Colors mean different things to different people across time and space, but the color red has remained an integral way of representing hate, love and luxury for millennia.
In a new book on the history of the color from medieval historian Michel Pastoureau, the rich history of red in western Europe is brought to life. The book is a companion to his other color studies of green, blue and black. From the start, Pastoureau makes a bold claim: "Red is the archetypal color, the first color humans mastered, fabricated, reproduced, and broke down into different shades, first in painting, later in dyeing. This has given it primacy over all other colors through the millennia."
The book moves from the prehistoric caves of Spain around 30,000 BCE to the 20th century through a sweeping yet gripping narrative. Of particular interest is his investigation of red within the context of ancient Egypt and the Mediterranean. As had been the case in prehistoric painting, Egyptians often used hematite, the mineral form of iron oxide, and also used both cinnabar imported from Spain and realgar. All three were expensive imports and had to be used in moderation. Egyptian artisans also became deft at reverse engineering the color red by reprocessing fabrics previously dyed with red madder (a plant) or kermes (made from insects).
Greeks and Romans also valued red as a dye for clothing, hair, makeup and painting. The rich cinnabar frescoes from many Pompeiian houses communicated luxury to visitors. Red was also used on inscriptions and then later, in medieval manuscripts, in order to allow people to read red lettering. Roman inscriptions were often white with red lettering.
Within medieval scriptoria for copying manuscripts, there were often specialists called rubricators who used red to highlight important portions and chapters in red. Thus texts could be organized through color. The term "red letter day" comes from the fact that certain festivals and celebrations on Roman and then ecclesiastical calendars were often presented in red.
Rubricator: When quires were finished, a corrector checked a MS & then a rubricator added red to titles, chapter etc https://t.co/QbUgNNLUhD pic.twitter.com/ietoGu2Nzo
— Sarah Bond (@SarahEBond) March 9, 2017
Pastoureau argues that neither Greek nor Latin had a specific adjective for the color pink. The adjective roseus, related to the word for rose (rosa) instead meant a vibrant red. This is perhaps a small point to quibble with, but there was indeed a rare word for hot pink mentioned in an account of the later 3rd century emperor Aurelian: "He also allowed matrons to have tunics and other garments of purple, whereas they had had before only fabrics of changeable colours, or, as frequently, of a bright pink" (Historia Augusta, Life of Aurelian, 46). The adjective oxypaederōtinus (originally from the Greek ὀξυπαιδερώτινος), does seem to have denoted a bright pink hue.
The tracking of how we use color language is fascinating and thought-provoking: "A Roman could perfectly well say, 'I like red togas; I hate blue flowers,' but it was hard for him to declare, 'I like red; I hate blue,' without specifying something in particular. And for a Greek, Egyptian, or Israelite, it was even more difficult." According to Pastoureau, color abstraction was less common and was instead often attached to an object. However, the writings of people such as Pliny the Elder--who recorded many colors and the materials used to create them--does present many abstract color terms in his Natural History.
Red was also an integral part of the Roman games. Although we have a number of depictions of gladiatorial combat transmitted through texts, relief, inscriptions, and even graffiti, many of the vibrant colors of the arena and their original meaning has been overlooked. Sean Burrus, an expert in ancient color now at the University of Michigan's Frankel Institute for Advance Judaic Studies, noted the role of color in objects that depicted the Roman games: "A great example of the dazzling and colorful scenes of the Roman arena is a fragmentary painted-glass beaker in the Met collection which shows a gladiatorial scene. It really captures the visual feast on offer in the ancient arena, with no fewer than six colors used to depict the different combatants, in this case brightly colored animals and gladiators with multicolored armor."
As Burrus notes, such objects recreate a world we can no longer visit and perhaps add a little fantasy to the mix: "The bold, bright colors give us a sense of the dizzying display a spectator could expect in the Roman arena. I suspect this was the goal of the artisan who made it: not to record a historical event but to capture the spectator’s experience by playing up the intensity of Roman spectacles with a bold color palette that veers even into garish and unrealistic territory (a blue leopard!)." Without color photographs to display, Greeks and Romans used domestic frescoes, mosaic and even glass to capture the colors of everyday life--with red providing a special treat.
Pastoureau's investigation into the transition from Late Antiquity to the Middle Ages is key and richly illustrated. The liturgical use of red within the Church of the medieval era is investigated fully, as is the use of red within heraldry. As I have noted before, the production of synthetic colors in the period as a side-product of alchemy experiments is telling. Synthetic hues are not just a product of the modern era, but were often a result of medieval experiments attempting to create gold. When Arab alchemists mingled sulphur with mercury, they created a new shade we call vermilion. Vermilion was perfected in China and further developed by alchemists within the Islamic eastern Mediterranean. It only came to western Europe between the eighth and eleventh centuries.
There is far too much information to report in this post alone, but there is no doubt that the color red has a rich history worth your time. Pastoureau notes that his fifth book on color history will be released in the coming years, this one on yellow. Before all of these books, the art historian carefully provides a caveat for those of us studying the history of colors generally: "Our knowledge, our sensibility, our present-day 'truths' are not those of yesterday and will not be those of tomorrow" Perceptions of color are not universal. As with anything, it is up to us to contextualize, understand and then translate the messages of various historical shades, rather than taking their meaning for granted.
