Scientists Create a New Rembrandt Painting, Using a 3D Printer & Data Analysis of Rembrandt’s Body of Work

All of us who saw Juras­sic Park as kids, no mat­ter how much skep­ti­cism we’d pre­co­cious­ly devel­oped, sure­ly spent at least a moment won­der­ing if sci­ence could actu­al­ly bring dinosaurs back to life by pulling the DNA out of their blood trapped in amber-pre­served mos­qui­toes. It turns out that it can’t — at least not yet! — but even so, we had to admit that Steven Spiel­berg and his CGI-savvy col­lab­o­ra­tors (not to men­tion their huge bud­get) achieved, on screen, the next best thing. Even so, peo­ple have long dis­agreed about whether to call the visu­al res­ur­rec­tion of dinosaurs in the ser­vice of a block­buster adven­ture movie a work of art.

But what if we used the even more pow­er­ful data analy­sis and com­put­er graph­ics tech­nol­o­gy now at our dis­pos­al specif­i­cal­ly for the pur­pose of gen­er­at­ing a mas­ter­piece, or at least a piece by a mas­ter — by Rem­brandt, say? A project called The Next Rem­brandt has aimed to do just that with its attempt “to dis­till the artis­tic DNA of Rem­brandt” using every­thing from build­ing and ana­lyz­ing “an exten­sive analy­sis of his paint­ings [ … ] pix­el by pix­el,” to per­form­ing a demo­graph­ic study deter­min­ing his con­clu­sive por­trait sub­ject (“a Cau­casian male with facial hair, between the ages of thir­ty and forty, wear­ing black clothes with a white col­lar and a hat, fac­ing to the right”), to cre­at­ing a height map to mim­ic his phys­i­cal brush strokes.

Next Rembrandt

“You could say that we use tech­nol­o­gy and data like Rem­brandt used his paints and his brush­es to cre­ate some­thing new.” Those bold words come from Ron Augus­tus, Microsoft­’s direc­tor of small- and medi­um-sized busi­ness mar­kets, in the pro­mo­tion­al video at the top of the post. His employ­er acts as one of two part­ners involved in The Next Rem­brandt, the oth­er being the Dutch bank ING — hence, pre­sum­ably, the choice of painter to res­ur­rect. Their com­bined resources have pro­duced a whol­ly the­o­ret­i­cal, but in a phys­i­cal sense very real, new “Rem­brandt” por­trait, metic­u­lous­ly 3D-print­ed at 148 megapix­els in thir­teen lay­ers of paint-based UV ink.

Despite its impres­sive plau­si­bil­i­ty, nobody expects the fruit of the Next Rem­brandt pro­jec­t’s con­sid­er­able labors, unveiled yes­ter­day in Ams­ter­dam, to hang in the Rijksmu­se­um next to The Night Watch. But it can, prop­er­ly con­sid­ered, teach us all a great deal about what, in the words of ING exec­u­tive cre­ative direc­tor Bas Korsten, “made Rem­brandt Rem­brandt.” And like any cut­ting-edge stunt, it also gives us a glimpse into what tech­nol­o­gy will soon­er or lat­er make pos­si­ble for us all. How long could we pos­si­bly have to wait before we can 3D-print, on can­vas with oil paint, por­traits of our­selves as Rem­brandt almost cer­tain­ly would have paint­ed us — or our very own Night Watch, indis­tin­guish­able from the orig­i­nal? Tru­ly, we stand on the cusp of a gold­en age of forgery.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

300+ Etch­ings by Rem­brandt Now Free Online, Thanks to the Mor­gan Library & Muse­um

A Final Wish: Ter­mi­nal­ly Ill Patients Vis­it Rembrandt’s Paint­ings in the Rijksmu­se­um One Last Time

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

Flash­mob Recre­ates Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch” in a Dutch Shop­ping Mall

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear the Radical Musical Compositions of Marcel Duchamp (1912–1915)

Erratum Musical

Abstract art, spurred into being by the emer­gence of pho­tog­ra­phy, had by 1912 begun to face an even more tech­ni­cal­ly adroit com­peti­tor for the public’s eye: film. Mar­cel Duchamp respond­ed by super­im­pos­ing all of the dis­crete moments that make up a film reel into one aston­ish­ing image that is both sta­t­ic and always in motion. Over one hun­dred years after its com­po­si­tion, Mar­cel Duchamp’s Nude Descend­ing a Stair­case, No. 2 (below) still amazes view­ers with its absolute nov­el­ty. He was asked to with­draw the paint­ing from a cubist exhi­bi­tion when the com­mit­tee pro­nounced it “ridicu­lous.”

