Every Known Work by Georgia O’Keeffe Has Been Digitized and Made Available Online

Upon hear­ing the names of Arthur Dove or Mars­den Hart­ley, the sat­u­rat­ed col­ors and organ­i­cal­ly askew lines of those painters’ land­scapes may appear before your mind’s eye. But unless you have a spe­cial inter­est in Amer­i­can mod­ernists of the ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, they prob­a­bly don’t. The name Geor­gia O’Ke­effe, by con­trast, can hard­ly fail to bring a few images even to the mind of the strict­ly casu­al art appre­ci­a­tor: New Mex­i­can mesas, ani­mal skulls, and above all flow­ers in extreme close-up. Apart from the artis­tic skill and dis­tinc­tive vision with which she cre­at­ed it, O’Ke­ef­fe’s work per­sists in the wider cul­ture because of how well it hap­pens to repro­duce in a vari­ety of con­texts, includ­ing post­cards, mugs, and even appar­el, such as that sold at her epony­mous muse­um in San­ta Fe.

Keep­ing such prod­ucts around is, of course, no sub­sti­tute for see­ing the real thing; in their phys­i­cal real­i­ty, O’Ke­ef­fe’s paint­ings have a way of rebuff­ing all the inter­pre­ta­tions with which they’ve been freight­ed for more than a cen­tu­ry now. If you can’t make it out to New Mex­i­co, the Geor­gia O’Ke­effe Muse­um has been work­ing to make every sin­gle one of her pieces (includ­ing sculp­tures and pho­tographs) avail­able for view­ing online at a just-launched por­tal called Access O’Ke­effe.

The muse­um describes it as a “user-friend­ly, search­able web­site with high-res­o­lu­tion images, visu­al descrip­tions, exhi­bi­tion his­to­ries, archival mate­ri­als, and research data asso­ci­at­ed with the artist’s two-vol­ume cat­a­logue raison­né.” The site’s vis­i­tors “can browse by col­or, shape, or medi­um, explore the con­text of works cre­at­ed before and after a spe­cif­ic paint­ing, trace his­toric exhi­bi­tions, cre­ate lists of favorites, and down­load images.”

Access O’Ke­effe makes it easy to find the artist’s most famous paint­ings, but also works that may sur­prise view­ers who only know her mesas, skulls, and flow­ers. Take, for exam­ple, such noc­tur­nal­ly themed can­vas­es as her ear­ly Starlight Night, from 1917, or her late Unti­tled (City Night), from the nine­teen-sev­en­ties. O’Ke­ef­fe’s Amer­i­ca, we must remem­ber, isn’t lim­it­ed to the desert: though she did spend most of her near­ly cen­tu­ry-long life’s sec­ond half in New Mex­i­co, it also took her from Wis­con­sin to Vir­ginia to Texas to New York, with stints in South Car­oli­na and Hawaii. Giv­en the impor­tance of under­stand­ing any artist’s con­texts both geo­graph­i­cal and social, Access O’Ke­effe also pro­vides an archive of arti­facts and exhi­bi­tions relat­ed to the peo­ple and orga­ni­za­tions asso­ci­at­ed with her — Arthur Dove and Mars­den Hart­ley includ­ed.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Geor­gia O’Keeffe: A Life in Art, a Short Doc­u­men­tary on the Painter Nar­rat­ed by Gene Hack­man

How Geor­gia O’Keeffe Became Geor­gia O’Keeffe: An Ani­mat­ed Video Tells the Sto­ry

An Intro­duc­tion to the Paint­ing That Changed Geor­gia O’Keeffe’s Career: Ram’s Head, White Hol­ly­hock-Hills

The Real Geor­gia O’Keeffe: The Artist Reveals Her­self in Vin­tage Doc­u­men­tary Clips

Recipes from the Kitchen of Geor­gia O’Keeffe

Alfred Stieglitz: The Elo­quent Eye, a Reveal­ing Look at “The Father of Mod­ern Pho­tog­ra­phy”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Met Releases High-Definition 3D Scans of 140 Famous Art Objects: Sarcophagi, Van Gogh Paintings, Marble Sculptures & More

We can go through most of our lives hold­ing out hope of one day see­ing in real­i­ty such works as van Gogh’s Sun­flow­ersMon­et’s Haystacks, a clay tablet con­tain­ing actu­al cuneiform writ­ing with our own eyes, or the ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple of Den­dur. We can actu­al­ly come face to face — or rather, face to sur­face — with all of them, tem­ple includ­ed, at New York’s Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, which con­tains all those and more arti­facts of human civ­i­liza­tion than any of us could hope to exam­ine close­ly in a life­time. But even if we did, we might only feel tempt­ed to look at them more close­ly still, even to touch them. That may be an improb­a­ble hope, but we can at least get clos­er than ever now thanks to the Met’s new archive of high-def­i­n­i­tion 3D scans.

