite this rush toward purity, compromises could be found. In a

mid-nineteenth-century photograph by Hermann Krone, made before the reinstal-

lation of the galleries at the Dresden Albertinum (igure 1.2.3), the Alexander of ig-

ures 1.2.1 and 1.2.2 has been physically re-restored as a statue of Antinous in the guise

of Bacchus. he work was carried out by Emil Cauer the Elder between 1829 and 1832.

his time the transformation had been achieved by introducing a poor-quality plaster

Figure  1.2.3 Photograph of Antinous as Bacchus, 1885–8, by Hermann Krone. he

eighteenth-century restorations had been removed by Emil Cauer the Elder sometime

between 1829 and 1832, and a crude plaster head of Antinous has been attached, as well as a

restored marble arm holding an ofering vessel.

1

Conservation and Restoration 37

interpretation of a portrait of Antinous and a marble restoration of the right arm, hold-

ing an ofering vessel.

At the closing of the nineteenth century, restoration gave way to responsible steward-

ship. In 1863, Giovanni Battista Cavalcaselle, inspector of museums in Florence, empha-

sized conservation and stability over restoration. He encouraged restorers to carry out

experiments of completion and interpretation on copies of the originals and advised

that any additions to original fragments should be made easily distinguishable and neu-

tral (Conti 2007, 327–44).

In preparation of the new Albertinum Museum in Dresden, the Alexander sculp-

ture, now Antinous/Bacchus, was again altered sometime between 1888 and 1894 (igure

1.2.4). he director of the Skulpturensammlung, Georg Treu, undertook an experiment

using the guidelines of Cavalcaselle. He modiied Cauer’s restoration by substituting

the previous plaster head with a plaster cast taken from an ancient bust of Antinous as

Bacchus in the British Museum (inv. no. 1899). Treu altered the inclination and rotation

of the head to achieve a convincing placement. he well-recognized image of Antinous

Figure  1.2.4 Early twentieth-century photograph depicting the re-restoration carried out

between 1888 and 1894 by Georg Treu, director of the Skulpturensammlung, Staatliche

Kunstsammlungen Dresden. A  plaster cast of a bust of Antinous in the guise of Bacchus

from the collection of the British Museum was altered to it the statue. All other restorations

have been removed.

1

38 Jerry Podany

acted like the addition of an attribute to assign an identity to the ancient fragment.

Adhering to the new views on restoration, Treu also removed the restored right arm

added by Cauer only a few decades earlier.

he Twentieth Century: Restoration Becomes Conservation

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the restorer/cratsman was becom-

ing the “conservator,” and studios were becoming scientiic “laboratories.” he late

nineteenth-century art historian Alois Riegl, who outlined a variety of values that a

monument might retain, gave far greater importance to the object as a witness to history

than previously ascribed. he objects were now primary documents to be read and to be

preserved with a range of values all worth attention (Jokilehto 1999, 215).

Derestoration continued well into the twentieth century. For example, although part

of the appeal of the Giustiniani marbles in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art lay

in their restorations, curator Giesela M. A. Richter had most of the baroque restorations

removed in 1939. Her decision was meant to relect contemporary trends and to allow

more direct study of the pieces for her Catalog of Greek Sculptures (Raggio 2005, 201).

Even as late as the 1970s, restorations that had deined certain ancient sculptures

for generations were systematically removed. he Lansdowne Herakles, for example,

was stripped of its eighteenth-century additions in the spirit of modern archaeologi-

cal inquiry (Podany 2003, 19). But this process revealed that the eighteenth-century

restorer, most likely Albacini, had done much more than replace missing limbs. He had

reworked much of the surface, resulting in ancient segments that were similar to, but not

exactly the same as, those existing when the igure was irst found. his example demon-

strated that the objective spirit of “scientiic” investigation, resulting in the uncovering

of a pure fragment, unpolluted by previous interventions, was clearly an illusion. And

so in 1996 the restorations were again put back, in recognition not only of their historic

importance but also of the permanent changes that had occurred to the ancient frag-

ments. Didactic labeling now reveals what was ancient and what was restored.

