Great Art Cities: Visit the Fascinating, Lesser-Known Museums of London & Paris

Gal­lerists James Payne and Joanne Shurvell under­stand that insti­tu­tion­al big goril­las like the Lou­vrethe Musee d’Or­sayTate Britain, and London’s Nation­al Gallery require no intro­duc­tion. Their new art and trav­el series, Great Art Cities Explained, con­cen­trates instead on the won­der­ful, small­er muse­ums the big­gies often over­shad­ow.

First time vis­i­tors to Lon­don and Paris may be left scram­bling to rearrange their itin­er­aries.

The first two episodes have us per­suad­ed that Sir John Soane’s Muse­umKen­wood Housethe Wal­lace Col­lec­tion, Le Musée Nation­al Eugène DelacroixLe Musée de Mont­martre à Paris, and Ate­lier Bran­cusi are the true “don’t miss” attrac­tions if time is tight.

Cred­it Payne, whose flair for dishy, far rang­ing, high­ly acces­si­ble nar­ra­tion made his oth­er web series, Great Art Explained in Fif­teen Min­utes, an instant hit.

The three British insti­tu­tions fea­tured above were once grand pri­vate homes, whose own­ers decid­ed to donate them and the mag­nif­i­cent art col­lec­tions they con­tained to the pub­lic good.

What­ev­er moti­vat­ed these wealthy men’s gen­eros­i­ty — van­i­ty, the quest for immor­tal­i­ty, or, in one case, the desire to cut off a churl­ish and moral­ly lax son whom Payne com­pares to the cen­tral fig­ure in William Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress, a Sir John Soane’s Muse­um favorite — Payne holds them in high­er regard than today’s invest­ment-obsessed art col­lec­tors:

The world needs more men like (William) Mur­ray(Sir John) Soane, and (Sir Richard) Wal­lace, men who saw that art can tran­scend social class. They under­stood that art should enrich the soul, not the bank bal­ance.

His peeks into their cir­cum­stances are every bit as fas­ci­nat­ing as the tid­bits he drops about the artists whose work he includes.

Rather than giv­ing a sweep­ing overview of each col­lec­tion, he focus­es on a few key works, shar­ing his cura­to­r­i­al per­spec­tive on their his­to­ry, acqui­si­tion, sub­ject mat­ter, cre­ation, and recep­tion:

Rembrandt’s Self Por­trait with Two Cir­cles (1669)

Vermeer’s The Gui­tar Play­er (1672)

Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress (1732)

Canalet­to’s Venice: the Baci­no di San Mar­co from San Gior­gio Mag­giore and Venice: the Baci­no di San Mar­co from the Canale del­la Giudec­ca (c. 1735 — 1744)

Fragonard’s The Swing (1767)

Frans Hal’s Laugh­ing Cav­a­lier (1624)

Payne’s rol­lick­ing approach means each episode is crammed with plen­ty of art­work resid­ing out­side of the fea­tured muse­ums, too, as he com­pares, con­trasts, and con­tex­tu­al­izes.

One of his most inter­est­ing tales in the Lon­don episode con­cerns an 18th-cen­tu­ry por­trait of William Murray’s great-nieces, Dido Belle and Eliz­a­beth Mur­ray, raised by their abo­li­tion­ist great-uncle at Ken­wood House:

Dido Belle was the ille­git­i­mate daugh­ter of a Black slave and William Murray’s nephew and was raised by Mur­ray as part of the aris­toc­ra­cy. By all accounts, Dido and her cousin were raised as equals and this por­trait of the two was seen as an image of sis­ter­hood, reflect­ing their equal sta­tus. But look­ing at it with mod­ern eyes, we can see it more in the vein of tra­di­tion­al ser­vant and mas­ter por­traits of the time. Belle’s exot­ic cloth­ing is designed to dif­fer­en­ti­ate her from her cousin and the paint­ing reflects the con­ser­v­a­tive views of the time.

Artist David Mar­tin places the cousins on a bench out­side the Hamp­stead Heath man­sion, with St. Paul’s Cathe­dral in the back­ground. For years, it was the only known por­trait of Belle.

It hangs, not in Ken­wood House, but in Scone Palace’s Ambas­sador’s Room.

Mean­while, one of Ken­wood House­’s lat­est acqui­si­tions is a 2021 por­trait of Belle by young Jamaican artist Mikéla Hen­ry-Lowe, on dis­play in the library.