“View­ers can zoom in, rotate, and exam­ine each mod­el, bring­ing unprece­dent­ed access to sig­nif­i­cant works of art,” says the Met’s offi­cial announce­ment. “The 3D mod­els can also be explored in view­ers’ own spaces through aug­ment­ed real­i­ty (AR) on most smart­phone and VR head­sets, as a resource for research, explo­ration, and curios­i­ty.”

High­lights include “a mar­ble sar­coph­a­gus with lions felling ante­lope (3rd cen­tu­ry); a stat­ue of Horus as a fal­con pro­tect­ing King Nectanebo II (360–343 BCE); Kano Sansetsu’s Old Plum (1646); and a house mod­el by Nayarit artist(s) (200 BCE–300 CE).” Or per­haps you’d pre­fer an inti­mate view of an eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry tile depic­tion of Mec­ca, a nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry mar­ble sculp­ture of Perseus with the head of Medusa, or a suit of armor belong­ing to King Hen­ry II of France?

Brows­ing this archive of more than 100 dig­i­tized his­tor­i­cal objects, you’ll also notice pieces from Japan like sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry screens by the artists Kano Sanset­su and Suzu­ki Kiit­su. These must have been pri­or­i­ties for the Met’s insti­tu­tion­al part­ner in this project, the Japan­ese tele­vi­sion net­work NHK. It all came about “as part of the pub­lic broadcaster’s ini­tia­tive to pro­duce ultra-high def­i­n­i­tion 3D com­put­er graph­ics of nation­al trea­sures and oth­er impor­tant art­works,” with “fur­ther edu­ca­tion­al pro­gram­ming and poten­tial con­tent using these cut­ting-edge, best-in-class mod­els” in the off­ing. For now, though, the archive offers us more than enough to behold from any pos­si­ble angle. To do so, just click the “View in 3D” but­ton below the image on the page of your arti­fact or art­work of choice. It may not be the same as hold­ing the object in your hands, but it’s as close as you’re going to get — unless, of course, you find your­self inspired to pur­sue the dream of becom­ing a cura­tor at the Met.

via Colos­sal

Relat­ed con­tent:

Take a New Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Tour of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

See Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring in 3D in a New 108-Gigapix­el Scan

3D Scans of 7,500 Famous Sculp­tures, Stat­ues & Art­works: Down­load & 3D Print Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David & More

Explore Metic­u­lous 3D Mod­els of Endan­gered His­tor­i­cal Sites in Google’s “Open Her­itage” Project

Open­Ver­te­brate Presents a Mas­sive Data­base of 13,000 3D Scans of Ver­te­brate Spec­i­mens

The Earth Archive Will 3D-Scan the Entire World & Cre­ate an “Open-Source” Record of Our Plan­et

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Futurist Cookbook (1930) Tried to Turn Italian Cuisine into Modern Art

With the sav­age cuts in arts fund­ing, per­haps we’ll return to a sys­tem of noblesse oblige famil­iar to stu­dents of The Gild­ed Age, when artists need­ed inde­pen­dent wealth or patron­age, and wealthy indus­tri­al­ists often decid­ed what was art, and what wasn’t. Unlike fine art, how­ev­er, haute cui­sine has always relied on the patron­age of wealthy donors—or din­ers. It can be mar­ket­ed in pre­made pieces, sold in cook­books, and made to look easy on TV, but for rea­sons both cul­tur­al and prac­ti­cal, giv­en the nature of food, an exquis­ite­ly-pre­pared dish can only be made acces­si­ble to a select few.