Duchamp_-_Nude_Descending_a_Staircase

Five years lat­er, feel­ing with his fel­low Dadaists that the avant-garde had grown too cozy with the estab­lish­ment, and too pre­cious in its approach and recep­tion, Duchamp sub­mit­ted a signed uri­nal for an exhi­bi­tion, the first of many repli­cas to occu­py gal­leries for the past one-hun­dred years—and a provo­ca­tion once vot­ed the most influ­en­tial mod­ern art work ever. Like some sort of trick­ster god, Mar­cel Duchamp pos­sessed trans­for­ma­tive pow­ers, which also had the effect of dri­ving every­one around him crazy. There seem to be no two ways about it: peo­ple either think Duchamp is a genius, or they con­sid­er him a fraud.

Like most of his Dada con­tem­po­raries, Duchamp left no medi­um untouched, from paint­ing, to sculp­ture, to film. And when it came to music, Ubuweb informs us, he enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly applied him­self, between the years 1912 and 1915, to “two works of music and a con­cep­tu­al piece—a note sug­gest­ing a musi­cal hap­pen­ing.” Like all of his cre­ative work—love it or hate it—his com­po­si­tions “rep­re­sent a rad­i­cal depar­ture from any­thing done up until that time.” Also like his oth­er works, his music glee­ful­ly tres­passed for­mal bound­aries, antic­i­pat­ing “some­thing that then became appar­ent in the visu­al arts,” ama­teur exper­i­men­ta­tion. Duchamp respect­ed no school and no canon of taste, and his “lack of musi­cal train­ing could have only enhanced his explo­ration.”

The meth­ods employed were, of course, con­cep­tu­al, and seri­ous­ly play­ful. In “Erra­tum Musi­cal,” writ­ten for three voic­es, “Duchamp made three sets of 25 cards, one for each voice, with a sin­gle note per card. Each set of cards was mixed in a hat; he then drew out the cards from the hat one at a time and wrote down the series of notes indi­cat­ed by the order in which they were drawn.” The sec­ond piece, direct­ly above, “La Mar­iée mise à nu par ses céli­bataires même. Erra­tum Musi­cal (The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bach­e­lors Even. Erra­tum Musi­cal),” con­tains instruc­tions for a “mechan­i­cal instru­ment.” It is also “unfin­ished and is writ­ten using num­bers instead of notes.”

Final­ly, “Sculp­ture Musi­cale (Musi­cal Sculpture)”—vocalized by John Cage above, and recre­at­ed with music box­es below—consists of “a note on a small piece of paper” and antic­i­pates the “Fluxus pieces of the ear­ly 1960s.” While Dada artists near­ly all exper­i­ment­ed with music, most­ly in the form of a kind of con­fronta­tion­al musi­cal the­ater, Duchamp’s cere­bral com­po­si­tions push into the ter­ri­to­ry of pure­ly con­cep­tu­al exer­cis­es cre­at­ed through chance oper­a­tion. In “Erra­tum Musi­cal,” for exam­ple, “the three voic­es are writ­ten out sep­a­rate­ly, and there is no indi­ca­tion by the author, whether they should be per­formed sep­a­rate­ly or togeth­er as a trio.” The arrange­ment depends entire­ly on the time and place of per­for­mance and the intu­itions of the inter­preters.

The Rube Gold­berg machine described by Duchamp’s sec­ond piece, along with the nota­tion sys­tem of his own devis­ing, makes it seem impos­si­ble to per­form; like­wise the entire­ly non-musi­cal “Sculp­ture Musi­cale.” The record­ings we have here rep­re­sent only pos­si­ble ver­sions. Hear oth­ers at Ubuweb, along with sev­er­al inter­views with Duchamp in French and Eng­lish.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Anémic Ciné­ma: Mar­cel Duchamp’s Whirling Avant-Garde Film (1926)

When Bri­an Eno & Oth­er Artists Peed in Mar­cel Duchamp’s Famous Uri­nal

Hear the Exper­i­men­tal Music of the Dada Move­ment: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Cen­tu­ry Ago

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch Bob Ross’ The Joy of Painting: Now Free on YouTube

Last year, we let you know that the first sea­son of The Joy of Paint­ing, the pub­lic-tele­vi­sion paint-along show host­ed by the neat­ly permed and per­sis­tent­ly reas­sur­ing Bob Ross, had appeared free to watch online.

