Artículos de revistas sobre el tema "Colonnaded streets"

Studies tackling the Roman legacy of colonial cities and Arabian provinces are still grappling with these cities from an urban planning perspective and/or building typologies. They do not provide a ‘spatial’ analysis that allows reading the Roman cities through the features that structured its urban language; one of which is the colonnaded streets. The study adopts a holistic approach to confront the ambiguities about possible origins, uses and meanings of the Roman colonnaded streets when traced in the Roman East as well as other Western cities. Besides its utilitarian and cultural value, the colonnaded streets are nalyzed according to two interrelated interpretations: astrological interpretation to represent an empire of astral divinity and performative interpretation to represent an empire of imperial power. The colonnaded streets is transformed from a ‘line on site’ into a ‘line of sight’ that testifies to the social norms of the Roman people but also to their ideologies, beliefs, and aspirations.

AbstractBetween the late first and the mid-third century CE, local elites in the eastern provinces of the Roman Empire lined the formerly utilitarian streets of their cities with honorific statues, colonnades, and ornamental buildings. The monumental avenues thus created have usually been interpreted as unplanned products of competitive munificence. This article, by contrast, suggests that the new streets had real political significance. It compares the monumental avenues of Roman Ephesus with a formal analogue from a better-documented historical context: the long, colonnaded courtyard of Florence's Uffizi complex, constructed by Duke Cosimo I in the mid-sixteenth century. Comparison with the Uffizi courtyard illuminates the prominence of “democratic” architectural conventions in Ephesian monumental avenues, the elite-centric vision of civic history implicit in their sculptural displays, and the degree to which public ceremonies reinforced their political messages.

The transformation of cities in the Byzantine and early Islamic Near East was discussed by a number of scholars in the last century. Many of them adopted a traditional approach, claiming that the Islamic conquest caused the total collapse of large classical cities, turning them into small medieval towns. The urban landscape was changed dramatically, with the large colonnaded streets of the classical Polis transformed into the narrow allies of the Islamic Madina.

This study of the agora at Oinoanda is based on fieldwork done in 1975, 1977, 1981 and 1983 in the course of the survey of Oinoanda conducted by the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara under the direction of A. S. Hall, and with the cooperation and assistance of the Directorate of Antiquities at Ankara. The topographical survey of the site, which underlies Figures 1 and 2, was undertaken by students of the Northeast London Polytechnic. Since our survey permit allowed no excavation, what follows is based on the visible remains, and some important points remain uncertain. Nevertheless, the extent of the remains and the absence of later interference with the site allow for a substantial reconstruction of the buildings concerned and their chronology.The agora of Oinoanda occupies an open space c. 87 m. by 27 m. in a depression between three low hills near the middle of the city area. To the north a spur runs out from the Acropolis hill, to the east is a small hill on the summit of which are rock cuttings for a small temple, and to the southwest is a hill which now carries a late antique fort. Between these three hills run the main streets of the city; to the south a road which skirts the hollow containing the Early Christian church Mm 3 to link up with the southern colonnaded street; to the west a much shorter road to the West Gate; and to the northeast another colonnaded street which leads between the two bath-buildings Mk 1 and Ml 1 in the direction of the Esplanade.

The shops of Scythopolis are contemporary with the initial layout of the Roman city. Similarly to other Roman cities in the East, the major streets of Scythopolis were colonnaded with rows of shops on both sides. While certain monuments and buildings in the city centre changed their character, design and function through time, the streets with their shops alongside, remained the most dominant and unchangeable feature of the city during several centuries. The owners of the shops, and their religious and cultural background, changed during the Roman, Byzantine and Early Islamic periods, but they still used the same buildings and probably sold similar products from one period to another. Sometimes it is possible to determine the function of certain shops. Among these were the shops of a coppersmith, a blacksmith, and a goldsmith, and shops for selling glass, pottery, building materials, and even souvenirs. Bakeries, taverns, and probably a butcher, can also be identified.