Still, we would be mis­tak­en, sug­gest­ed Futur­ist poet and the­o­rist F.T. Marinet­ti (1876–1944), should we neglect to see cook­ing as an art form akin to all the oth­ers in its moral and intel­lec­tu­al influ­ence on us. While hard­ly the first or the last artist to pub­lish a cook­book, Marinetti’s Futur­ist Cook­book seems at first glance dead­ly, even aggres­sive­ly, seri­ous, lack­ing the whim­sy, imprac­ti­cal weird­ness, and sur­re­al­ist art of Sal­vador Dali’s Les Din­ers de Gala, for exam­ple, or the eclec­tic wist­ful­ness of the MoMA’s Artist’s Cook­book.

Just as he had sought with his ear­li­er Futur­ist Man­i­festo to rev­o­lu­tion­ize art, Marinet­ti intend­ed his cook­book to foment a “rev­o­lu­tion of cui­sine,” as Alex Rev­el­li Sori­ni and Susan­na Cuti­ni point out. You might even call it an act of war when it came to cer­tain sta­ples of Ital­ian eat­ing, like pas­ta, which he thought respon­si­ble for “slug­gish­ness, pes­simism, nos­tal­gic inac­tiv­i­ty, and neu­tral­ism” (antic­i­pat­ing scads of low and no-carb diets to come).

Believ­ing that peo­ple “think, dream and act accord­ing to what they eat and drink,” Marinet­ti for­mu­lat­ed strict rules not only for the prepa­ra­tion of food, but also the serv­ing and eat­ing of it, going so far as to call for abol­ish­ing the knife and fork. A short excerpt from his intro­duc­tion shows him apply­ing to food the tech­no-roman­ti­cism of his Futur­ist theory—an ethos tak­en up by Ben­i­to Mus­soli­ni, whom Marinet­ti sup­port­ed:

The Futur­ist culi­nary rev­o­lu­tion … has the lofty, noble and uni­ver­sal­ly expe­di­ent aim of chang­ing rad­i­cal­ly the eat­ing habits of our race, strength­en­ing it, dynamiz­ing it and spir­i­tu­al­iz­ing it with brand-new food com­bi­na­tions in which exper­i­ment, intel­li­gence and imag­i­na­tion will eco­nom­i­cal­ly take the place of quan­ti­ty, banal­i­ty, rep­e­ti­tion and expense.

In hind­sight, the fas­cist over­tones in Marinetti’s lan­guage seem glar­ing. In 1932, when the Futur­ist Cook­book was pub­lished, his Futur­ism seemed like a much-need­ed “jolt to all the prac­ti­cal and intel­lec­tu­al activ­i­ties,” note Sori­ni and Cuti­ni.  “The sub­ject [of cook­ing] need­ed a good shake to reawak­en its spir­it.” And that’s just what it got. The Futur­ist Cook­book act­ed as “a pre­view of Ital­ian-style Nou­velle Cui­sine,” with such inno­va­tions as “addi­tives and preser­v­a­tives added to food, or using tech­no­log­i­cal tools in the kitchen to mince, pul­ver­ize, and emul­si­fy.”

Yet, for all the high seri­ous­ness with which Marinet­ti seems to treat his sub­ject, “what the media missed” at the time, writes Maria Popo­va, “was that the cook­book was arguably the great­est artis­tic prank of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry.” In an intro­duc­tion to the 1989 edi­tion, British jour­nal­ist and his­to­ri­an Les­ley Cham­ber­lain called the Futur­ist Cook­book “a seri­ous joke, rev­o­lu­tion­ary in the first instance because it over­turned with rib­ald laugh­ter every­thing ‘food’ and ‘cook­books’ held sacred.” Marinet­ti first swept away tra­di­tion in favor of cre­ative din­ing events the Futur­ists called “aer­oban­quets,” such as one in Bologna in 1931 with a table shaped like an air­plane and dish­es called “spicy air­port” (Olivi­er sal­ad) and “ris­ing thun­der” (orange risot­to). Lam­br­us­co wine was served in gas cans.

It’s per­for­mance art wor­thy of Dal­i’s bizarre cos­tumed din­ner par­ties, but fueled by a gen­uine desire to rev­o­lu­tion­ize food, if not the actu­al eat­ing of it, by “bring­ing togeth­er ele­ments sep­a­rat­ed by bias­es that have no true foun­da­tion.” So remarked French chef Jules Main­cave, a 1914 con­vert to Futur­ism and inspi­ra­tion for what Marinet­ti calls “flex­i­ble fla­vor­ful com­bi­na­tions.” See sev­er­al such recipes excerpt­ed from the Futur­ist Cook­book at Brain Pick­ings, read the full book in Ital­ian here, and, just below, see Marinetti’s rules for the per­fect meal, first pub­lished in 1930 as the “Man­i­festo of Futur­ist Cui­sine.”