Pro­duced by WNVC in Falls Church, Vir­ginia, that sea­son aired in 1983, and had some rough edges — the audi­ble move­ments and mur­murs of the crew in the back­ground, the nat­u­ral­ly impro­vi­sa­tion­al Ross’ occa­sion­al stum­ble over one of his script­ed lines — that would get thor­ough­ly smoothed away as the pro­gram rapid­ly became an inter­na­tion­al TV insti­tu­tion, a process you can wit­ness again for your­self now that Bob Ross’ Youtube chan­nel has made avail­able all 31 sea­sons free online.

Sea­son Two

“Bob Ross died in 1995 at 52 after a bat­tle with lym­phoma,” writes the New York Times’ Fos­ter Kamer, “but his cul­tur­al lega­cy has grown in his absence. He was around to wit­ness the begin­nings of his own cult sta­tus. In the ear­ly ’90s, he was big in Japan. And MTV, cater­ing to the Gen X pen­chant for irony, ran a series of pro­mo­tion­al adver­tise­ments that fea­tured him.”

Gen Xers across Amer­i­ca would sure­ly all have caught glimpses of Ross — and more impor­tant­ly, heard a few of his mes­mer­iz­ing­ly deliv­ered words — dur­ing late-night or mid­day chan­nel-surf­ing ses­sions, but now, thanks to the increas­ing avail­abil­i­ty of The Joy of Paint­ing’s archives on-demand and online, it’s made new fans even of those born after Ross had already depart­ed.

Sea­son Three

The show always made it easy for its view­ers to paint as they watched, with Ross always tak­ing the time to run down the short list of required tools, mak­ing tire­less­ly sure to empha­size that under no cir­cum­stances should they buy nylon brush­es or clean those brush­es with tur­pen­tine. As the pro­duc­tion val­ues increased, so did the num­ber of col­ors on the palette, though they nev­er expand­ed too far beyond the core set, which The Joy of Paint­ing die-hards can rat­tle off like a mantra, of Bright Red, Phtha­lo Blue, Mid­night Black, Alizarin Crim­son, Cad­mi­um Yel­low, Van Dyke Brown, Tita­ni­um White, Sap Green — and, as Ross him­self might say, the “almighty” can­vas-cov­er­ing Mag­ic White, the foun­da­tion of the “wet-on-wet” tech­nique he learned from men­tor, and lat­er bit­ter rival, Bill Alexan­der.

Sea­son Four

The New York Times arti­cle quotes Annette Kowal­s­ki, a one­time stu­dent of Ross who now helps run the Bob Ross, Inc. empire, on the host’s endur­ing appeal as a teacher: “If you lis­ten close­ly to Bob’s pro­grams, he nev­er says ‘I’m going to teach you this. He nev­er assumes that he knows more than you do. He says: ‘We’ll learn this togeth­er.’ And I think — even though peo­ple don’t real­ize it — I think that’s what his big turn-on is.” But it almost goes with­out say­ing that not every­one fas­ci­nat­ed by the show, and maybe not even most peo­ple fas­ci­nat­ed by the show, actu­al­ly have any desire to paint them­selves.

Sea­son Five

So why do they still tune in, on what­ev­er plat­form they might tune in on, and in such large num­bers? The key must have some­thing to do with Ross’ oft-repeat­ed reminders to his view­ers that, when it comes to the land­scapes on their own can­vas­es, “this is your world, your cre­ation,” and in your world, “there are no set, firm rules — you find what works for you, and that’s what you do.” On The Joy of Paint­ing, Ross cre­at­ed a world, or per­haps a real­i­ty, of his own, one where “any­body can paint; all you need is a dream in your heart and a lit­tle prac­tice,” where “there are no mis­takes, just hap­py acci­dents” (plen­ti­ful­ly inhab­it­ed, of course, by “hap­py lit­tle trees”), and one which many found they enjoyed liv­ing in, brush in hand or not, even if only for 26 min­utes at a time.