Next up on Great Art Cities Explained: New York. Look for it on this playlist on Great Art Explained’s YouTube chan­nel.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Great Art Explained: Watch 15 Minute Intro­duc­tions to Great Works by Warhol, Rothko, Kahlo, Picas­so & More

What Makes Basquiat’s Unti­tled Great Art: One Paint­ing Says Every­thing Basquiat Want­ed to Say About Amer­i­ca, Art & Being Black in Both Worlds

Mark Rothko’s Sea­gram Murals: What Makes Them Great Art

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Watch the Renaissance Painting, The Battle of San Romano, Get Brought Beautifully to Life in a Hand-Painted Animation

Before the advent of the motion pic­ture, human­i­ty had the the­ater — but we also had paint­ings. Though phys­i­cal­ly still by def­i­n­i­tion, paint on can­vas could, in the hands of a suf­fi­cient­ly imag­i­na­tive mas­ter, seem actu­al­ly to move. Arguably this could even be pulled off with ochre and char­coal on the wall of a cave, if you cred­it the the­o­ry that pale­olith­ic paint­ings con­sti­tute the ear­li­est form of cin­e­ma. More famous­ly, and much more recent­ly, Rem­brandt imbued his mas­ter­piece The Night Watch with the illu­sion of move­ment. But over in Italy anoth­er painter, also work­ing on a large scale, pulled it off dif­fer­ent­ly two cen­turies ear­li­er. The artist was Pao­lo Uccel­lo, and the paint­ing is The Bat­tle of San Romano.

“The set of three paint­ings depicts the har­row­ing details of an epic con­fronta­tion between Flo­ren­tine and Sienese armies in 1432,” writes Meghan Oret­sky at Vimeo, which select­ed Swiss film­mak­er Georges Schwiz­ge­bel’s short ani­mat­ed adap­ta­tion of the trip­tych as a Staff Pick Pre­miere. Com­plet­ed in 2017, the film’s begin­nings go back to 1962, when Schwiz­gebel was a gallery-tour­ing art stu­dent in Italy.

“Even though I wasn’t nor­mal­ly moved by old paint­ings, this one made a strong impres­sion on me and still does today,” he tells Vimeo. “I was also inspired by the use of cycles, or loops, which suit­ed a mov­ing ver­sion of this image per­fect­ly.” Schwiz­gebel exe­cut­ed the ani­ma­tion itself over the course of six months, fore­go­ing com­put­er tech­nol­o­gy and paint­ing each frame with acrylic on glass.

Scored by com­pos­er Judith Gru­ber-Stitzer, Schwiz­ge­bel’s “The Bat­tle of San Romano” con­sti­tutes a kind of shape-shift­ing tour of the paint­ing that first cap­ti­vat­ed him half a cen­tu­ry ago. But what he would have seen at the Uffizi Gallery is only one third of Uccel­lo’s com­po­si­tion, albeit the third that art his­to­ri­ans con­sid­er cen­tral. The oth­er two reside at the Lou­vre and the Nation­al Gallery, and you can see the lat­ter’s piece dis­cussed by Direc­tor of Col­lec­tions and Research Car­o­line Camp­bell in the video above. Schwiz­gebel is hard­ly the first to react bold­ly to The Bat­tle of San Romano; in the 15th cen­tu­ry, Loren­zo de’ Medici was suf­fi­cient­ly moved to buy one part, then have the oth­er two stolen and brought to his palace. If that’s the kind of act it has the pow­er to inspire, per­haps it’s for the best that the trip­ty­ch’s union did­n’t last.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Edvard Munch’s Famous Paint­ing “The Scream” Ani­mat­ed to Pink Floyd’s Pri­mal Music

13 Van Gogh’s Paint­ings Painstak­ing­ly Brought to Life with 3D Ani­ma­tion & Visu­al Map­ping

William Blake’s Paint­ings Come to Life in Two Ani­ma­tions

Late Rem­brandts Come to Life: Watch Ani­ma­tions of Paint­ings Now on Dis­play at the Rijksmu­se­um

10 Paint­ings by Edward Hop­per, the Most Cin­e­mat­ic Amer­i­can Painter of All, Turned into Ani­mat­ed GIFs

Dripped: An Ani­mat­ed Trib­ute to Jack­son Pollock’s Sig­na­ture Paint­ing Tech­nique

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Incredible Story of the Hoover Dam

On Sep­tem­ber 30, 1935, a crowd of thou­sands watched as Pres­i­dent Franklin Roo­sevelt offi­cial­ly opened the Hoover Dam, the largest pub­lic works project of its time. “Approx­i­mate­ly 5 mil­lion bar­rels of cement and 45 pounds of rein­force­ment steel” went into it, History.com notes, enough to pave a four-foot-wide side­walk around the Earth at the equa­tor. The mas­sive hydro­elec­tric dam pro­vid­ed water to 7 sur­round­ing states, trans­form­ing the arid Amer­i­can West into an agri­cul­tur­al cen­ter. Cur­rent­ly, it gen­er­ates over four bil­lion kilo­watt-hours of elec­tric­i­ty per year, “enough to serve 1.3 mil­lion peo­ple,” notes PBS.