Futur­ist cui­sine and rules for the per­fect lunch

1. An orig­i­nal har­mo­ny of the table (crys­tal ware, crock­ery and glass­ware, dec­o­ra­tion) with the fla­vors and col­ors of the dish­es.

2. Utter orig­i­nal­i­ty in the dish­es.

3. The inven­tion of flex­i­ble fla­vor­ful com­bi­na­tions (edi­ble plas­tic com­plex), whose orig­i­nal har­mo­ny of form and col­or feeds the eyes and awak­ens the imag­i­na­tion before tempt­ing the lips.

4. The abo­li­tion of knife and fork in favor of flex­i­ble com­bi­na­tions that can deliv­er prelabi­al tac­tile enjoy­ment.

5. The use of the art of per­fumery to enhance taste. Each dish must be pre­ced­ed by a per­fume that will be removed from the table using fans.

6. A lim­it­ed use of music in the inter­vals between one dish and the next, so as not to dis­tract the sen­si­tiv­i­ty of the tongue and the palate and serves to elim­i­nate the fla­vor enjoyed, restor­ing a clean slate for tast­ing.

7. Abo­li­tion of ora­to­ry and pol­i­tics at the table.

8. Mea­sured use of poet­ry and music as unex­pect­ed ingre­di­ents to awak­en the fla­vors of a giv­en dish with their sen­su­al inten­si­ty.

9. Rapid pre­sen­ta­tion between one dish and the next, before the nos­trils and the eyes of the din­ner guests, of the few dish­es that they will eat, and oth­ers that they will not, to facil­i­tate curios­i­ty, sur­prise, and imag­i­na­tion.

10. The cre­ation of simul­ta­ne­ous and chang­ing morsels that con­tain ten, twen­ty fla­vors to be tast­ed in a few moments. These morsels will also serve the ana­log func­tion […] of sum­ma­riz­ing an entire area of life, the course of a love affair, or an entire voy­age to the Far East.

11. A sup­ply of sci­en­tif­ic tools in the kitchen: ozone machines that will impart the scent of ozone to liq­uids and dish­es; lamps to emit ultra­vi­o­let rays; elec­trolyz­ers to decom­pose extract­ed juices etc. in order to use a known prod­uct to achieve a new prod­uct with new prop­er­ties; col­loidal mills that can be used to pul­ver­ize flours, dried fruit and nuts, spices, etc.; dis­till­ing devices using ordi­nary pres­sure or a vac­u­um, cen­trifuge auto­claves, dial­y­sis machines.

The use of this equip­ment must be sci­en­tif­ic, avoid­ing the error of allow­ing dish­es to cook in steam pres­sure cook­ers, which leads to the destruc­tion of active sub­stances (vit­a­mins, etc.) due to the high tem­per­a­tures. Chem­i­cal indi­ca­tors will check if the sauce is acidic or basic and will serve to cor­rect any errors that may occur: lack of salt, too much vine­gar, too much pep­per, too sweet.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent

When Ital­ian Futur­ists Declared War on Pas­ta (1930)

Sal­vador Dalí’s 1973 Cook­book Gets Reis­sued: Sur­re­al­ist Art Meets Haute Cui­sine

MoMA’s Artists’ Cook­book (1978) Reveals the Meals of Sal­vador Dalí, Willem de Koon­ing, Andy Warhol, Louise Bour­geois & More

The Artists’ and Writ­ers’ Cook­book Col­lects Recipes From T.C. Boyle, Mari­na Abramović, Neil Gaiman, Joyce Car­ol Oates & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

Roman Statues Weren’t White; They Were Once Painted in Vivid, Bright Colors

The idea of the clas­si­cal period—the time of ancient Greece and Rome—as an ele­gant­ly uni­fied col­lec­tion of supe­ri­or aes­thet­ic and philo­soph­i­cal cul­tur­al traits has its own his­to­ry, one that comes in large part from the era of the Neo­clas­si­cal. The redis­cov­ery of antiq­ui­ty took some time to reach the pitch it would dur­ing the 18th cen­tu­ry, when ref­er­ences to Greek and Latin rhetoric, archi­tec­ture, and sculp­ture were inescapable. But from the Renais­sance onward, the clas­si­cal achieved the sta­tus of cul­tur­al dog­ma.