In the twentieth century, the parallel paths of restoration and conservation once again

emerged as a debate between aesthetics (art) and objective interpretations of observable

fact (science). he assumed objective distance of science came up short at the beginning

of the twentieth century when Riegel’s “historic value” turned out to be, in part, a visu-

ally subjective preference, fully susceptible to the tropes of Romanticism. he artistic

message and visual intent, which had previously been minimized somewhat by the art

historian’s and archaeologist’s overwhelming interest in materiality, once again vied for

the viewer’s attention.

In 1963, Cesare Brandi reintroduced aesthetic concerns into the discipline of restora-

tion/conservation. In his book Teoria del Restauro, he gave artistic components primacy

over the material aspects of the object. he visual unity of the object became a leading

concern, and to combine objectivity with this aesthetic concern, conservators achieved

a clear visual distinction of the modern interventions from the original fabric through

1

Conservation and Restoration 39

gestalt principles of perception. But these minimalist ills, whether monochromatic or

blended with short strokes of color, had their beginnings in the mid-nineteenth century

in the work of Valadier and Stern and even earlier with the demands of Pope Pius VI

concerning the restoration of the obelisk of Montecitorio.

The Power of the Restorer

he complex way in which restoration developed and then evolved into conservation is

more than a mere historic note. he various approaches have had a powerful inluence

on both the viewers and the objects. he results of the two paths have inluenced how

we value past restorations and understand their relationships to the ancient fragments.

Decisions to keep or remove these additions, like decisions to carry out an intervention,

must be carefully considered: what might be gained and lost, both at the time of the

intervention and well into the future? Some restorations have become so iconic that an

intense reluctance has formed around the question of their alteration. he sixteenth- to

eighteenth-century restorations of the Laocoön group (igure 1.1.2) provide an example.

he history of the group is well rehearsed in modern literature, and a summary suices

to set the stage for considering the power of the restorer/conservator.

Well known ater its discovery in 1506, the Laocoön group was restored several times

between the 1520s and 1727. Laocoön’s missing arm was recreated in drawings, replicas,

wax, terracotta, and then inally marble. Although the proposed position of the arm was

suspected to be incorrect from the very beginning, it was accepted, because it completed

a preferred composition. Even Winckelmann observed that the more likely position of

the original arm, bent back over the head, would have detracted from the work’s beauty.

He thus knowingly gave his approval to an incorrect restoration and revealed a clear

preference for a compositional taste born of his era. In 1906, the ancient arm was found

and its position coincided with the earliest proposed reconstruction. Nonetheless, four

decades passed before it replaced the eighteenth-century restoration (igure 1.5.2). It is

likely that the iconic status of the group strongly inluenced the delay, irrespective of the

archaeological evidence. here can be no clearer evidence of the power of the restorer.

Even today, questions remain. A compelling case can be made that early restorers incor-

rectly placed one igure and that it should be rotated and repositioned (Howard 1989);

however, doing so would undo the frontal formality and “classical planigraphic” compo-

sition so popular in the sixteenth century and so long-known. It is not clear whether this

repositioning will be implemented (see essay 1.5, Frischer). One is reminded of the frag-

ment of an ancient torso restored as a statue of Alexander the Great now in Dresden and

illustrated above (igures 1.2.1–2): at some point it became clear that the object did not

represent Alexander, and surely it was obvious that the marble head, although ancient,

did not belong, nor was it even a male head; yet, the incorrect head was let in place for

almost 125 years. he decision and actions of a restorer or conservator continue to have

1

40 Jerry Podany

ramiications for the perception of an object long ater these actions might have proven

to be mistaken or fallen into disfavor.

Conservators today not only face the challenges of stabilizing new inds arriving from

the ield or new additions being made to museum collections, but also must assure that

the surviving evidence—both on the surface and contained in the fabric of the sculp-

ture—is fully recorded and protected. Conservation professionals are dedicated to the

preservation of as many of the values presented by the object as possible, but this may

require a delicate balance between protection and accessibility, stabilization and nonin-

tervention. Whatever must be done must also be well reasoned, allowing for as little per-

manent change to the object as possible, and must assure, to a reasonable degree, ease of

removal of any added parts or treatment materials. Such “reversibility” is essential since

each generation perceives the past diferently and has the capacity to alter the surviving

material evidence to meet the viewers’ tastes and presumptions. We are no diferent.