That a project this size could be com­plet­ed in just five years seems awe-inspir­ing enough. That it could be done dur­ing the worst years of the Great Depres­sion, even more so. When the dam was first pro­posed in 1922 to deal with flood­ing on the Col­orado Riv­er, the cri­sis still lay over the hori­zon.

.

A glo­ri­ous post-war future seemed assured, mas­ter­mind­ed by Hoover, the for­mer engi­neer. (He did not design the dam, but bro­kered the deal that pushed it through Con­gress.) Dur­ing the dam’s con­struc­tion, on the oth­er hand — a feat com­pared to build­ing the pyra­mids in Egypt — the U.S. econ­o­my had ful­ly hit rock bot­tom. Although it had been ded­i­cat­ed to Hoover by Pres­i­dent Coolidge in 1928, the Hoover Dam would­n’t come to bear his name until 1947.

In its ear­ly years, the mas­sive, smooth white con­crete curve — stretch­ing 1,244 feet across the Black Canyon on the Ari­zona-Neva­da Bor­der — was sim­ply called the Boul­der Canyon Dam. It drew some 21,000 work­ers to divert the riv­er through tun­nels, exca­vate the riverbed down to bedrock, and build the enor­mous struc­ture and its machin­ery. “Due to the strict time­frame, work­ers suf­fered from hor­ri­ble work con­di­tions in the tun­nels as the heat and car­bon monox­ide-filled air became unbear­able, lead­ing to a strike in August of 1931,” writes Alex­ia Wulff at the Cul­ture Trip.

Once they began clear­ing the blast­ed walls of the canyon, work­ers “hung from sus­pend­ed heights of 800 feet above ground — some fell to their death or were injured by the falling rock and dan­ger­ous equip­ment.” Over 100 men died in this way and such deaths, and near-miss­es, seemed com­mon­place after a while. In the TED-Ed video by Alex Gendler at the top of the post, we see one jaw-drop­ping near-miss dra­ma­tized in ani­ma­tion. “Busi­ness as usu­al,” says the nar­ra­tor. “Just anoth­er day in the con­struc­tion of the Hoover Dam.”

Learn much more about the engi­neer­ing mar­vels, and the “blood, con­crete, and dyna­mite,” as Gendler puts it, in the short B1M video fur­ther up and the full Nation­al Geo­graph­ic doc­u­men­tary just above. While it has been sur­passed in size, the Hoover Dam remains one of the largest pow­er plants in the coun­try, and may even be ide­al for use as a giant bat­tery that can store excess pow­er cre­at­ed by wind and solar. Even if that idea fails to pan out in com­ing years, the sto­ry of the dam’s con­struc­tion will keep inspir­ing engi­neers and sci­en­tists to reach for big solu­tions, even — and per­haps espe­cial­ly — in the mid­dle of a cri­sis.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Watch the Build­ing of the Empire State Build­ing in Col­or: The Cre­ation of the Icon­ic 1930s Sky­scraper From Start to Fin­ish

Watch Venice’s New $7 Bil­lion Flood Defense Sys­tem in Action

Why Europe Has So Few Sky­scrap­ers

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

Archaeologists Discover a 2,000-Year-Old Roman Glass Bowl in Perfect Condition

If you’re plan­ning a trip to the Nether­lands, do try to fit in Nijmegen, the coun­try’s old­est city. Hav­ing orig­i­nal­ly cohered as a Roman mil­i­tary camp back in the first cen­tu­ry B.C., it became at the end of the first cen­tu­ry A.D. the first city in the mod­ern-day Nether­lands to receive the offi­cial des­ig­na­tion of municip­i­um, which made Roman cit­i­zens of all its res­i­dents. Not that Nijmegen stands today as an open-air muse­um of Roman times. You’re less like­ly to glimpse traces of its city wall or amphithe­ater than to come across such thor­ough­ly mod­ern devel­op­ments as the “dynam­ic liv­ing and work­ing area” of Winkel­steeg, cur­rent­ly under con­struc­tion — and even now turn­ing up Roman arti­facts of its own.

