but just imagine a ghost that no one can see that catches an item thats flying towards someone right before it hits their face but no one can see the ghost so people start to thin k that person can make stuff float around and the ghoST IS SO ADORABLY AWKWARD IT JUST SORTA FOLLOWS THAT PERSON AROUND AND WHENEVER SOMEONE IS LIKE “duDE MAKE THAT PENCIL FLOAT” THE GHOST JUST SIGHS AND PICKS IT UP
While the deterioration of The Toilet of Bathsheba is due to the varnish, it made me wonder if there are any examples of art being "restored" and purposefully leaving parts with POC untouched.
Portrait of Maria Salviati de’ Medici with Giulia de’ Medici, by Jacopo Pontormo. Italy, c. 1537.
To be honest, the history of art restoration is full of disgraceful erasures, and a lot of the works whose appearance we take for granted are actually the result of restorers messing up really, really badly.
Priceless portraits of Shakespeare were irreversibly “cleaned” of painted changes that were made during Shakespeare’s lifetime to reflect how he looked as he aged. It was also painted over and lightened in portions. There is no way to fix the changes made by modern restorers to these centuries-old images.
Another painting discovered relatively recently, the Tree of Fertility, “somehow” lost its 25 painted penises during the restoration process. The 750-year-old fresco was discovered in 1999, and the restorers just painted over the penises.
Michelangelo’s David was actually coated in wax and stripped with hydrochloric acid, which removed the statue’s original patina, in 1843. Of course, that didn’t stop them from cleaning it again in 2004, resulting in the resignations of several restorers and curators from its housing institution who maintained that under no circumstances should it be cleaned again.
So, yeah. You can probably imagine how many images have been altered in the centuries between when the paintings were made, and us viewing them now. So, to answer your question, if people are willing to just paint OVER mixed-race children, Shakespeare’s face, and a tree full of penises, pretty sure that obscuring and/or lightening European paintings of people of color has happened and may well continue to happen.
Boston City Hall, MA.
Kallmann, McKinnell + Knowles with Campbell, Aldrich + Nulty, 1961-68
Photographed by Hagen Stier
Knitting Inspiration: hoods. Like, fairy tale hoods. I read somewhere that “capes are in” this year and, while I don’t give a flying fuck about that sort of thing, it does mean that suddenly all these fetching hooded capelet/shawl things are sprouting like mushrooms. (Get it? Mushrooms? Fairy rings….fairy tales? You’re right, that was a bit of a stretch.)
I’m particularly drawn to ones that are heavily textured or almost insubstantial. There was a thing with hooded scarves a few years back that I never really committed to; having seen these more voluminous alternatives, I suddenly understand why I waited. Unlike hoodies, which are ubiquitously casual to the point where I refuse to wear them, and hooded scarves, which make me think of kids who can’t be trusted to not lose individual cold weather items and are thus given a combination mittens/hood/scarf thing, these are poised somewhere between little kid make-believe and massive sophistication. I also suspect that they won’t cause hat hair, although I might have to line them to prevent unfortunate bobby pin accidents.
Sources are, as always, in the captions.
Years and years ago, there was a production of The Tempest, out of doors, at an Oxford college on a lawn, which was the stage, and the lawn went back towards the lake in the grounds of the college, and the play began in natural light. But as it developed, and as it became time for Ariel to say his farewell to the world of The Tempest, the evening had started to close in and there was some artificial lighting coming on. And as Ariel uttered his last speech, he turned and he ran across the grass, and he got to the edge of the lake and he just kept running across the top of the water — the producer having thoughtfully provided a kind of walkway an inch beneath the water. And you could see and you could hear the plish, plash as he ran away from you across the top of the lake, until the gloom enveloped him and he disappeared from your view.
And as he did so, from the further shore, a firework rocket was ignited, and it went whoosh into the air, and high up there it burst into lots of sparks, and all the sparks went out, and he had gone.
When you look up the stage directions, it says, ‘Exit Ariel.’