When archaeologists started for the first time to systematically uncover the ancient city of Pompeii in the 18th century, they were met with a riddle. They found strange cavities within the thick layers of pumice and ash that had preserved the city for centuries, littered with bones. It did not take long to figure out what the cavities were – the space left behind after the bodies had decomposed, the negative space that has once been occupied by the citizens of Pompeii who had been caught in Mount Vesuvio’s eruption almost 2000 years ago. Having realized this, the archeologists were clever; they filled the cavities they had found with plaster, making statues from the human-shaped moulds. It is a gruesome sight.
Looking upon them, you see people cowering, lying still, awaiting the fate they surely knew was coming.
But what I found most interesting about this is the metaphor of the cavities, to think that archaeologists had to look for the space that was empty in order to get at the truth. They saw a void, and in order to understand the history of Pompeii’s demise better, they sought to understand that which was not there.
It seems a fine thing indeed, to earnestly try and interpret the holes and voids left behind by others instead of biting our teeth out on the galvanized ash and lava visible right in front of us. I guess the outlines of someone’s losses, the jagged history of their negative spaces, is always more helpful than their hardened ash for understanding, truly, who they are.