ART­news’ Francesca Aton reports the dis­cov­ery, by archae­ol­o­gists work­ing on the Winkel­steeg exca­va­tion, of “a blue glass bowl esti­mat­ed to be around 2,000 years old.” Strik­ing­ly col­ored by met­al oxide, its crafts­man­ship looks impres­sive and its con­di­tion aston­ish­ing: “with no vis­i­ble cracks or chips, the bowl remains undam­aged, mak­ing it a remark­able find.

It is believed to have been made in glass work­shops in Ger­man cities such as Cologne and Xan­ten, or pos­si­bly in Italy” — some­where, in any case, with­in the Roman Empire. Price­less now, the bowl would also have been valu­able in its day; Aton ref­er­ences a the­o­ry that “locals work­ing at out­posts along the upper­most bor­der of Hadrian’s Wall in Scot­land for the Roman army” would have earned the kind of wage need­ed to buy it.

In the video just above, post­ed last week by the gov­ern­ment of Nijmegen, archae­ol­o­gist Pepin van de Geer intro­duces the exca­va­tion site, which has proven a fruit­ful source of what Aton describes as “Roman graves, homes and wells, and objects such as dish­ware and jew­el­ry.” Most of these seem to have come out of the ground if not in pieces, then look­ing just as ancient as they are; not so the mirac­u­lous blue glass bowl, of which we also get a view. It may strike us denizens of the 21st cen­tu­ry as rec­og­niz­able enough to enrich at once the feel­ing of con­ti­nu­ity between the peo­ple of the Roman Empire and our­selves — or at least it will when we can see it for our­selves in whichev­er muse­um Nijmegen sees fit to place it.

via ART­news

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How a Mosa­ic from Caligula’s Par­ty Boat Became a Cof­fee Table in a New York City Apart­ment 50 Years Ago

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

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er an Ancient Roman Snack Bar in the Ruins of Pom­peii

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

Explore the Roman Cook­book,De Re Coquinar­ia the Old­est Known Cook­book in Exis­tence

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

An 8‑Minute Animated Flight Over Ancient Rome

“At roof-top lev­el, Rome may seem a city of spires and steeples and tow­ers that reach up towards eter­nal truths,” said Antho­ny Burgess of the great city in which he lived in the mid-70s. “But this city is not built in the sky. It is built on dirt, earth, dung, cop­u­la­tion, death, human­i­ty.” For all the city’s ancient grandeur, the real Rome is to be found in its broth­els, bath­hous­es, and cat­a­combs, a sen­ti­ment wide­ly shared by writ­ers in Rome since Lucil­ius, often cred­it­ed as Rome’s first satirist, a genre invent­ed to bring the lofty down to earth.

“The Romans … proud­ly declared that satire was ‘total­ly ours,’ ” writes Robert Cow­an, senior lec­tur­er in clas­sics at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Syd­ney. “Instead of heroes, noble deeds, and city-foun­da­tions recount­ed in ele­vat­ed lan­guage,” ancient Romans con­struct­ed their lit­er­a­ture from “a hodge­podge of scum­bags, orgies, and the break­down of urban soci­ety, spat out in words as filthy as the vices they describe.” Lit­tle won­der, per­haps, that the author of A Clock­work Orange found Rome so much to his lik­ing. For all the Chris­tian­i­ty over­laid atop the ruins, “the Romans are not a holy peo­ple; they are pagans.”

In the video above, see an 8‑minute rooftop-lev­el flight above the ancient impe­r­i­al city, “the most exten­sive, detailed and accu­rate vir­tu­al 3D recon­struc­tion of Ancient Rome,” its cre­ators, His­to­ry in 3D, write. They are about halfway through the project, which cur­rent­ly includes such areas as the Forum, the Colos­se­um, Impe­r­i­al Forums, “famous baths, the­aters, tem­ples and palaces” and the Traste­vere, where Burgess made his home mil­len­nia after the peri­od rep­re­sent­ed in the CGI recon­struc­tion above and where, he wrote in the 1970s, antiq­ui­ty had been pre­served: “Trastev­eri­ni… regard them­selves as the true Romans.”

The lan­guage of this Rome, like that of Juve­nal, the ancient city’s great­est satirist, offers “a ground-lev­el view of a Rome we could bare­ly guess at from the hero­ism of the Aeneid,” writes Cow­an. “The lan­guage of the Trastev­eri­ni is rough,” writes Burgess, “scur­rilous, blas­phe­mous, obscene, the tongue of the gut­ter. Many of them are lead­ers of inten­si­ty, rebels agains the gov­ern­ment. They have had two thou­sand years of bad gov­ern­ment and they must look for­ward to two thou­sand more.”

