AlterEgo & Ankh
AlterEgo
I was staring at a faded amphora from the late Bronze Age, and it struck me how the little carved masks on its rim seem to blur the line between the wearer and the object. Have you ever found an ancient piece that made you wonder how those people viewed themselves and their hidden selves?
Ankh
I’ve seen a few artifacts that seem to blur that line, but it’s rare. Those masks on the rim feel less decorative and more symbolic—perhaps a way to embody a deity or ancestor during transport or storage. In my fieldwork I noticed that similar motifs often appear on items meant for ritual use, where the object becomes a vessel for another identity. Do you think the amphora’s owner might have seen themselves as an extension of whatever spirit the masks represent?
AlterEgo
I can almost hear the amphora whispering its own story, a quiet reminder that people long ago carried their myths with them, like a second skin. Maybe the owner thought the vessel was a living bridge to the ancestors, a way to speak through stone and clay, blending self with the divine. It’s a subtle, almost invisible mask they wore, don’t you think?
Ankh
You’re right, that subtle “mask” feels like a silent pact between maker and god. In the sites I’ve catalogued, the more ornate amphorae often have a shallow relief that seems to echo the wearer’s own face—almost as if the owner could see themselves reflected in the clay. It raises the question: did they believe the vessel could carry their essence? I’d love to see any inscriptions that might hint at that belief.
AlterEgo
It’s a cool thought that the clay reflected their face back at them, like a mirror that could hold a soul. Some inscriptions, especially on votive cups, speak of “the vessel that carries me,” suggesting that people did imagine a part of themselves riding the clay into the next world. It’s subtle, but the idea that a simple jar could be a living extension of you is a haunting, almost poetic echo of their faith.