By analyzing measurements of the thermal environment of a qilou (arcade building) street, this study used the relative warmth index (RWI) to evaluate the thermal comfort in the colonnade space of a qilou. The analysis of the influence of the temperature, humidity, and wind speed on the thermal comfort in the colonnade space of a qilou street was conducted, and it was shown that the ambient wind speed had a strong influence on the RWI, indicating that a proper increase in the wind speed positively affected thermal comfort in this space. Then, this study also analyzed the effects of different forms of qilou streets on the wind environment by employing computational fluid dynamics (CFD) and summarized the architectural design measures that can improve the thermal comfort, including adopting back chamfer, street gaps, and the appropriate sizing of building components. It was concluded that the wind environment of a qilou could be optimized in terms of these measures, and the average RWI value decreased by 0.06, effectively enhancing the thermal comfort in the colonnade space. The research findings are applicable toward designing a thermally comfortable environment in the transitional space.

<p class="VARAbstract">This paper addresses the role of the digital tools and methods in the preservation of cultural heritage. As the destruction of Palmyra made international headlines, digital tools emerged as a key tool to fight back against the total deletion of the heritage site from memories. Palmyra in Syria had been, with its Corinthian colonnades, theatre and splendidly built temples to ancient gods, source of inspiration and imagination for Western architecture. In this paper, the aim is reviving the lost reality of Palmyra by digitally reconstructing its “ghost images” from rubbles. The paper offers a glimpse of the grandeur and beauty of the ruins of Palmyra, none of which any longer remains in its entirety. 3D models of the most significant structures of Palmyra, including Temple of Bel and Temple of Baalshamin which have been levelled as a result of conflict based vandalism, as well as the Grand Colonnaded Street and the theatre are presented as “ghost images” through reconstructed 3D models. The focus has been in maintaining the accuracy and validity of the visualised data of the relics and environment of Palmyra, as they were once extant. Following the trauma caused by the destruction of Palmyra, these reconstructions revive in our memory the splendour of the city in the Greco-Roman Period.</p>

In 2009, a set of under-lifesized statues was discovered on top of the pavement of the main N–S colonnaded street of Sagalassos. Their particular find contexts suggest that they had been on display along the street on top of statue brackets in its final phase. These statuettes not only survived in the cityscape into the 7th c. A.D., they were part of a large-scale renovation of the lower town datable to the second quarter of the 6th c. This exceptionally late example of displayed pagan mythological statuary provides information on what pieces of statuary were still available and considered suitable for re-use in the Early Byzantine period. In addition, the collection's composition can inform us about the preferred appearance of a bustling urban thoroughfare and something of the values and beliefs of the population at that period, since “whereas the common folk […] did not read Homer and Pindar, everyone — the butcher, the candlemaker, and the lower-class saint — could and did look at these statues”.

Work at Palaikastro in the 1994 and 1996 seasons was concentrated in Building 6 in the southern area adjacent to Main Street, where tests had previously been made in 1990–1. It was confirmed that the architectural history of the area ended before the Santorini eruption. Its later use as a walled open space was marked by the construction in LM IB of two wells. These were fully excavated and were very productive of useful stratified material. The principal building complex lay to the SE and comprised a propylon and a small central court with colonnade and surrounding rooms. The most important of these is a paved hall at the south entered by a pier and door system of Knossian type. All these features, as well as unusual decorative elements, including building materials of varying colour, frescoes and horns of consecration, distinguish this building from others at Palaikastro. The date of first construction seems to be MM IIIA (over an earlier MM II building), but this was followed by a destruction and major rebuild in MM IIIB, the period to which many of these decorative elements should belong. A violent destruction by earthquake later in MM IIIB left substantial pottery deposits in several areas of the building, which seems to have been only partially repaired before a final destruction took place. This was followed by deliberate dismantling (LM IA early?) which was far advanced when the tephra fell on an essentially abandoned plot.