As we drift over the city’s rooftops in the impres­sive­ly ren­dered ani­ma­tion above, we might imag­ine its streets below teem­ing with pro­fane, dis­grun­tled Romans of all kinds. It may be impos­si­ble to recre­ate Ancient Rome at street lev­el, with all of its many sights, smells, and sounds. But if we’ve been to Rome, or ever get the chance to vis­it, we may mar­vel, along with Burgess, at its “con­ti­nu­ity of cul­ture.… Prob­a­bly Rome has changed less in two thou­sand years than Man­hat­tan has in twen­ty years.” The Empire may have been fat­ed to col­lapse under its own weight, but Rome, the Eter­nal City, may indeed endure for­ev­er.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Vir­tu­al Tour of Ancient Rome, Cir­ca 320 CE: Explore Stun­ning Recre­ations of The Forum, Colos­se­um and Oth­er Mon­u­ments

The His­to­ry of Ancient Rome in 20 Quick Min­utes: A Primer Nar­rat­ed by Bri­an Cox

What Did the Roman Emper­ors Look Like?: See Pho­to­re­al­is­tic Por­traits Cre­at­ed with Machine Learn­ing

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

New Study Finds That Humans Are 33,000 Years Older Than We Thought

pho­to by Céline Vidal

“Where’re you from?” one char­ac­ter asks anoth­er on the Fire­sign The­atre’s clas­sic 1969 album How Can You Be in Two Places at Once When You’re Not Any­where at All. “Nairo­bi, ma’am,” the oth­er replies. “Isn’t every­body?” Like most of the count­less mul­ti-lay­ered gags on their albums, this one makes a cul­tur­al ref­er­ence, pre­sum­ably to the dis­cov­er­ies made by famed pale­oan­thro­pol­o­gists Louis and Mary Leakey over the pre­vi­ous 20 years. Their dis­cov­ery of fos­sils in Kenya and else­where did much to advance the the­sis that humankind evolved in Africa, and that the process was hap­pen­ing more than 1.75 mil­lion years before.

Like all sci­en­tif­ic break­throughs, the Leakeys’ work only prompt­ed more ques­tions — or rather, cre­at­ed more oppor­tu­ni­ties for refin­ing and adding detail to the rel­e­vant body of knowl­edge. Sub­se­quent digs all over Africa have pro­duced fur­ther evi­dence of how far our species and its pre­de­ces­sors go back, and where exact­ly the evo­lu­tion­ary progress hap­pened.

Just this month, Nature pub­lished a new paper on the “age of the old­est known Homo sapi­ens from east­ern Africa.” These new find­ings about known fos­sils, orig­i­nal­ly dis­cov­ered in south­west­ern Ethiopia in 1967, sug­gest that the time has come for anoth­er revi­sion of the long pre-his­to­ry of human­i­ty.

pho­to by Céline Vidal

The paper’s authors, writes Reuters’ Will Dun­ham, “used the geo­chem­i­cal fin­ger­prints of a thick lay­er of ash found above the sed­i­ments con­tain­ing the fos­sils to ascer­tain that it result­ed from an erup­tion that spewed vol­canic fall­out over a wide swathe of Ethiopia rough­ly 233,000 years ago.” These fos­sils “include a rather com­plete cra­nial vault and low­er jaw, some ver­te­brae and parts of the arms and legs.” After their ini­tial dis­cov­ery by the late Richard Leakey, son of Louis and Mary (and a man gen­uine­ly from Nairo­bi, born and raised), the fos­sils buried by this pre­his­toric Vesu­vius were pre­vi­ous­ly believed to be “no more than about 200,000 years old.”

Dun­ham quotes the paper’s lead author, Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge vol­ca­nol­o­gist Celine Vidal, as say­ing this dis­cov­ery aligns with “the most recent sci­en­tif­ic mod­els of human evo­lu­tion plac­ing the emer­gence of Homo sapi­ens some­time between 350,000 to 200,000 years ago.” Though Vidal and her team’s analy­sis of the ash’s geo­chem­i­cal com­po­si­tion has deter­mined the min­i­mum age of Omo I, as these fos­sils are known, the max­i­mum age remains an open ques­tion. Or at least, it awaits the efforts of researchers to date the “ash lay­er below the sed­i­ment con­tain­ing the fos­sils” and ren­der a more pre­cise esti­mate. And when that’s estab­lished, it will then, ide­al­ly, become mate­r­i­al for the next big absur­dist com­e­dy troupe.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Where Did Human Beings Come From? 7 Mil­lion Years of Human Evo­lu­tion Visu­al­ized in Six Min­utes