Today: Converging Paths

here has never been any lack of wonder when something that has lain buried for cen-

turies comes to light again. he object carries with it a promise of “illing in” parts of the

past no longer available to us, of bringing us closer to another time. hese artifacts are

primary documents brimming with information, and we need only learn to read them.

Today, the respect for the amount of information such objects hold is magniied by the

knowledge we bring to them and by the analytical power that we have at our command.

here is no doubt that even stronger lenses for reading will be developed in the future.

Because of this, conservators in the twenty-irst century tread lightly when treating

ancient material. Conservators recognize that chemical and physical evidence is con-

tained in the accretions or alteration layers and that the patina provides evidence of age

and the passing of time (see essay 2.6, Abbe). In a world where physical authenticity is

continually assailed by the availability of convincing alternative realities, such proof is

an anchor for the actualities of the past.

We are likely today to leave a fragmented sculpture just as it was found. Computer

modeling, like Cavalcaselle’s plaster copies, ofers us a myriad of noninvasive alterna-

tives to view how something might have looked without having to impose a direct and

permanent change on the object itself (see essay 1.5, Frischer). We have less need to

restore and greater appreciation for the efects of time. hat is not to say that fragments

that belong together should not be reassembled, nor that encrustations that hide the

form of an object, its decorative surface, or subtle inscriptions, should not be reduced.

hese actions can be undertaken with prudence and skill to reveal both evidence and

subtleties with a resulting gain of essential information. Today the hybridity of the

ancient sculpture comes from the combination of the object as historic document and

as a work of art. We ind in these two ingredients the familiar paths that we have been

1

Conservation and Restoration 41

following for centuries. But today the conservator seeks to balance the paths, which

appear to be converging into a single direction.

To this end, the Dresden Antinous in the guise of Bacchus (igures 1.2.3–4) now stands

as an assembly of surviving ancient fragments with the previous restorations docu-

mented but not attached (igure 1.2.5). Reportedly an accident during the return of the

sculpture to Dresden ater the Second World War let the object once again fragmentary,

and a recent 2008 re-restoration allowed scholars and conservators to consider how best

to present the fragment in the twenty-irst century. It was decided not to incorporate

the plaster head added by Treu (missing since the war) but to present only what ancient

fragments remained. Where necessary, inills unify the object but are clearly discernible

as modern additions. he igure is labeled “statue of a god, possibly Antinous,” inform-

ing the viewer that there is still much to learn.

Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, a French architect and theorist of the nineteenth century,

once described restoration as bringing a building to a state in which it may never have

Figure  1.2.5 Statue of a god (Roman, AD 100–200) in the collection of the

Skulpturensammlung, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen in Dresden ater the most recent con-

servation treatment.

1

42 Jerry Podany

existed (Viollet-le-Duc [1854] 1990, 195). Irrespective of how minimal the treatment

of an ancient object is, this statement proves true if taken literally. Whether an object

is broken or reassembled, let with accreted dirt on its surface or cleaned, minimally

repaired or fully restored, the inevitable result is a new state, one in which it has never

existed before. he conservator’s aim therefore is to manage change and assure accessi-

bility while protecting the original fabric, intent, and evidence of age.

Modern technology has contributed signiicantly to our preservation eforts. We

no longer need the welder’s torch or the foundry’s molten metal to assemble the frag-

ments of an ancient bronze. Today’s adhesives are suiciently strong to avoid the holes

in ancient fabric that would once have been needed for the screws and bolts securing

fragments to an iron armature. Modern high-strength alloys provide structural support

and stability with less disturbance of the ancient fabric. Lasers and microscopes provide

tools to assure that necessary cleaning will not harm either ancient surface or preserved

evidence. In short, we have little excuse to do harm and every opportunity to expand our

knowledge while preserving our past.

We have come to accept the change and loss that accompany the passage of time. And

we see the fragment as perhaps something greater, or at least with broader meaning,

than the whole. he conservator’s attention is now placed on treatments that stabilize

the object and assure future accessibility. In all, this seems to be both a wise and produc-

tive path forward, since we know that Orfeo Boselli, a sculptor and restorer of the sev-

enteenth century, was wrong when, in describing his joining technique, he wrote: “Place

two good clamps with melted lead, and beat them in, and thus secure it for eternity”

(quoted in Weil 1967, 96). Dynamic fashions and tastes guide the world of restoration

and the eforts of conservation. We are committed to pass on what we ind, enhanced by

greater knowledge, not diminished by permanent and unwanted changes.