One tenet of clas­si­cal ide­al­ism is the idea that Roman and Greek stat­u­ary embod­ied an ide­al of pure whiteness—a mis­con­cep­tion mod­ern sculp­tors per­pet­u­at­ed for hun­dreds of years by mak­ing busts and stat­ues in pol­ished white mar­ble. But the truth is that both Greek stat­ues and their Roman counterparts—as you’ll learn in the Vox video above—were orig­i­nal­ly bright­ly paint­ed in riotous col­or.

This includes the 1st cen­tu­ry A.D. Augus­tus of Pri­ma Por­ta, the famous fig­ure of the Emper­or stand­ing tri­umphant­ly with one hand raised. Rather than left as blank white mar­ble, the stat­ue would have had bronzed skin, brown hair, and a fire-engine red toga. “Ancient Greece and Rome were real­ly col­or­ful,” we learn. So how did every­one come to believe oth­er­wise?

It’s part­ly an hon­est mis­take. After the fall of Rome, ancient sculp­tures were buried or left out in the open air for hun­dreds of years. By the time the Renais­sance began in the 1300s, their paint had fad­ed away. As a result, the artists unearthing, and copy­ing ancient art didn’t real­ize how col­or­ful it was sup­posed to be.

But white mar­ble couldn’t have become the norm with­out some will­ful igno­rance. Even though there was a bunch of evi­dence that ancient sculp­ture was paint­ed, artists, art his­to­ri­ans and the gen­er­al pub­lic chose to dis­re­gard it. West­ern cul­ture seemed to col­lec­tive­ly accept that white mar­ble was sim­ply pret­ti­er.

White stat­u­ary sym­bol­ized a clas­si­cal ide­al that “depends high­ly on the great­est pos­si­ble decon­tex­tu­al­iza­tion,” writes James I. Porter, pro­fes­sor of Rhetoric and Clas­sics at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, Berke­ley. “Only so can the val­ues it cher­ish­es be iso­lat­ed: sim­plic­i­ty, tran­quil­i­ty, bal­anced pro­por­tions, restraint, puri­ty of form… all of these are fea­tures that under­score the time­less qual­i­ty of the high­est pos­si­ble expres­sion of art, like a breath held indef­i­nite­ly.” These ideals became insep­a­ra­ble from the devel­op­ment of racial the­o­ry.

Learn­ing to see the past as it was requires us to put aside his­tor­i­cal­ly acquired blind­ers. This can be exceed­ing­ly dif­fi­cult when our ideas about the past come from hun­dreds of years of inher­it­ed tra­di­tion, from every peri­od of art his­to­ry since the time of Michelan­ge­lo. But we must acknowl­edge this tra­di­tion as fab­ri­cat­ed. Influ­en­tial art his­to­ri­an Johann Joachim Winck­el­mann, for exam­ple, extolled the val­ue of clas­si­cal sculp­ture because, in his opin­ion, “the whiter the body is, the more beau­ti­ful it is.”

Winck­el­mann also, Vox notes, “went out of his way to ignore obvi­ous evi­dence of col­ored mar­ble, and there was a lot of it.” He dis­missed fres­coes of col­ored stat­u­ary found in Pom­peii and judged one paint­ed sculp­ture dis­cov­ered there as “too prim­i­tive” to have been made by ancient Romans. “Evi­dence wasn’t just ignored, some of it may have been destroyed” to enforce an ide­al of white­ness. While many stat­ues were denud­ed by the ele­ments over hun­dreds of years, the first archae­ol­o­gists to dis­cov­er the Augus­tus of Pri­ma Por­ta in the 1860s described its col­or scheme in detail.