Richard Dawkins Explains Why There Was Nev­er a First Human Being

How Humans Migrat­ed Across The Globe Over 200,000 Years: An Ani­mat­ed Look

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er the World’s First “Art Stu­dio” Cre­at­ed in an Ethiopi­an Cave 43,000 Years Ago

The Life & Dis­cov­er­ies of Mary Leakey Cel­e­brat­ed in an Endear­ing Cutout Ani­ma­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A New Album of Goth-Folk Songs Inspired by the Life of Marie Curie

After sev­er­al years of writ­ing and per­form­ing songs influ­enced by such sources as authors Edward Gorey and Ray­mond Chan­dler, film­mak­er Tim Bur­ton, and mur­der bal­lads in the Amer­i­can folk tra­di­tion, Ellia Bisker and Jef­frey Mor­ris, known col­lec­tive­ly as Charm­ing Dis­as­ter, began cast­ing around for a sin­gle, exist­ing nar­ra­tive that could sus­tain an album’s worth of orig­i­nal tunes.

An encounter with Lau­ren Red­nis­s’s graph­ic nov­el Radioac­tive: Marie & Pierre Curie: A Tale of Love and Fall­out spurred them to look more deeply at the Nobel Prize-win­ning sci­en­tist and her pio­neer­ing dis­cov­er­ies.

The result is Our Lady of Radi­um, a nine song explo­ration of Curie’s life and work.

The crowd­fund­ed album, record­ed dur­ing the pan­dem­ic, is so exhaus­tive­ly researched that the accom­pa­ny­ing illus­trat­ed book­let includes a bib­li­og­ra­phy with titles rang­ing from David I. Harvie’s tech­ni­cal­ly dense Dead­ly Sun­shine: The His­to­ry and Fatal Lega­cy of Radi­um to Deb­o­rah Blum’s The Poi­son­er’s Hand­book, described by The New York Observ­er as “a vicious, page-turn­ing sto­ry that reads more like Ray­mond Chan­dler than Madame Curie.”

A chap­ter in the The Poi­son­er’s Hand­book intro­duced Bisker and Mor­ris to the Radi­um Girls, young work­ers whose pro­longed expo­sure to radi­um-based paint in ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry clock fac­to­ries had hor­rif­ic con­se­quences.

In La Porte v. Unit­ed States Radi­um Cor­po­ra­tion (1935) pros­e­cu­tors detailed the con­di­tions under which the lumi­nous dials of inex­pen­sive watch faces were pro­duced:

Each girl pro­cured a tray con­tain­ing twen­ty-four watch dials and the mate­r­i­al to be used to paint the numer­als upon them so that they would appear lumi­nous. The mate­r­i­al was a pow­der, of about the con­sis­ten­cy of cos­met­ic pow­der, and con­sist­ed of phos­pho­res­cent zinc sul­phide mixed with radi­um sulphate…The pow­der was poured from the vial into a small porce­lain cru­cible, about the size of a thim­ble. A quan­ti­ty of gum ara­bic, as an adhe­sive, and a thin­ner of water were then added, and this was stirred with a small glass rod until a paint­like sub­stance result­ed. In the course of a work­ing week each girl paint­ed the dials con­tained on twen­ty-two to forty-four such trays, depend­ing upon the speed with which she worked, and used a vial of pow­der for each tray. When the paint-like sub­stance was pro­duced a girl would employ it in paint­ing the fig­ures on a watch dial. There were four­teen numer­als, the fig­ure six being omit­ted. In the paint­ing each girl used a very fine brush of camel’s hair con­tain­ing about thir­ty hairs. In order to obtain the fine lines which the work required, a girl would place the bris­tles in her mouth, and by the action of her tongue and lips bring the bris­tles to a fine point. The brush was then dipped into the paint, the fig­ures paint­ed upon the dial until more paint was required or until the paint on the brush dried and hard­ened, when the brush was dipped into a small cru­cible of water. This water remained in the cru­cible with­out change for a day or per­haps two days. The brush would then be repoint­ed in the mouth and dipped into the paint or even repoint­ed in such man­ner after being dipped into the paint itself, in a con­tin­u­ous process.

The band found them­selves haunt­ed by the Radi­um Girls’ sto­ry:

Part­ly it’s that it seemed like a real­ly good job — it was clean work, it was less phys­i­cal­ly tax­ing and paid bet­ter than fac­to­ry or mill jobs, the work­ing envi­ron­ment was nice — and the work­ers were all young women. They were excit­ed about this sweet gig, and then it betrayed them, poi­son­ing them and cut­ting their lives short in a hor­ri­ble way. 