This consideration of British poet, novelist, and critic Iain Sinclair’s ‘bad’ writing begins at the summit of Beckton Alp, a pile of waste in London’s east that has been reconstituted as recreational space. For Sinclair, Beckton Alp functions as a totem signifying the pervasive regulatory influence of Panopticism in contemporary urban culture. It shares the Panopticon’s ‘see/being seen dyad’, which is delineated thus by Michel Foucault in Discipline and Punish: In the peripheric ring [which in this case acts as an analogue for London] one is seen, without ever seeing; in the central tower [for our purposes, Beckton Alp], one sees everything without being seen. (201) In his most recent novel, Dining on Stones (or, The Middle Ground), the prospect from Beckton Alp offers Sinclair the following image of London: Leaning on a creosoted railing London makes sense. There is a pattern, a working design. And there’s a word for it too: Obscenery. Blight. Stuttering movement. The distant river. The time membrane dissolves, in such a way that the viewer becomes the thing he is looking at. (190) The city, following Michel de Certeau, can be read as a text from Beckton Alp, one that appears intelligible, one that ‘makes sense’ (92). But what “sense” is the reader to make of Sinclair’s vision of London, a London characterised by this intriguing (and typically Sinclairean) neologism, obscenery? Obscenery’s etymological origins in the word ‘obscene’ suggest that it is indecent, unruly, offensive. It would seem to encompass everything that hegemonic culture would prefer to keep off-stage and unseen, everything that it considers ‘bad.’ Yet as Sinclair makes clear, it is hardly hidden—it can be seen from the Alp. By all accounts, obscenery proves to be the completely visible manifestation of what is normally segregated, managed and disposed of by disciplinary apparatuses, such as the Panoptic schema, which organise and supervise urban space. In summary, obscenery contends the regulatory power of Panopticism by being visible, obscenely so. Sinclair is careful to avoid a dialectic positing obscenery as the disordered antinomy to the pattern of hegemonic order. Instead, obscenery problematises the differentiations demarcating ‘good’ and ‘bad’ culture. Sinclair’s poiesis also blurs the boundaries between divergent spheres of culture as it oscillates between small press publishing and the mass market. His mimeographed chapbooks and limited edition hardcovers have for the major part of his career been conceived, produced, and disseminated outside the parameters of mainstream culture. An affiliation with the avant-garde British Poetry Revival indicates Sinclair’s dedication to alternative publishing, as does the existence of his own imprints: the punningly named horz commerz, and the Albion Village Press. But his mainstream publications (including Dining on Stones, which was released by multinational publishing house Penguin) complicate this position because although he is published and circulated within the sights of hegemonic literary culture, and therefore subject to the gaze of the Panopticon, Sinclair rejects hegemonic expectations about what comprises literature. He exploits written language, a tool licensed by the Panopticon, for unlicensed praxis. Identifying Sinclair’s cultural production as a type of textual obscenery, or ‘bad’ writing proposes an alternative model of cultural production, one that enables the creative practitioner to loosen the panoptic bonds with which Foucault pinions the individual and productively negotiate the archetypal struggle faced in a capitalist political economy: the conflict between artistic integrity and commercial imperative. In a sense, Sinclair and his circle of collaborators constitute a modern day la bohème—a league of artistic and literary putschists conspiring against the established order of cultural production, distribution, and consumption. As Sinclair commented in an interview: There’s no anxiety. Most of the stuff I have done didn’t have to win anybody’s approval. For me, there wasn’t that question of ‘How do I get published?’ that seems to preoccupy writers now. I used to publish myself. (Jeffries) For Sinclair, hegemonic culture is marching acquiescently, mindlessly to the ‘military/industrial two-step. That old standard… YES was the word.’ (Sinclair, London Orbital 4) If ‘yes’ is the mantra of this type of (false) consciousness, then Sinclair’s contrary creations are asserting a politics of ‘no.’ Sinclair’s refusal to accede to hegemonic attitudes regarding what is ‘good’ writing points to a deliberate decision to preserve what Herbert Marcuse terms ‘artistic alienation’ (Sinclair 63). According to Marcuse, artistic alienation, as distinct from traditional Marxist notions of alienation, should be encouraged in order to preserve the integrity of the work of art as something that has the power to rupture reality. In late era capitalism, reality is the totality of commodity culture, thus art must remain antagonistic to the ubiquity of the commodity form. Or, in Marcuse’s words, ‘art has …magic power only as the power of negation. It can speak its own language only as long as the images are alive which refuse and refute the established order’ (65). Within the panoptic schema, the disciplinary apparatus of capitalism, refusal, or refuse, is equivalent to obscenery. Like raw sewage washing up on the beach, or a split garbage bag lying uncollected in the street, Sinclair’s writing is matter out-of-place. If Panopticism, as Foucault theorises, is to efficiently and effectively implement discipline via real and imagined networks of surveillance that shift constantly between operations extrinsic and intrinsic to the subject, it does not necessarily prevent heterogeneous, transgressive, or subversive practice from emerging. However, it will, by means of this surveillance, draw attention to these practices, classify and segregate them, apply pejorative labels such as ‘bad’, ‘useless’, ‘harmful’, and relegate them to a social or spatial sphere outside the realm of the normative tastes and standards. In this process lies the Panopticon’s vast potential to devise, standardise, and regulate patterns of production and consumption. Practices and production that do not conform to hegemonic conventions are deemed aberrant, and rendered invisible. In a capitalist political economy, where governing institutions and operations function as extensions of systems predicated upon the fetishism of commodities, regulating patterns of consumption—by deciding what can and can’t be seen—imposes control. According to the logic of scopophilic culture, to be ‘unseen,’ by choice or otherwise, necessarily restricts consumption. In this manner, the Panopticon reinforces its role as arbiter of public taste. Obscenery’s visibility, however, rejects panoptic classification. It resists the panoptic systems that police cultural production, not by remaining hidden, or Other, but by declaring its presence. Unlike the commodity, which in its conformity is seamlessly assimilated into consumer culture, obscenery draws attention. Beckton Alp, a sanitised pile of waste rendered useful, palatable, is, in contrast, an example of obscenery averted (see endnote). As Marx explains, for a product to exist fully it must be consumed (91). A book becomes a product only when it is read. Writing that is designed to refuse the act of reading is perverse according to any schema of cultural logic, but particularly according to the logic of an economy driven by consumption. This refusal resonates with particular force within a capitalist schema of cultural production because it is fundamentally contrary to the process of commodification. Sinclair’s texts deny easy, uncritical consumption and subsequently cause a blockage in the process of commodification. In this manner, Sinclair contends the logos of capitalist alchemy. A book that resists being easily read, but is still visible to mainstream culture, constitutes a type of obscenery. Situating Sinclair’s poiesis within the domain of obscenery enables an understanding of why his texts have been judged by some critics and readers as ‘bad,’ difficult, inaccessible, impenetrable, even ‘unreadable’. Practitioners of counter-cultural and sub-cultural art and literature traditionally protect their minoritarian status and restrict access to their work by consciously constructing texts which might be considered ‘shit’; in other words, creating something that is deemed excremental, or ‘bad’ according to hegemonic tastes and standards. They create something that inhibits smooth digestion, something that causes a malfunction in the order of consumption. Stylistically, Sinclair employs a number of linguistic and formal devices to repulse the reader. Unrelenting verbiage and extreme parataxis are two such contrivances, as this exemplary excerpt from Dining on Stones illustrates: HEALTHY BOWELS? No problem in that department. Quite the reverse. Eyes: like looking out of week-old milk bottles. Ears clogged and sticky nose broken. But bowels ticked like a German motor: Stephen X, age unknown: writer. Marine exile. His walk, the colonnade. Wet suits for scuba divers. Yellowed wedding dresses. Black god franchises. Fast food. NO CASH KEPT ON PREMISES. The shops, beneath the hulk of the Ocean Queen flats, dealt in negatives, prohibitions – fear. They kept no stock beyond instantly forgotten memorabilia, concrete floors. Stephen releases a clutch of bad wind. (Sinclair 308) Sinclair’s writing constructs linguistic heterotopias that ‘desiccate speech, stop words in their tracks, contest the very possibility of grammar’ (Foucault, Archaeology xix). His language is clipped, elliptical, arrhythmic. In fact, Sinclair’s prose often doesn’t resemble prose; formally and syntactically, it is more aligned with poetry. It is peppered with paradoxical conceits—‘forgotten memorabilia’—which negate meaning and amplify the inscrutability of his words. His imagery is unexpected, discordant, frequently unsettling, as is his unpredictable register which veers from colloquialisms (‘No problem in that department’; Sinclair 308) to more formal, literary modes of expression (‘Stephen X, age unknown: writer’; Sinclair 308). Sinclair also alienates the reader through the use of digressive narrative, which in its Blakean insistence on cyclical shapes resists the linear structure associated with the shape of rational imagination. In terms of the economy of a teleological narrative, Sinclair’s storytelling in novels like Dining on Stones is wasteful in its diversions. His fictions and non-fictions contain characters and events that are incidental to what only occasionally resembles a plot. The apotheosis of the urge to contend linear forms of narrative is chronicled in Sinclair’s 2002 book London Orbital, a navigation of the M25 that as a circuitous journey has neither defined point of origin nor a locatable terminus. Sinclair’s novels, criticism, poetry, films constitute a hermeneutic circle, insisting that you have a working knowledge of the other texts in order to decipher the single text, and the body of work gives meaning to each discrete text. Acquiring Sinclair’s recondite code—which those who are cognisant with his style are well aware—is not a task for the uncommitted. The reader must assume the role of detective tracking down his poetry in second-hand bookshops. Obscure references that saturate the page must be researched. To read and understand Sinclair requires what sociologist Pierre Bourdieu has called ‘cultural competence’ (2). Bourdieu’s ideas on taste and consumption provide a framework for understanding Sinclair’s textual allegiances, his affinity for other types of textual obscenery—unsanctioned graffiti, small magazine poetry—which are also derided as ‘shit’, as ‘bad’ writing by those who have not acquired the cultural competence necessary to understand their coded information. There is a self-reflexive joke contained in the title Dining on Stones. After all, it is a novel that constantly urges the reader to swallow indigestible text and unsavoury subject matter. Sinclair’s writing continually forces our attentions back to the purlieus of urban culture, to everything that the centrifugal forces of Panopticism have driven to the periphery: social inequality, marginal spatial practice, refuse, shit. Sinclair’s textual obscenery is perceived as ‘bad’, as excremental because it denies mainstream literary audiences the satisfaction of uncomplicated, uncritical consumption. According to the restrictive logic of late era capitalism, Sinclair’s slippery, complex, inaccessible narratives are perverse. But they are also the source of perverse pleasure for those who refuse the inhibitions of conformity. Endnote Visual technology in the service of surveillance has been steadily integrated into the everyday, and, by virtue of its ubiquity, has become ‘unseen.’ Similar to the panoptic technologies described by Foucault, Beckton Alp, ‘a considerable event that nobody notices,’ (Sinclair, Dining on Stones, 179) is also assimilated into the urban landscape. References Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. London: Routledge, 2003. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: U of California P, 1988. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. London: Penguin, 1977. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. London and New York: Routledge, 2002. Jeffries, Stuart. “On the Road.” The Guardian Online 24 Apr. 2004. 28 Apr. 2004 http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/generalfiction/story/0,,1201856,00.html>. Marcuse, Herbert. One-Dimensional Man. London & New York: Routledge, 2002. Marx, Karl. Grundrisse: Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy (Rough Draft). Trans. Martin Nicolaus. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973. Sinclair, Iain. Dining on Stones (or, the Middle Ground). London: Hamish Hamilton, 2004. Sinclair, Iain. London Orbital. London: Granta, 2002. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Seale, Kirsten. "Iain Sinclair's Excremental Narratives." M/C Journal 8.1 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/03-seale.php>. APA Style Seale, K. (Feb. 2005) "Iain Sinclair's Excremental Narratives," M/C Journal, 8(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/03-seale.php>.