Cri­tiques of clas­si­cal ide­al­ism don’t orig­i­nate in a polit­i­cal­ly cor­rect present. As Porter shows at length in his arti­cle “What Is ‘Clas­si­cal’ About Clas­si­cal Antiq­ui­ty?,” they date back at least to 19th cen­tu­ry philoso­pher Lud­wig Feuer­bach, who called Winckelmann’s ideas about Roman stat­ues “an emp­ty fig­ment of the imag­i­na­tion.” But these ideas are “for the most part tak­en for grant­ed rather than ques­tioned,” Porter argues, “or else clung to for fear of los­ing a pow­er­ful cachet that, even in the belea­guered present, con­tin­ues to trans­late into cul­tur­al pres­tige, author­i­ty, elit­ist sat­is­fac­tions, and eco­nom­ic pow­er.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2019.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why Most Ancient Civ­i­liza­tions Had No Word for the Col­or Blue

Why Ancient Romans Paid a For­tune for the Col­or Pur­ple — More Than Even Sil­ver

How Ancient Greek Stat­ues Real­ly Looked: Reseasrch Reveals Their Bold, Bright Col­ors and Pat­terns

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

Watch Art on Ancient Greek Vas­es Come to Life with 21st Cen­tu­ry Ani­ma­tion

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

Download 60,000 Works of Art from the National Gallery, Including Masterpieces by Van Gogh, Gauguin, Rembrandt & More

As a young ama­teur painter and future art school dropout, I fre­quent­ly found myself haunt­ed by the faces of two artists, that famous­ly odd cou­ple from my favorite art his­to­ry novelization—and Kirk Dou­glas role and Iggy Pop song—Lust for Life. Vin­cent van Gogh and Paul Gau­guin, above and below respec­tive­ly, the tor­ment­ed Dutch fanat­ic and burly French bully—how, I still won­der, could such a pair have ever co-exist­ed, how­ev­er briefly? How could such beau­ti­ful­ly skewed visions of life have exist­ed at all?

Van Gogh and Gauguin’s sev­er­al self-por­traits still inspire won­der. My younger self had the lux­u­ry of see­ing these par­tic­u­lar two up close and in per­son at the Nation­al Gallery of Art in Wash­ing­ton, DC: Van Gogh’s gaunt and pierc­ing vis­age, Gauguin’s sneer­ing self-par­o­dy.

Now, thanks to the won­ders of dig­i­tal tech­nol­o­gy, my old­er self, and yours, can view and down­load high-res­o­lu­tion pho­tos of both paint­ings, and over 60,000 more from the museum’s vast hold­ings, through NGA Images, “a repos­i­to­ry of dig­i­tal images of the col­lec­tions of the Nation­al Gallery of Art.”

There you’ll find works by anoth­er obses­sive Dutch self-por­traitist, Rem­brandt van Rijn, such as the lush 1659 paint­ing below. You’ll find paint­ings from the heroes of the var­i­ous Renais­sances and French Impres­sion­ism, from move­ments mod­ern and colo­nial, pas­toral and urban. The col­lec­tion is dizzy­ing, and a lover of art could eas­i­ly lose hours sort­ing through it, sav­ing “open access dig­i­tal images up to 3000 pix­els each […] avail­able free of charge for down­load and use.” The pur­pose of NGA Images is “to facil­i­tate learn­ing, enrich­ment, enjoy­ment, and explo­ration,” and there’s no doubt that it sat­is­fies all of those goals and then some.

Browse the var­i­ous col­lec­tions, includ­ing one devot­ed to self-por­traits. Con­duct advanced search­es, if you have more knowl­edge of the Gallery’s many trea­sures. You are the cura­tor! And the lucky ben­e­fi­cia­ry of the Nation­al Gallery’s benef­i­cence. While I can tell you from expe­ri­ence that it’s noth­ing like stand­ing face to face with these paint­ings in their in-real-life dimen­sions, tex­tures, lines, and colors—despite the throngs of dis­in­ter­est­ed tourists—it’s at least a close sec­ond. And for stu­dents and edu­ca­tors of the visu­al arts, NGA Images offers an oppor­tu­ni­ty like no oth­er to view and share great works of art often hid­den away from even the museum’s vis­i­tors. Enter the col­lec­tion here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 1,600+ Pub­li­ca­tions from the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art: Books, Guides, Mag­a­zines & More

The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Puts 490,000 High-Res Images Online & Makes Them Free to Use

The Louvre’s Entire Col­lec­tion Goes Online: View and Down­load 480,00 Works of Art