There were all these details we learned that we could­n’t stop think­ing about. Like the fact that radi­um gets tak­en up by bone, which then starts to dis­in­te­grate because radi­um isn’t as hard as cal­ci­um. The Radi­um Girls’ jaw bones were crum­bling away, because they (were instruct­ed) to use their lips to point the brush­es when paint­ing watch faces with radi­um-based paint. 

The radi­um they absorbed was irra­di­at­ing them from inside, from with­in their own bones. 

Radi­um decays into radon, and it was even­tu­al­ly dis­cov­ered that the radi­um girls were exhal­ing radon gas. They could expose a pho­to­graph­ic plate by breath­ing on it. Those images—the bones and the breath—stuck with us in par­tic­u­lar.

Fel­low musi­cian, Omer Gal, of the “the­atri­cal freak folk musi­cal menagerie” Cook­ie Tongue, height­ens the sense of dread in his chill­ing stop-motion ani­ma­tion for Our Lady of Radi­um’s first music video, above. There’s no ques­tion that a trag­ic fate awaits the crum­bling, uncom­pre­hend­ing lit­tle work­er.

Before their phys­i­cal symp­toms start­ed to man­i­fest, the Radi­um Girls believed what they had been told — that the radi­um-based paint they used on the time­pieces’ faces and hands posed no threat to their well being.

Com­pound­ing the prob­lem, the paint’s glow-in-the-dark prop­er­ties proved irre­sistible to high-spir­it­ed teens, as the niece of Mar­garet “Peg” Looney — 17 when she start­ed work at the Illi­nois Radi­um Dial Com­pa­ny (now a Super­fund Site) — recount­ed to NPR:

I can remem­ber my fam­i­ly talk­ing about my aunt bring­ing home the lit­tle vials (of radi­um paint.) They would go into their bed­room with the lights off and paint their fin­ger­nails, their eye­lids, their lips and then they’d laugh at each oth­er because they glowed in the dark.

Looney died at 24, hav­ing suf­fered from ane­mia, debil­i­tat­ing hip pain, and the loss of teeth and bits of her jaw. Although her fam­i­ly har­bored sus­pi­cions as to the cause of her bewil­der­ing decline, no attor­ney would take their case. They lat­er learned that the Illi­nois Radi­um Dial Com­pa­ny had arranged for med­ical tests to be per­formed on work­ers, with­out truth­ful­ly advis­ing them of the results.

Even­tu­al­ly, the mount­ing death toll made the con­nec­tion between work­ers’ health and the work­place impos­si­ble to ignore. Law­suits such as La Porte v. Unit­ed States Radi­um Cor­po­ra­tion led to improved indus­tri­al safe­ty reg­u­la­tions and oth­er labor reforms.

Too late, Charm­ing Dis­as­ter notes, for the Radi­um Girls them­selves:

(Our song) Radi­um Girls is ded­i­cat­ed to the young women who were unwit­ting­ly poi­soned by their work and who were ignored and maligned in seek­ing jus­tice. Their plight led to laws and safe­guards that even­tu­al­ly became the occu­pa­tion­al safe­ty pro­tec­tions we have today. Of course that is still a bat­tle that’s being fought, but it start­ed with them. We want­ed to pay trib­ute to these young women, hon­or their mem­o­ry, and give them a voice.  

Pre­order Charm­ing Disaster’s Our Lady of Radi­um here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Marie Curie’s Research Papers Are Still Radioac­tive 100+ Years Lat­er

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Life & Work of Marie Curie, the First Female Nobel Lau­re­ate

Marie Curie Became the First Woman to Win a Nobel Prize, the First Per­son to Win Twice, and the Only Per­son in His­to­ry to Win in Two Dif­fer­ent Sci­ences

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Karl Marx Influenced Abraham Lincoln and His Position on Slavery & Labor

If resis­tance to the Slave Pow­er was the reserved watch­word of your first elec­tion, the tri­umphant war cry of your re-elec­tion is Death to Slav­ery.

In 1864, Karl Marx and his Inter­na­tion­al Work­ing Men’s Asso­ci­a­tion (the “First Inter­na­tion­al”) sent an address to Abra­ham Lin­coln, con­grat­u­lat­ing “the Amer­i­can peo­ple upon your re-elec­tion by a large major­i­ty.” As his­to­ri­an Robin Black­burn writes, “The US ambas­sador in Lon­don con­veyed a friend­ly but brief response from the pres­i­dent. How­ev­er, the antecedents and impli­ca­tions of this lit­tle exchange are rarely con­sid­ered.” It was not the first time Marx and Lin­coln had encoun­tered each oth­er. They nev­er met per­son­al­ly, but their affini­ties led to what Black­burn calls an “unfin­ished rev­o­lu­tion” — not a com­mu­nist rev­o­lu­tion in the U.S.; but a poten­tial rev­o­lu­tion for democ­ra­cy.

