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    A Unique Portfolio of Hilma af Klint’s Botanical Drawings Communes with Nature’s Spiritual Side

    “Woodrush, Viola, Golden Saxifrage, Field Horsetail, Marsh Marigold, Lesser Celandine, Sedge (Frylet, Violen, Gullpudran, Åkerfräknet, Kabelöken, Svalörten, Starrgräset)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, and ink on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 9/16 inches. All images courtesy of The Museum of Modern Art, New York, shared with permission

    A Unique Portfolio of Hilma af Klint’s Botanical Drawings Communes with Nature’s Spiritual Side

    May 21, 2025

    ArtHistoryNature

    Kate Mothes

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    With the Industrial Revolution in full swing at the turn of the 20th century, jobs and opportunities attracted people to burgeoning cities. New technologies were being developed at breakneck speed and discoveries within the natural sciences introduced people to invisible yet potent concepts like radio waves and X-rays.

    During this period of social transformation, philosophical or occult religious movements like Spiritualism and Helena Blavatsky’s Theosophy offered ways to not only connect within a like-minded community but to explore the afterlife—the so-called spirit world—and the very fabric of the universe.

    “Sunflower (Solrosen)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 3/4 × 10 9/16 inches

    For Hilma af Klint (1862–1944), like many who sought refuge and inspiration in these belief systems, a spiritual link to her surroundings united her with the natural world during “a period of massive change…as people from all levels of society were searching for something new to hold on to,” Johan af Klint and Hedvig Ersman wrote about the Swedish artist’s spiritual journey.

    Now on view at The Museum of Modern Art in New York, Hilma af Klint: What Stands Behind the Flowers highlights the institution’s recent acquisition of a phenomenal, 46-leaf portfolio called Nature Studies.

    During the spring and summer of 1919 and 1920, af Klint recorded Sweden’s seasonal flora, from lilies of the valley and sunflowers to violets and cherry blossoms. Beyond traditional botanical studies, the artist incorporates her characteristic abstractions and diagrams, surrounding each rendering with esoteric annotations and geometries.

    “One has to think of the realm of the nature spirits as the realm of thought; these entities hover around us, some like driving winds, others like soft summer breezes,” af Klint once said.

    “Lily of The Valley, Water Avens, Common Milkwort (Liljekonvaljen, Fårkummern, Jungfrulinet)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 5/8 inches

    Grids with unique color relationships or energetic spirals accompany renderings of field woodrush or marsh marigold, and tree specimens are paired with dotted checkerboards. “Through these forms, af Klint seeks to reveal, in her words, ‘what stands behind the flowers,’” the museum says, “reflecting her belief that studying nature uncovers truths about the human condition.”

    What Stands Behind the Flowers continues through September 27 and is accompanied by a catalogue that is slated for release on Tuesday. Find your copy on Bookshop, and plan your visit to MoMA on the museum’s website.

    “Yellow Star-of-Bethlehem, Lungwort, Coltsfoot, Nailwort, Pasqueflower (Vårlöken, Lungörten, Hästhoförten, Nagelörten, Backsippan)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, and ink on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 9/16 inches

    “Common Lime (Linden)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 5/8 inches

    “Tulip (Tulpanen)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1920), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 5/8 inches

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    Vibrant Woodblock Prints Traverse a Bygone Japan in ‘Hiroshige: Artist of the Open Road’

    “Tōkaidō Autumn Moon: Restaurants at Kanagawa, Musashi Province” (about 1839),
    color woodblock print. © Alan Medaugh. All images courtesy of The British Museum, shared with permission

    Vibrant Woodblock Prints Traverse a Bygone Japan in ‘Hiroshige: Artist of the Open Road’

    May 6, 2025

    ArtHistory

    Kate Mothes

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    Utagawa Hiroshige (1797–1858) was born in Japan on the brink of a national transformation. The Edo Period, characterized by the military rule of the Tokugawa Shogunate, had seen economic growth and sustained peace since its establishment in 1603. But 200 years on, the government’s staunch policies, hierarchical structure, and isolation from the outside world was beginning to erode. In 1867, just nine years after Hiroshige’s death, a new emperor restored imperial rule.

    Hiroshige: artist of the open road, which just opened at The British Museum, traces the remarkable variety of locations the artist portrayed, from cherry trees and gardens to pleasure boats in the Ryōgoku district of Edo (modern-day Tokyo) to sweeping views of iconic Mt. Fuji. His woodcuts capture everyday life, landscapes, and culture in 19th-century Japan in vibrant color.