Sea­son Six

We will con­tin­u­ing adding sea­sons to this list as they become avail­able.

Sea­son Sev­en

Sea­son Eight

Sea­son Nine

Sea­son Ten

Sea­son 11

Sea­son 12

Sea­son 13

Sea­son 14

Sea­son 15

Sea­son 16

Sea­son 17

Sea­son 18

Sea­son 19

Sea­son 20

Sea­son 21

Sea­son 22

Sea­son 23

Sea­son 24

Sea­son 25

Sea­son 26

Sea­son 27

Sea­son 28

Sea­son 29

Sea­son 30

Sea­son 31

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Ross’ The Joy of Paint­ing Is Now Free Online: Watch Sea­son 1

Icon­ic Artists at Work: Watch Rare Videos of Picas­so, Matisse, Kandin­sky, Renoir, Mon­et and More

Watch Picas­so Cre­ate Entire Paint­ings in Mag­nif­i­cent Time-Lapse Film (1956)

Picas­so Paint­ing on Glass

Jack­son Pol­lock 51: Short Film Cap­tures the Painter Cre­at­ing Abstract Expres­sion­ist Art

Aston­ish­ing Film of Arthrit­ic Impres­sion­ist Painter, Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1915)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

330 Years of Female Printmakers (1570–1900) : Download Free Prints, Visit the Exhibit

Female Artists 1

Hen­ri­et­ta Louisa Koe­nen was born a cen­tu­ry before the Guer­ril­la Girls, but her col­lect­ing habits are a strong argu­ment for hon­orary, posthu­mous mem­ber­ship in the activist group.

The wife of the Rijksmuseum’s Print Room’s first direc­tor, Koe­nen spent over three decades acquir­ing prints by female artists, though dis­cour­ag­ing­ly few of the 827 women in her col­lec­tion achieved much in the way of recog­ni­tion for their work.

Renais­sance aris­to­crat­ic painter, Sofon­is­ba Anguis­so­la, and por­traitist (and found­ing mem­ber of London’s Roy­al Acad­e­my of ArtsAngel­i­ca Kauff­man, have the dis­tinc­tion of being namechecked in the Guer­ril­la Girl’s 1989 provo­ca­tion, below.

Female Artists 2

Nei­ther can be said to enjoy the muse­um tote bag celebri­ty of a Kahlo or O’Keeffe.

Female Artists 3

Self por­tait, Angel­i­ca Kauff­man

Their work can be expect­ed to attract some new fans, now that 80 some pieces from Koenen’s col­lec­tion are on dis­play as part of the New York Pub­lic Library’s exhib­it, Print­ing Women: Three Cen­turies of Female Print­mak­ers, 1570–1900.

(And it would be unseem­ly not to cred­it Amer­i­can art deal­er Samuel Put­nam Avery, for donat­ing Koe­nen’s col­lec­tion to the library at the turn of the last cen­tu­ry, twen­ty years after her death.)

Female Artists 4

Print­mak­ing is a fre­quent­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive art. The droll Young Girl Laugh­ing at the Old Woman, above, was drawn by Anguis­so­la and engraved by Jacob Bos.

And Maria Cosway’s Music Has Charms, at the top of this post, was a fam­i­ly affair, with Cosway print­ing hus­band Richard’s celes­tial ren­der­ing of daugh­ter Louisa Paoli­na Angel­i­ca. (Mrs. Cosway was also an accom­plished com­pos­er and painter of minia­tures and mytho­log­i­cal scenes, though his­to­ry has decreed her most endur­ing claim to fame should be her hold over a besot­ted Thomas Jef­fer­son.)

The library high­lights the con­tin­u­um with an online gallery show­cas­ing the work of con­tem­po­rary female print­mak­ers, some of whom are con­tribut­ing guest posts to cura­tor Madeleine Viljoen’s Print­ing Women blog.

Female Artists 5

Sara Sanders, whose 2010 Lith­o­graph, Unti­tled Chair #5, above, is part of a larg­er series, writes:

I believe that the domes­tic objects with which we spend our lives retain traces of our his­to­ries and tell sto­ries about our pasts. These prints are part of an ongo­ing series of por­traits of chairs drawn in the way we imag­ine them to be. Two of the chairs in this series were drawn from exist­ing objects with a rich his­to­ry, while the rest are imag­ined char­ac­ter stud­ies.

Her thoughts seem par­tic­u­lar­ly ger­mane, when the “less­er gen­res” of orna­ment, still-life, and land­scape were by default fre­quent sub­jects for the female artists in Koenen’s col­lec­tion. Pro­pri­ety deemed the fair­er sex should not be par­ty to the nude fig­ure stud­ies that sig­nif­i­cant reli­gious and his­tor­i­cal scenes so often demand­ed.

(Chan­nel your inner Guer­ril­la Girl by per­form­ing an image search on Rape of the Sabine Women, and imag­in­ing the mod­els as aspi­rant artists them­selves, con­fined to such sub­ject mat­ter as vio­lets and laun­dry day.)

That’s not to say domes­tic sub­jects can’t prove divine.

Female Artists 6

Wit­ness 1751’s A Child Seat­ed, Blow­ing Bub­bles by Madame de Pom­padour, an ama­teur artist and fre­quent­ly paint­ed beau­ty, who, the Nation­al Gallery’s web­site informs us, was “groomed from child­hood to become a play­thing for the King.”

View the online brochure for New York Pub­lic Library’s Print­ing Women: Three Cen­turies of Female Print­mak­ers, 1570–1900 exhi­bi­tion here. The exhi­bi­tion at The New York Pub­lic Library ends May 27th, 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

11 Essen­tial Fem­i­nist Books: A New Read­ing List by The New York Pub­lic Library

The Women of the Avant-Garde: An Intro­duc­tion Fea­tur­ing Audio by Gertrude Stein, Kathy Ack­er, Pat­ti Smith & More

The New York Pub­lic Library Lets You Down­load 180,000 Images in High Res­o­lu­tion: His­toric Pho­tographs, Maps, Let­ters & More

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The Met Digitally Restores the Colors of an Ancient Egyptian Temple, Using Projection Mapping Technology

Thanks to the tire­less efforts of archae­ol­o­gists, we have a pret­ty clear idea of what much of the ancient world looked like, at least as far as the clothes peo­ple wore and the struc­tures in and around which they spent their days. But we sel­dom imag­ine these lives among the ruins-before-they-became-ruins in col­or, despite hav­ing read in the his­to­ry books that some ancient builders and artists cre­at­ed a col­or­ful world indeed, espe­cial­ly when a spe­cial archi­tec­tur­al occa­sion like an Egypt­ian tem­ple called for it.

“As depict­ed in pop­u­lar cul­ture, ancient Egypt is awash with the col­or beige,” writes the New York Times’ Joshua Barone. “A trip to the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art would seem to reflect that notion: The Tem­ple of Den­dur, with its weath­er­worn sand­stone, could fit in nat­u­ral­ly with the earth tones of Aida or The Mum­my.

But Egyp­tol­o­gists know that this tem­ple, like many oth­ers of the ancient world, was paint­ed with vivid col­ors and pat­terns. In ‘Col­or the Tem­ple,’ a mar­riage of research and pro­jec­tion-map­ping tech­nol­o­gy, vis­i­tors to the Met can now glimpse what the Tem­ple of Den­dur may have looked like in its orig­i­nal, poly­chro­mat­ic form more than 2,000 years ago.”

temple in color

Image via @Burning_Luke

While the rav­ages of time haven’t destroyed the var­i­ous scenes carved into the tem­ple’s walls, they’ve long made it next to impos­si­ble for schol­ars to get an idea of what col­ors their cre­ators paint­ed them. Orig­i­nal­ly locat­ed on the banks of the Nile, the tem­ple endured cen­tu­ry after cen­tu­ry of flood­ing (by the 1920s, almost nine months out of the year) which thor­ough­ly washed away the sur­face of the images. But after some seri­ous his­tor­i­cal research, includ­ing the con­sul­ta­tion of a 1906 sur­vey by Egyp­tol­o­gist Ayl­ward M. Black­man and the Napoleon­ic Descrip­tion de l’E­gypte, the Met’s team has come up with a pret­ty plau­si­ble idea of what the scene on the tem­ple’s south wall, in which Emper­or Cae­sar Augus­tus in Pharaoh garb presents wine to the deities Hathor and Horus, looked like in full col­or.

But it would hard­ly do to buy a few buck­ets from Sher­win-Williams and sim­ply fill the wall in. Instead, the Met has used a much more advanced tech­nol­o­gy called dig­i­tal pro­jec­tion map­ping (also known, more Wired-ly, as “spa­tial aug­ment­ed real­i­ty”) to restore the Tem­ple of Den­dur’s col­ors with light. You can get a sense of the result in the two videos at the top of the post, shot dur­ing the Col­or the Tem­ple exhi­bi­tion which ran through March 19.

For a clos­er look into the process, have a look at the video just above, cre­at­ed by Maria Paula Saba, who worked on the project. As you can see, the use of light rather than paint allows for the pos­si­bil­i­ty of a vari­ety of dif­fer­ent col­or schemes, all of them quite pos­si­bly what the ancient Egyp­tians saw when they passed by, all of them fit­ting right in to the details and con­tours the ancient Egypt­ian artists put there — a thrill impos­si­ble to over­state for those of us who grew up with ancient-Egypt col­or­ing books.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

Try the Old­est Known Recipe For Tooth­paste: From Ancient Egypt, Cir­ca the 4th Cen­tu­ry BC

The Turin Erot­ic Papyrus: The Old­est Known Depic­tion of Human Sex­u­al­i­ty (Cir­ca 1150 B.C.E.)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Download the Sublime Anatomy Drawings of Leonardo da Vinci: Available Online, or in a Great iPad App

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I’ve always found anatom­i­cal draw­ing fas­ci­nat­ing. At its best, it occu­pies an aes­thet­ic space some­where between mys­ti­cal fine art and cut­ting-edge sci­en­tif­ic observation—a space carved out dur­ing the Ital­ian Renais­sance, when the bound­aries between artis­tic train­ing and sci­en­tif­ic inquiry were per­me­able and often nonex­is­tent.

Famous­ly, the peri­od intro­duced ren­der­ings of the human fig­ure so anatom­i­cal­ly accu­rate that “until about 1500–1510,” writes the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, the artists’ “inves­ti­ga­tions sur­passed much of the knowl­edge of anato­my that was taught at the uni­ver­si­ties.”

Recto: Studies of a cranium. Verso: Notes on the nerves and move

Artists like the great Michelan­ge­lo Buon­nar­roti and Leonar­do da Vinci—as well as less­er-known fig­ures like Anto­nio Pol­laiuo­lo and Bac­cio Bandinelli—undertook “detailed anatom­i­cal dis­sec­tions at var­i­ous points in their long careers,” pro­duc­ing hun­dreds of sketch­es and stud­ies along­side and in prepa­ra­tion for the mus­cu­lar paint­ings and sculp­ture for which they’re best known.

Recto: The muscles of the back and arm. Verso: Studies of the in

Most Renais­sance artists “became anatomists by neces­si­ty,” the Met points out, “as they attempt­ed to refine a more life­like, sculp­tur­al por­tray­al of the human fig­ure.” Leonardo’s stud­ies in anato­my, how­ev­er, held a sci­en­tif­ic inter­est all their own, akin to his inves­ti­ga­tions into the physics of flight, weapon and bat­tle­ment design, archi­tec­ture, and oth­er pur­suits.

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Many of Leonardo’s anatom­i­cal draw­ings con­tain detailed notes on his obser­va­tions, as you can see in the study of a heav­i­ly-mus­cled tor­so and of a human cra­ni­um, fur­ther up. He wrote these notes using his pro­pri­etary right-to-left “mir­ror-writ­ing” tech­nique, which he reserved for his pri­vate note­books. “Only when he was writ­ing some­thing intend­ed for oth­er peo­ple,” Boston’s Muse­um of Sci­ence informs us, “did he write in the nor­mal direc­tion.”

Recto: Studies of the foetus in the womb. Verso: Notes on reprod

Now we can see sev­er­al dozen of Leonardo’s anatom­i­cal draw­ings of human and ani­mal fig­ures (such as the bear foot above) all in one place, thanks to Buck­ing­ham Palace’s Roy­al Col­lec­tion Trust—who have dig­i­tized their siz­able col­lec­tion. Leonar­do not only stud­ied anatom­i­cal struc­ture, but also per­formed dis­sec­tions in order to under­stand human phys­i­ol­o­gy; he approached the work­ings of the human body as though it were an organ­ic machine, as con­fi­dent in the ratio­nal order­ing of its parts as he was of its priv­i­leged place in the nat­ur­al world. (See just above Leonardo’s well-known draw­ings of a fetus in the womb, with copi­ous notes on human repro­duc­tion on both sides.)

Da Vinci iPad App

In addi­tion to the many intrigu­ing sketch­es, stud­ies, and detailed illus­tra­tions in the Roy­al Col­lec­tion Trust’s online archive, iPad own­ers can also search and view the col­lec­tion on their devices with the free Leonar­do da Vin­ci Anato­my app (screen­shot above). “For the first time,” writes the descrip­tion, “it is pos­si­ble for any­one with an iPad to own and explore this remark­able tes­ta­ment to Leonardo’s sci­en­tif­ic and artis­tic genius…. All 268 pages from Leonardo’s note­books are pre­sent­ed here at the high­est res­o­lu­tion, opti­mized for the pin-sharp reti­na dis­play of the iPad.” The app includes incred­i­bly help­ful fea­tures like Eng­lish trans­la­tions of the notes, as well as essays and inter­views with experts dis­cussing the sig­nif­i­cance of Leonardo’s dis­cov­er­ies.

The head of Judas in the Last Supper

Whether you own an iPad or not, you can ben­e­fit immense­ly from this col­lec­tion. The online ver­sion allows view­ers to down­load high-res­o­lu­tion images like the “Head of Judas” sketch in red chalk above (c. 1495). Once on the page, click the down­load arrow to the bot­tom right of the draw­ing and you’ll be tak­en to a larg­er ver­sion of the image. You can zoom in to exam­ine details, like the very fine lines and sub­tle shad­ing that mark each of Leonardo’s illus­tra­tions, from the most util­i­tar­i­an to the most artis­ti­cal­ly-ren­dered, as the spe­cial cre­ations of an extra­or­di­nary artist with a gift­ed sci­en­tif­ic mind.

Da Vinci Judas Detail

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Orig­i­nal Por­trait of the Mona Lisa Found Beneath the Paint Lay­ers of da Vinci’s Mas­ter­piece

Leonar­do da Vinci’s Hand­writ­ten Resume (1482)

Leonar­do Da Vinci’s To Do List (cir­ca 1490) Is Much Cool­er Than Yours

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Download Beautiful Free Vintage Easter Cards from the New York Public Library

NYPL Easter 3

‘Tis the sea­son when bun­nies tem­porar­i­ly upend cats as rulers of the Inter­net.

There are scores of vin­tage snap­shots in which inno­cent chil­dren are pas­sive­ly men­aced by hideous, full body bun­ny cos­tumes—hope­ful­ly an inac­cu­rate reflec­tion of the adults encased there­in…

“Medieval rab­bits that hate East­er and want to kill you”

Some edi­ble DIY fails

And mer­ci­ful­ly, a bit of sweet nos­tal­gia from the New York Pub­lic Library, who is mak­ing its robust col­lec­tion of East­er greet­ings avail­able for free down­load.

NYPL Easter 2
NYPL Easter 1

Each card comes with pub­li­ca­tion infor­ma­tion. Images of the flip sides reveal that the sender often con­sid­ered the pub­lish­ers’ preprint­ed sen­ti­ments cor­re­spon­dence enough. (It’s some­thing of a relief to real­ize that social media did not invent this kind of short­hand.)

NYPL Easter 4

Bun­nies are not the only fruit here… sea­son­al flo­ra and fau­na abound, in addi­tion to more explic­it­ly reli­gious iconog­ra­phy.

NYPL Easter 5
NYPL Easter 6
NYPL Easter 7
NYPL Easter 8

View the entire col­lec­tion here. Down­load as many as you’d like and do with them as you will.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The New York Pub­lic Library Lets You Down­load 180,000 Images in High Res­o­lu­tion: His­toric Pho­tographs, Maps, Let­ters & More

New York Pub­lic Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Down­load and Use

Down­load 2,000 Mag­nif­i­cent Turn-of-the-Cen­tu­ry Art Posters, Cour­tesy of the New York Pub­lic Library

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) Puts Online 90,000 Works of Modern Art

three women by leger

Ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry mod­ernism often seems to come out of nowhere, espe­cial­ly when our expo­sure to it comes in the form of a sur­vey of sin­gu­lar great works. Each sculp­ture, film, or paint­ing can seem sui gener­is, as though left by an alien civ­i­liza­tion for us to find and admire.

But when you spend a great deal more time with mod­ern art—looking over artists’ entire body of work and see­ing how var­i­ous schools and indi­vid­u­als devel­oped together—it becomes appar­ent that all art, even the most rad­i­cal or strange, evolves in dia­logue with art, and that no artist works ful­ly in iso­la­tion.

Monet Japanese Footbridge 1920

Take, for exam­ple, Monet’s Japan­ese Foot­bridge, above, from 1920. It’s a scene from his gar­den the ear­ly impres­sion­ist had paint­ed many times over the decades. In this, one of his final paint­ings of the bridge, we see a riot of reds, oranges, and yel­lows in ges­tur­al brush­strokes that almost obscure the scene entire­ly. Though we know Mon­et had fail­ing eye­sight due to cataracts, a con­di­tion that lead to the vivid col­ors he saw in this peri­od, it’s hard not to see some homage to Van Gogh, upon whose work Monet’s had a tremen­dous influ­ence.

Lake George, Coat and Red

Above, we have Geor­gia O’Keeffe’s Lake George, Coat and Red from 1919, which abstracts the vivid patch­es of col­or char­ac­ter­is­tic of Edouard Manet’s work and the fau­vism of Hen­ri Matisse, both of whom great­ly influ­enced Amer­i­can mod­ernists like O’Keeffe, Edward Hop­per, and Charles Demuth. These paint­ings reside at the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art in New York (MoMA), along with many thou­sands more that show us the devel­op­ment and inter­re­la­tion­ship of mod­ern art in Europe and Amer­i­ca. And you can see close to half of them, whether they’re on dis­play or not, at the MoMA’s dig­i­tal col­lec­tion.

De_Chirico's_Love_Song

This online col­lec­tion hous­es 90,000 works of art in all, to be pre­cise. You can see, for exam­ple, Gior­gio de Chirico’s The Song of Love, above, a typ­i­cal paint­ing for the sur­re­al­ist that shows how much influ­ence he had on the lat­er Sal­vador Dali, who was only ten years old at the time of this work. At the top of the post, Fer­nand Leg­er’s Three Women, from 1921, shows the futur­ist and lat­er pop art French painter in con­ver­sa­tion with Picas­so and Hen­ri Rousseau.

525px-Marc_Chagall,_1912,_Calvary_(Golgotha)_Christus_gewidmet,_oil_on_canvas,_174.6_x_192.4_cm,_Museum_of_Modern_Art,_New_York

In oth­er instances, we see works that seem anom­alous in an artist’s canon, such as Marc Chagall’s 1912 Cal­vary, above. Known for his depic­tions of folk­lore and urban Jew­ish life, this ear­ly work from the same year as The Fid­dler (the inspi­ra­tion for Fid­dler on the Roof) shows a much more pol­ished cubist style, and a sub­ject mat­ter that antic­i­pates his “dark­er” cru­ci­fix­ion series dur­ing and after World War II. To begin search­ing the MoMA’s col­lec­tion of 90,000 online works, you can begin here with a wide vari­ety of para­me­ters. To browse the col­lec­tion of ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry mod­ernists in which I found these amaz­ing works, start here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free: The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art and the Guggen­heim Offer 474 Free Art Books Online

Down­load 35,000 Works of Art from the Nation­al Gallery, Includ­ing Mas­ter­pieces by Van Gogh, Gau­guin, Rem­brandt & More

The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Puts 400,000 High-Res Images Online & Makes Them Free to Use

Down­load 100,000 Free Art Images in High-Res­o­lu­tion from The Get­ty

Muse­um of Mod­ern Art (MoMA) Launch­es Free Course on Look­ing at Pho­tographs as Art

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

 

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