Lin­coln and Marx became mutu­al admir­ers in the ear­ly 1860s due to the lat­ter’s work as a for­eign cor­re­spon­dent for The New York Dai­ly Tri­bune. From 1852 until the start of the Civ­il War, Marx, some­times with Engels, wrote “over five hun­dred arti­cles for the Tri­bune,” Black­burn notes. Fierce­ly anti-slav­ery, Marx com­pared South­ern planters to the Euro­pean aris­toc­ra­cy, “an oli­garchy of 300,000 slave­hold­ers.” Ear­ly in the war, he cham­pi­oned the Union cause, even before Lin­coln decid­ed on eman­ci­pa­tion as a course of action. Marx believed, writes Black­burn, that end­ing slav­ery “would not destroy cap­i­tal­ism, but it would cre­ate con­di­tions far more favor­able to orga­niz­ing and ele­vat­ing labor, whether white or black.”

“Marx was intense­ly inter­est­ed in the plight of Amer­i­can slaves,” Gillian Brock­ell writes at The Wash­ing­ton Post. “In Jan­u­ary 1860, he told Engels that the two biggest things hap­pen­ing in the world were ‘on the one hand the move­ment of the slaves in Amer­i­ca start­ed by the death of John Brown, and on the oth­er the move­ment of serfs in Rus­sia.’ ” Lin­coln was an “avid read­er” of the Tri­bune and Marx’s arti­cles. The paper’s man­ag­ing edi­tor, Charles A. Dana, an Amer­i­can social­ist flu­ent in Ger­man who met Marx in 1848, would go on to become “Lin­col­n’s ‘eyes and ears’ as a spe­cial com­mis­sion­er in the War Depart­ment” and lat­er the Depart­men­t’s Assis­tant Sec­re­tary.

Lin­coln was not, of course, a Com­mu­nist. And yet some of the ideas he absorbed from Marx’s Tri­bune writ­ings — many of which would lat­er be adapt­ed for the first vol­ume of Cap­i­tal – made their way into the Repub­li­can Par­ty of the 1850s and 60s. That par­ty, writes Brock­ell, was “anti-slav­ery, pro-work­er and some­times overt­ly social­ist,” cham­pi­oning, for exam­ple, the redis­tri­b­u­tion of land in the West. (Marx even con­sid­ered emi­grat­ing to Texas him­self at one time.) And at times, Lin­coln could sound like a Marx­ist, as in the clos­ing words of his first annu­al mes­sage (lat­er the State of the Union ) in 1861.

“Labor is pri­or to and inde­pen­dent of cap­i­tal,” the country’s 16th pres­i­dent con­clud­ed in the first speech since his inau­gu­ra­tion. “Cap­i­tal is only the fruit of labor, and could nev­er have exist­ed if labor had not first exist­ed. Labor is the supe­ri­or of cap­i­tal, and deserves much the high­er con­sid­er­a­tion.” That full, 7,000 word address appeared in news­pa­pers around the coun­try, includ­ing the Con­fed­er­ate South. The Chica­go Tri­bune sub­ti­tled its clos­ing argu­ments “Cap­i­tal vs. Labor.”

Lin­col­n’s own posi­tion on abo­li­tion evolved through­out his pres­i­den­cy, as did his views on the posi­tion of the for­mer­ly enslaved with­in the coun­try. For Marx, how­ev­er, the ques­tions of total abo­li­tion and full enfran­chise­ment were set­tled long before the coun­try entered the Civ­il War. The demo­c­ra­t­ic rev­o­lu­tion that might have begun under Lin­coln end­ed with his assas­si­na­tion. In the sum­mer after the pres­i­den­t’s death, Marx received a let­ter from his friend Engels about the new pres­i­dent, Andrew John­son: “His hatred of Negroes comes out more and more vio­lent­ly… If things go on like this, in six months all the old vil­lains of seces­sion will be sit­ting in Con­gress at Wash­ing­ton. With­out col­ored suf­frage, noth­ing what­ev­er can be done there.” Hear the address Marx draft­ed to Lin­coln for his 1865 re-elec­tion read aloud at the top of the post, and read it your­self here.

For more on this sub­ject, you can read Black­burn’s book, An Unfin­ished Rev­o­lu­tion: Karl Marx and Abra­ham Lin­coln.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Short Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Karl Marx

5 Free Online Cours­es on Marx’s Cap­i­tal from Prof. David Har­vey

The Poet­ry of Abra­ham Lin­coln

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

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