The Get­ty Makes Near­ly 88,000 Art Images Free to Use How­ev­er You Like

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

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

Behold the First Realistic Depiction of the Human Face (Circa 25,000 BCE)

?si=HOvgnTtB4xSNqpNE

In 1894, archae­ol­o­gist Édouard Piette dis­cov­ered the “Venus of Brassem­pouy,” oth­er­wise known as the “Lady with the Hood.” Unearthed in south­west­ern France and dat­ing to around 25,000 BCE, this carv­ing rep­re­sents the ear­li­est real­is­tic depic­tion of a human face. The figure’s fore­head, nose, and brows are care­ful­ly carved in relief, as is the hair, arranged in a neat geo­met­ric pat­tern. But what hap­pened to the mouth? Or the eyes? We’re not sure.

The Venus is carved from mam­moth ivory, like­ly using a stone flint, and stands just 3.65 cm tall. For some, it marks a major devel­op­ment in fig­u­ra­tive art. Or, as his­to­ri­an Simon Schama has sug­gest­ed, this fig­urine may well be the “dawn of the idea of beau­ty” in human cul­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

The World’s Old­est Cave Art, Dis­cov­ered in Indone­sia, Is at Least 67,800 Years Old

Alger­ian Cave Paint­ings Sug­gest Humans Did Mag­ic Mush­rooms 9,000 Years Ago

Was a 32,000-Year-Old Cave Paint­ing the Ear­li­est Form of Cin­e­ma?

A Styl­ish 2,000-Year-Old Roman Shoe Found in a Well

Exquis­ite 2300-Year-Old Scythi­an Woman’s Boot Pre­served in the Frozen Ground of Siberia

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

What Did the Instruments in Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights Sound Like? Oxford Scholars Recreate Them

Wel­come to The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights.

You’ll find no angel­ic strings here.

Those are reserved for first-class cit­i­zens whose vir­tu­ous lives earned them pas­sage to the upper­most heights.

Down below, stringed instru­ments pro­duce the most hell­ish sort of cacoph­o­ny, a fit­ting accom­pa­ni­ment for the horn whose bell is befouled with the arm of a tor­tured soul.

How do we know that’s what they sound­ed like?

A group of musi­col­o­gists, crafts­peo­ple and aca­d­e­mics from the Bate Col­lec­tion of Musi­cal Instru­ments at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Oxford, took it upon them­selves to actu­al­ly build the instru­ments depict­ed in Hierony­mus Bosch’s action-packed trip­tych—the hell harp, the vio­lat­ed lute, the gross­ly over­sized hur­dy-gur­dy

…And then they played them.

Let us hope they stopped shy of shov­ing flutes up their bums. (Such a place­ment might pro­duce a sound, but not from the flute’s gold­en throat).

The Bosch exper­i­ment added ten more instru­ments to the museum’s already impres­sive, over 1000-strong col­lec­tion of wood­winds, per­cus­sion, and brass, many from the stu­dios of esteemed mak­ers, some dat­ing all the way back to the Renais­sance.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, the new addi­tions don’t sound very good. “Hor­ri­ble” and “painful” are among the adjec­tives the Bate Col­lec­tion man­ag­er Andrew Lamb uses to describe the aur­al fruits of his team’s months-long labors.

Might we assume Bosch would have want­ed it that way?

Bran­don McWilliams, the wag behind Bosch’s wild­ly enthu­si­as­tic, f‑bomb-laced review of thrash met­al band Slayer’s 1986 Reign in Blood album, would sure­ly say yes, as would Alden and Cali Hack­mann, North Amer­i­can hur­dy-gur­dy mak­ers, who note that Bosch’s painter­ly des­e­cra­tions were not lim­it­ed to their per­son­al favorite instru­ment:

Bosch and his con­tem­po­raries viewed music as sin­ful, asso­ci­at­ing it with oth­er sins of the flesh and spir­it. A num­ber of oth­er instru­ments are also depict­ed: a harp, a drum, a shawm, a recorder, and the met­al tri­an­gle being played by the woman (a nun, per­haps) who is appar­ent­ly impris­oned in the key­box of the instru­ment. The hur­dy-gur­dy was also asso­ci­at­ed with beg­gars, who were often blind. The man turn­ing the crank is hold­ing a beg­ging bowl in his oth­er hand. Hang­ing from the bowl is a met­al seal on a rib­bon, called a “gaber­lun­zie.” This was a license to beg in a par­tic­u­lar town on a par­tic­u­lar day, grant­ed by the nobil­i­ty. Sol­diers who were blind­ed or maimed in their lord’s ser­vice might be giv­en a gaber­lun­zie in rec­om­pense.