Bibliography

Barr, S. M. 2008. “Making Something out of Next to Nothing: Bartolomeo Cavaceppi and the Major Restorations of Myron’s Discobolus.” PhD diss., University of Arizona.

Becker, W.  G. 1804. Augusteum; ou, description des monuments antiques qui se trouvent à Dresde. Leipzig: C. A. Hempel.

Boito, C. (1883) 2003. “Prima Carta del Restauro.” Resolution Adopted by the Congresso degli Ingegneri et Architetti Italiani in Rome. In Carte, risoluzioni e documenti per la conser-vazione ed il restauro, Siena, Marzo 2003, edited by R. Della Monica and T. A. Hermanès. Siena: CERR. CD-ROM.

Brandi, C. 1963. Teoria del restauro. Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura.Brenk, B. 1987. “Spolia from Constantine to Charlemagne:  Aesthetics versus Ideology.”

In “Studies on Art and Archaeology in Honor of Ernst Kitzinger on His Seventy-Fith Birthday,” edited by W. Tronzo and I. Lavin, special issue, DOP 41: 103–9.

Collins, J. 2000. “Obelisks as Artifacts in Early Modern Rome:  Collecting the Ultimate Antiques.” In “Viewing Antiquity: he Grand Tour, Antiquarianism and Collecting,” edited by C. Paul and L. Marchesano, special issue, Ricerche di Storia dell’arte 72: 49–68.

1

Conservation and Restoration 43

Coltman, V. 2006. Fabricating the Antique:  Neoclassicism in Britain, 1760–1800. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Conti, A. 2007. History of the Restoration and Conservation of Works of Art. Translated by H. Glanville. London: Elsevier.

Grossman, J. B., J. Podany, and M. True, eds. 2003. History of Restoration of Ancient Stone Sculpture. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum.

Howard, S. 1989. “Laocoon Rerestored.” AJA 93: 417–22.———. 2003. “Restoration and the Antique Model.” In Grossman, Podany, and True 2003,

25–44.Hughes, J. 2011. “he Myth of Return: Restoration as Reception in Eighteenth-Century Rome.”

Classical Receptions Journal 3(1): 1–28.Jokilehto, J. 1999. A History of Architectural Conservation. Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann.Mafei, P. A., and D. de Rossi. 1704. Raccolta di statue antiche e moderne data in luce sotto i glo-

riosi auspici della Santità di N. S. Papa Clemente XI. Rome: Stamperia alla Pace.Pliny the Elder. 1980. he Natural History. Vol. 9. Translated by H. Rackham. Loeb Classical

Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.Podany, J. 2003. “Lessons from the Past.” In Grossman, Podany, and True 2003, 13–24.Quatremère de Quincy, A.-C. 1818. Lettres escrites de Londres à Rome et addressèes à M. Canova

sur les Marbres d’Elgin à Athènes. Letter 4. Paris: n.p.Raggio, O. 2005. “A Giustiniani Bacchus and François Duquesnoy.” MMAJ 40: 197–210.Ramage, N. H. 1999. “he Pacetti Papers and the Restoration of Ancient Sculpture in the 18th

Century.” In Von der Schönheit Weissen Marmors: Zum 200. Todestag Bartolomeo Cavaceppis, edited by T. Weiss and A. Dostert, 79–83. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern.

Redford, B. 2008. Dilettanti: he Antic and the Antique in Eighteenth-Century England. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum.

Vasari, G. (1568) 1912. Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. Translated by G. du C. De Vere. London: Macmillan. Originally published as Le Vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori, ed architettori. Florence: I Giunti.

Viollet-le-Duc, E.-E. (1854) 1990. he Foundations of Architecture. Translated by K. D. Whitehead. New York: George Braziller.

Weil, P. D. 1967. “Contributions toward a History of Sculpture Techniques: I. Orfeo Boselli on the Restoration of Antique Sculptures.” Studies in Conservation 12(1): 81–101.