    “Pleasure Boats at Ryōgoku in the Eastern Capital” (1832-34), color woodblock print triptych. Photo by Matsuba Ryōko. © Alan Medaugh

    Along with his contemporary peers like Hokusai, the artist witnessed immense change throughout his lifetime, which he chronicled in thousands of woodblock prints. “As Japan confronted the encroaching outside world, Hiroshige’s calm artistic vision connected with—and reassured —people at every level of society,” the museum says.

    Hiroshige often assembled his prints into collections or folios, and artist of the open road includes examples from 100 Famous Views of Edo (1857), The 69 Stations of the Kiso Highway (late 1830s), and more. The exhibition also marks the artist’s first solo show presented by The British Museum and the first in London in more than a quarter-century.

    Hiroshige: artist of the open road continues through September 7 in London. You might also enjoy perusing this fantastic ukiyo-e print archive.

    “Awa: The Rough Seas at Naruto” from ‘Illustrated Guide to Famous Places in the 60-odd Provinces’ (1855), color woodblock print. © Alan Medaugh

    “Seba” from ‘The 69 Stations of the Kiso Highway’ (late 1830s), color woodblock print. © The Trustees of the British Museum

    “Evening View of the Eight Scenic Spots of Kanazawa in Musashi Province” (1857), color woodblock print triptych. © Alan Medaugh

    “Nihonbashi – Morning Scene” from ‘The 53 Stations of the Tōkaidō’ (c. 1833-35), color woodblock print. © The Trustees of the British Museum

    “Mt. Fuji and Otodome Fall” (about 1849-52), color woodblock print. Photo by Matsuba Ryōko. © Alan Medaugh

    “The Plum Garden at Kameido” from ‘100 Famous Views of Edo’ (1857), color woodblock print. Photo by Matsuba Ryōko. © Alan Medaugh

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    Reviving an Ancestral Hawaiian Tradition, Lehuauakea Reimagines Kapa in Bold Textile Works

    “Since the Beginning and End of Time” (2024), hand-embroidery, bells, and shell buttons
    on hand-stitched indigo-dyed kapa (barkcloth) garment, approx. 50 x 44
    inches. All images courtesy of Lehuauakea, shared with permission

    Reviving an Ancestral Hawaiian Tradition, Lehuauakea Reimagines Kapa in Bold Textile Works

    April 22, 2025

    ArtCraftHistory

    Kate Mothes

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    “My favorite thing about kapa is that it is simultaneously ancestral, ancient, and contemporary,” says Lehuauakea (Kanaka Maoli), who recently received the Walker Youngbird Foundation grant for emerging Native American artists. Kapa, the Indigenous Hawaiian practice of clothmaking, uses the inner bark of the wauke, or paper mulberry tree, to create garments and textiles. For Lehuauakea, the technique forms the foundation of a practice rooted in the artist’s Hawaiian lineage and material traditions.

    Softening the fibers enough to create cloth requires a labor-intensive method of soaking pieces of bark. Through an arduous process of beating and stretching with tools like the iʻe kuku, a thin, pliable fabric emerges. “It is a very malleable material that reflects the current state of the natural environment, and the surrounding community and personal hand of the maker,” Lehuauakea tells Colossal. “It requires a level of patience and perseverance while also paying close attention to the nature of the bark and pigments you are working with.”

    “Still Finding My Way Back Home” (2025), kapa (barkcloth), reclaimed Japanese fabrics, indigo and madder root dyes, ceramic beads, bells, earth pigments, hand-embroidery, and metal leaf, approx. 18 x 9 feet

    Kapa is derived from ancient Polynesian practices—it’s called tapa in other parts of the Pacific—and Hawaiians elaborated on the custom by incorporating watermarks, natural pigments, and fermentation.

    Traditionally, kapa possessed both practical and spiritual qualities, as it was used for everyday apparel and bedding but also served as a carrier of mana, or healing life force. When the U.S. controversially annexed the territory and the import of cotton amped up in the late 19th century, the practice all but died out.

    Lehuauakea’s interest in kapa emerged when their family relocated to Oregon when they were young. Over time, the artist felt increasingly disconnected from their home and sought a way to conjure a link to their Hawaiian ancestry.

    “I remembered learning about kapa as a child and how we’d use patterns to tell stories, so in my junior year of college I taught myself how to carve ʻohe kāpala, or traditional carved bamboo printing tools used for decorating finished kapa,” the artist says. Then it was onto learning how to make the barkcloth itself, with the help of artisan and mentor Wesley Sen, spurring Lehuauakea’s passion for the medium.

    “Puka Komo ʻEkahi: Portal to Grant Permission” (2024), earth pigments and metal leaf on kapa (barkcloth), 28 x 28 inches

    Fascinated by the potential to not only continue a time-honored Kanaka Maoli art form but also to experiment and push the boundaries of the material, Lehuauakea makes large-scale installations, hand-stitched garments, mixed-media suspended works, and hand-painted two-dimensional compositions— “in other words, forms that you wouldn’t see in ancestral samples of pre-contact Hawaiian kapa,” they say. The artist continues:

    As an Indigenous cultural practitioner and artist, I believe it is important to have a solid foundation in the traditional knowledge of the practice before attempting to expand on it or experiment with more contemporary expressions of the medium because I am not singular in this work; I am simply building on a tradition that was passed down through many generations before me, and I can only hope that I am able to inspire future generations to continue it.

    Lehuauakea is currently working toward solo exhibitions at the Center for Contemporary Art Santa Fe and Nunu Fine Art in New York City, exploring ideas around Native Hawaiian cosmology, celestial cycles, and the relationship between Native Hawaiian language and pattern. Find more on the artist’s website.

    “Kūmauna” (2024), earth pigments hand-painted on kapa (barkcloth), 26 x 48 inches

    Detail of “Still Finding My Way Back Home”

    “I Walk With My Ancestors (1 of 2)” (2024), earth pigment and wildfire charcoal hand-painted on kapa (barkcloth), 29 x 61.5 inches

    “Night Eyes” (2024), earth pigments and wildfire charcoal hand-painted on kapa (barkcloth), 78 x 18.5 inches

    “Mele o Nā Kaukani Wai (Song of a Thousand Waters)” (2018), mixed mulberry papers, handmade plant dyes and mineral pigments, gouache, ceramic beads, and thread, approx. 11 x 8 feet

    Detail of “Mele o Nā Kaukani Wai (Song of a Thousand Waters)”

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    Five Years in the Making, an MiG-21 Fighter Jet Gets a Glow-Up from Tens of Millions of Glass Beads

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos. All images courtesy of Ralph Ziman, shared with permission

    Five Years in the Making, an MiG-21 Fighter Jet Gets a Glow-Up from Tens of Millions of Glass Beads

    April 15, 2025

    ArtHistorySocial Issues

    Kate Mothes

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    “We’re going to make stuff out of beads that is going to take people’s breath away,” says Ralph Ziman in the trailer for “The MiG-21 Project,” a military jet that he and a transcontinental team coated nose to tail in millions upon millions of glass beads.

    For the past 12 years, the Los Angeles-based artist has examined the impacts of the Cold War Era and the global arms trade through a trilogy titled Weapons of Mass Production, motivated by his upbringing in Apartheid-era South Africa. More than half a decade in the making, “The MiG-21 Project” completes the series.

    The first installment, “The AK-47 Project,” reimagined the aesthetic of one of the world’s most ubiquitous wartime weapons, the Avtomat Kalashnikova 1947, by coating dozens of the guns in colorful glass beads. The second project revolved around the Casspir, a heavy-duty Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicle (MRAPV) introduced in the 1970s, which he likewise ornamented in vibrant geometric patterns.

    “The idea was to take these weapons of war and to repurpose them,” Ziman says, flipping the narrative about icons of violence and transforming them instead into symbols of resilience, collaboration, and collectivity. Vehicles and firearms morph into a theater of hope and strength in the face of a terrible 20th-century legacy.

    Apartheid, which in Afrikaans means “separateness,” is the name assigned by the minority white-ruled Nationalist Party of South Africa to a harsh system of racial segregation that began in 1948. The period lasted until 1991 and was closely linked within the context of international relations to the Cold War as tensions erupted between the U.S. and the former U.S.S.R. Spurred by the deterioration of the two countries’ WWII alliance and fears about the spread of Communism into the West, the war began in 1947 and also ended in 1991 when the U.S.S.R. was dissolved.

    During this time, the Russians produced a fighter jet called the Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21. The plane is “the most-produced supersonic fighter aircraft of all time,” Ziman says. “The Russians built 12,500 MiG-21s, and they’re still in use today—just like the Casspir and just like the AK-47s. But it’s one thing to say, hey, I want to bead a MiG, and then the next thing, you’ve got a 48-foot MiG sitting in your studio.”

    The MiG-21 cockpit

    “The MiG-21 Project” combines photography and costume design with historical research and time-honored Indigenous craft. The project encompasses not only the jet but a series of cinematic photographs and elaborate Afrofuturist regalia inspired by military flight suits, African tribal textiles, and space travel.

    Ziman’s team comprises numerous skilled artisans from Zimbabwe and Indigenous Ndebele women from South Africa’s Mpumalanga Province, who are renowned for their beadwork. For the Ndebele, beadwork is a means of expressing cultural identity and rites of passage, taking on powerful political connotations in the 20th century as it became associated with pre-colonial African traditions and identity.

    Tapping into the lessons of our not-so-distant past, Ziman addresses current conflicts like war and the global arms race, modern colonialism, systemic racism, and white supremacy through the lens of Apartheid. Funds raised throughout the process, part of the mission of the Weapons of Mass Production trilogy as a whole, are being donated to the people of Ukraine in support of the country’s ongoing conflict with Russia.

    You’ll be able to see the “The MiG-21 Project” later this year in Seattle, where it will be on view from June 21 to January 26, 2026, at the Museum of Flight. Explore more on Ziman’s website.

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    “Hero Of Cuito Cuanavale,” Inkjet on Moab Entrada paper, 43 x 56 inches

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    Detail of the MiG-21 cockpit

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    “The Raider and Her MiG-21,” Inkjet on Moab Entrada paper, 43 x 56 inches

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

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    A Years-Long Collaboration Sees a Traditional Tlingit Tribal House Return to Glacier Bay

    All images courtesy of the National Park Service

    A Years-Long Collaboration Sees a Traditional Tlingit Tribal House Return to Glacier Bay

    March 31, 2025

    ArtCraftDesignFilmHistory

    Kate Mothes

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    People have lived in the area around modern-day Glacier Bay National Park, along Alaska’s rugged southern coastline, for at least around 3,000 years. Nearby, in Groundhog Bay, evidence of human habitation extends back a mindboggling 9,000-or-more years.

    In the mid-18th century, advancing glaciers forced ancestral Huna Tlingit people to abandon their homes. While they could visit certain areas occasionally to hunt and fish, the evolving conditions and ice prevented them from living there. And when the area was designated a national monument in 1925, it seemed possible the displacement would be permanent.

    “I never, ever thought that I would ever see the day, in my lifetime, that Tlingits could return to the Homeland,” says local resident Jeff Skaflestad in the opening of the National Park Service’s short film, “Sanctuary for the Future.” But in 2016, thanks to many years’ work and a collaboration between the National Park Service and the Hoonah Indian Association—the tribal government of the Huna Tlingit clans—Xunaa Shuká Hít marked a momentous homecoming.

    Both a space for tribal ceremonies and a nexus of living history, the house is a sacred place for the Indigenous community that also provides visitors the opportunity to learn about Huna Tlingit culture, history, and oral traditions.

    Xunaa Shuká Hít, which roughly translates to “Huna Ancestors’ House,” was brought to life by three Tlingit craftsmen: Gordon Greenwald, Owen James, and Herb Sheakley, Sr., who spent countless hours carving their ancestors’ stories into meticulously selected trees and wooden panels.

    In a large carving shed in nearby Hoonah, Alaska, the artisans, along with occasional help from friends and neighbors, worked on totem poles, boats, oars, and architectural details. “Having Elders come in and talk with us, just to share with us, that was a highlight of my days,” James says. Sheakley adds that as they began carving, it was an obvious decision to make their own tools, too, as a way of connecting to time-honored traditions. More

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    ‘Little Beasts’ Is a First-of-Its-Kind Museum Collaboration Reveling in Art and the Natural World

    Jacopo Ligozzi, “A Groundhog or Marmot with a Branch of Plums”. (1605), brush with brown and black wash, point of the brush with black and brown ink and white gouache, and watercolor, over traces of graphite on burnished paper, sheet: 13 x 16 5/8 inches. All images courtesy of The National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., shared with permission

    ‘Little Beasts’ Is a First-of-Its-Kind Museum Collaboration Reveling in Art and the Natural World

    March 21, 2025

    ArtHistoryNatureScience

    Kate Mothes

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    During the 16th and 17th centuries, major developments in colonial expansion, trade, and scientific technology spurred a fervor for studying the natural world. Previously unknown or overlooked species were documented with unprecedented precision, and artists captured countless varieties of flora and fauna in paintings, prints, and encyclopedic volumes.

    Marking a first-of-its-kind collaboration between the National Gallery of Art and the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, Little Beasts: Art, Wonder, and the Natural World pairs nearly 75 prints, drawings, and paintings with around 60 objects from the NMNH collection.

    Jan van Kessel the Elder, “Insects and a Sprig of Rosemary” (1653), oil on panel, 4 1/2 x 5 1/2 inches

    “In major cities like Antwerp, artists such as Joris and Jacob Hoefnagel and Jan van Kessel created highly detailed drawings, prints, and paintings of these insects, animals, and other beestjes, or ‘little beasts’ in Dutch,” says the National Gallery of Art. “Their works inspired generations of artists and naturalists, fueling the burgeoning science of natural history.”

    Natural history has been a focus for scholars since ancient times, albeit early commentary was a bit more wide-ranging than its definition today. The largest single work to have survived from the Roman Empire is Pliny the Elder’s Naturalis Historia, which consists of 37 books divided into 10 volumes and covers everything from astronomy to zoology and mineralogy to art.

    Studying the natural world in ancient and early modern times was predominantly a philosophical pursuit until a discernible change during the Renaissance. By the 16th century, attitudes had shifted. The humanist learning tradition, centered on literature and the arts, began to give way to more advanced explanations for natural objects, describing their types and transformations and grouping them into classes.

    Private collections played a fundamental role in founding many natural history archives. The popularity of Wunderkammers, or “rooms of wonder,” transformed a pastime of the wealthy into exercises in scholarly prestige. By the late 17th century, more rigorous and formalized classification systems emerged as the philosophical component waned.

    Wenceslaus Hollar, “Shell (Murex brandaris)” (c. 1645), etching on laid paper, plate: 3 3/4 x 5 3/8 inches

    Throughout this time, artists like Albrecht Dürer, Clara Peeters, and Wenceslaus Hollar created works that responded to new discoveries. From biologically accurate renderings of shells and insects to playful compositions that employ animals and plants as decorative motifs, paintings and prints were often the only means by which the public could see newly discovered species.

    “Art and science have been closely aligned throughout the 175-year history of the Smithsonian,” says Kirk Johnson, director of the NMNH. “Even today, researchers at the National Museum of Natural History depend on scientific illustrators to bring clarity and understanding to the specimens they study.”

    Little Beasts opens on May 18 and continues through November 2 at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. Find more on the museum’s website.

    Clara Peeters, “Still Life with Flowers Surrounded by Insects and a Snail” (c. 1610), oil on copper,
    overall: 6 9/16 x 5 5/16 inches; framed: 10 x 9 x 1 1/2 inches

    Robert Hooke, “Micrographia: or, Some physiological descriptions of minute bodies made by magnifying glasses. / With observations and inquiries thereupon” (1665), bound volume with etched illustrations height (foldout illustrations significantly larger): 12 3/16 inches

    Jan van Kessel the Elder, “Artist’s Name in Insects and Reptiles [bottom center]” (1658), oil on copper, overall: 5 5/8 x 7 1/2 inches; framed: 9 7/8 x 12 1/8 inches

    Jan van Kessel the Elder, “Noah’s Family Assembling Animals Before the Ark” (c. 1660), oil on panel, overall: 25 3/4 x 37 3/16 inches; framed: 32 3/4 x 44 1/4 inches

    An Elephant Beetle (Megasoma e. elephas) from the Department of Entomology collections at the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History

    Wenceslaus Hollar, “Two Butterflies, a Wasp, and a Moth” (1646), etching on laid paper, plate: 3 3/16 x 4 3/4 inches; sheet: 3 1/4 x 4 13/16 inches

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    ‘The Praise House’ Shares the Story of a Contemplative Installation on an Alabama Plantation

    All images courtesy of 1504, shared with permisison

    ‘The Praise House’ Shares the Story of a Contemplative Installation on an Alabama Plantation

    March 6, 2025

    ArtFilmHistorySocial Issues

    Grace Ebert

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    On the site of the former Scott’s Grove Baptist Church, artist Tony M. Bingham has constructed a monumental work of contemplation and reflection. Two wood-paneled walls stand parallel in the serene clearing with stained glass windows, a Sylacauga marble floor, and a steel cutout depicting members who once worshiped on its grounds.

    A tribute to local history, Bingham’s work is titled “The Praise House,” which takes its name from the vernacular structures people who were enslaved often built on plantations throughout the Southern U.S. as a space for prayer. “My way of addressing the power and the legacy is to just begin to look at some of the possible sources of opposition that the enslaved community could have participated in,” the artist says.

    A new short documentary follows Bingham as he visits The Wallace Center for Arts and Reconciliation and installs the work. Located just outside of Birmingham in Harpersville, Alabama, the former plantation house is now a space for healing and reconciliation run by descendants of both the enslaved and enslavers.

    Today, the center hosts a variety of art and culture programming to reflect on its history, and “The Praise House” is one such commission. After learning more about the enslaved communities, Bingham wanted to create a work that honored their legacy. “Using organic, repurposed, and cast-off materials, I make art that tells the story of my cast-off people,” he says, adding:

    The house was being historically renovated, and planks of lumber were being replaced. I imagined that these old boards were the very surfaces enslaved people walked on or touched, and I sought to bring those materials back together in a way that could inspire reflection on the history of the enslaved people who once lived there.

    Directed by Tyler Jones of 1504, the film is a poignant, enlightening glimpse into the lengthy process behind “The Praise House.” Bingham, who is a professor at Miles College in Birmingham, frequently invokes the historical realities of the location and returns to fundamental questions about the purpose of his work and art more broadly. “Who will speak for my people if not the artist?” he asks. “Who will help those outside of the art dialog to understand the creative potential they possess?”

    Watch “The Praise House” above, and find more from the artist on Instagram.

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    Buried for Nearly 2,000 Years, a Monumental Dionysian Fresco Sees the Light of Day in Pompeii

    Overview of a large fresco inside an excavated banquet gall in Pompeii. Image courtesy of Parco Archeologico di Pompei

    Buried for Nearly 2,000 Years, a Monumental Dionysian Fresco Sees the Light of Day in Pompeii

    March 4, 2025

    ArtHistoryScience

    Kate Mothes

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    When Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 C.E., the enormous explosion buried the city of Pompeii in an astonishing 19 meters of ash and debris. (A recent study concludes that in the neighboring town of Herculaneum, the blast was so intense that it vitrified a young man’s brain.) Since excavations of the area began in 1748, discovery after discovery has revealed lavish, poignant, and complex details about what life was like nearly 2,000 years ago in the Roman port town.

    When Vesuvius buried everything, the ash provided an extraordinarily protective covering for delicate frescos and structures, like an expansive fresco recently excavated in a banquet hall that “sheds light on the mysteries of Dionysus in the classical world,” says a statement from Italy’s Ministry of Culture.

    Image courtesy of Parco Archeologico di Pompei

    The large-scale painted frieze archaeologists are calling “house of Thiasos” shows the procession of Dionysus, god of wine, along with satyrs and bacchantes—also known as maenads—who are portrayed simultaneously as dancers and hunters.

    In the center of the composition, a woman is accompanied by Silenus, an elderly companion and tutor to Dionysus, holding a torch. The woman “indicates that she is an initiand,” the Ministry of Culture says, “a mortal woman who through a nocturnal ritual is about to be initiated into the mysteries of Dionysus, the god who dies and is reborn and who promises the same to his followers.”

    Spanning three walls of a building—the fourth had been open to a garden—in the so-called Regio IX district, the painting depicts a frieze known as a “megalography,” derived from the Greek for “large painting” and comprising a cycle of paintings with nearly life-size figures. Archaeologists date the fresco to around 40 to 30 B.C.E., nearly 100 years old already by the time Vesuvius erupted.

    Archaeologies typically categorize Roman and Pompeiian painting into four chronological periods or styles: incrustation (structural), architectural, ornamental, and intricate. Each style adapted elements of the previous period to generate new motifs and trends.

    Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

    The new banquet hall example is thought to be indicative of the second style in which figures or tableaux are framed within faux architectural niches and trompe-l’œil compositions. Curiously for art historians, all of the figures are depicted on pedestals “as if they were statues,” the Ministry of Culture says, “while at the same time their movements, complexion, and clothing make them appear very alive.”

    Investigations into the Regio IX district, which covers approximately 3,200 square meters, began two years ago. So far, the excavation of the entirely buried block has revealed two atrium houses—already partially explored in the 19th century—plus two workshop houses, some residential rooms of a large domus, a black hall with scenes from the Trojan saga, and a shrine with a rare blue background. More than 50 new rooms have been identified, and there is plenty more yet to uncover.

    As archaeologists gradually chip away at the ancient pile of volcanic detritus, new finds like a food stand and a primitive pizza continue to awe and inspire our understanding of ancient Roman life. The site is open for public visits, and you can explore more on the Archaeological Park of Pompeii’s website.

    Image courtesy of Parco Archeologico di Pompei

    Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

    Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

    Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

    Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

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