To the best of our knowl­edge, no gaber­lun­zies were grant­ed, nor any sin­ners eter­nal­ly damned, in the Bate Collection’s caper. Accord­ing to man­ag­er Lamb, expand­ing the bound­aries of music edu­ca­tion was rec­om­pense enough, well worth the tem­po­rary affront to ten­der ears.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2019.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Song Writ­ten on a Sinner’s But­tock in Hierony­mus Bosch’s Paint­ing The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

The Mean­ing of Hierony­mus Bosch’s The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights Explained

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Hierony­mus Bosch’s Bewil­der­ing Mas­ter­piece The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

The Hierony­mus Bosch Demon Bird Was Spot­ted Rid­ing the New York City Sub­way the Oth­er Day…

Hierony­mus Bosch Fig­urines: Col­lect Sur­re­al Char­ac­ters from Bosch’s Paint­ings & Put Them on Your Book­shelf

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  

How to Carve Hieroglyphs Just Like the Ancient Egyptians Did

In ancient Egypt, writ­ing hiero­glyphs was a high­ly spe­cial­ized skill, one com­mand­ed by only a small frac­tion of the pop­u­la­tion. The fact that there were more than 1,000 char­ac­ters to mem­o­rize prob­a­bly had some­thing to do with that, but the vari­ety of sur­faces on which hiero­glyphs were writ­ten could­n’t have made it any eas­i­er. Depend­ing on the occa­sion, ancient Egyp­tians used papyrus, wood, met­al, and pot­tery shards as writ­ing sur­faces. The most mon­u­men­tal or reli­gious­ly impor­tant texts, how­ev­er, got carved into stone, thus ensur­ing the words a kind of eter­nal life — a par­tic­u­lar con­cern in the cas­es of tomb walls and sar­copha­gi.

There may be lit­tle call to write hiero­glyphs today, but the tech­niques to do so haven’t been lost. In the new video above from the Vic­to­ria and Albert Muse­um, sculp­tor and stone carv­er Miri­am John­son demon­strates how to carve into stone the name of Pharaoh Khu­fu, who built the Great Pyra­mid (and indeed, was buried in it).

The first step is to write that name, sur­round­ed by its car­touche, on a sheet of car­bon paper. This isn’t the brush and ink that the ancient Egyp­tians would have used, grant­ed, but for the rest of the project, John­son sticks to the old-fash­ioned ways. With the image trans­ferred, and using noth­ing more than a mal­let and a chis­el, she carves the hiero­glyphs into the stone not just once but twice.

The first time, John­son carves in “sunken relief,” a tech­nique that involves cut­ting the image out of the sur­face of the stone. The sec­ond time, she ren­ders Pharaoh Khu­fu’s name in “raised relief,” which requires cut­ting out every­thing but the image, cre­at­ing the effect of the hiero­glyphs ris­ing out of the stone. With the for­mer “you see more of the shad­ows”; with the lat­ter, “you’ve got more oppor­tu­ni­ty of putting more tex­ture into the char­ac­ters.” Seen in a state of com­ple­tion — by a lay­man, at least — John­son’s carv­ings would­n’t look out of place in a muse­um exhib­it on ancient Egypt. Even if tools man­u­fac­tured in the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry pro­duce a few sub­tle dif­fer­ences from the real thing, give these stones a mil­len­ni­um or two to age, and they’ll sure­ly look even more con­vinc­ing.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed con­tent:

How to Read Ancient Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs: A British Muse­um Cura­tor Explains

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Roset­ta Stone, and How It Unlocked Our Under­stand­ing of Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs

What Ancient Egypt­ian Sound­ed Like & How We Know It

3,200-Year-Old Egypt­ian Tablet Records Excus­es for Why Peo­ple Missed Work: “The Scor­pi­on Bit Him,” “Brew­ing Beer” & More

You Could Soon Be Able to Text with 2,000 Ancient Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs

Watch a Mas­ter­piece Emerge from a Sol­id Block of Stone

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast