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Close-up of “Wall Painting Fragment from the Villa at Boscotrecase,” 10 B.C.E.-1 B.C.E.
Photos by Stephanie Mitchell/Harvard Staff Photographer
Arts & Culture
Appreciating art like a connoisseur
Curators and conservators at Harvard Art Museums focus on the minute details that reveal significant narratives about some of their cherished pieces
Interpreting art can be overwhelming for those without training. Is this piece of work impressionistic or surreal? What criteria determine its merit for museum display?
“In the end, it’s a matter of perspective,” Lynette Roth, the Daimler Curator of the Busch-Reisinger Museum, remarked to the Gazette in 2023. “I cannot compel you to appreciate something simply because I state, ‘This is a notable artist of the 20th century’ — you may not find that appealing. However, I’ve discovered that familiarity grows as you gain more context.”
We inquired with experts from the Harvard Art Museums to share their knowledge to enhance that context. Below, they concentrate on the small details that render artworks significant.
Sparrows find a new spot
“Wall Painting Fragment from the Villa at Boscotrecase,” 10 B.C.E.-1 B.C.E.
These sparrows were illustrated high on the walls of a villa close to Naples, Italy, approximately 2,000 years ago. Although they have experienced some paint deterioration, they remain identifiable and strikingly realistic; one bird is seen drinking and splashing in a puddle of water. The original wall was part of a lavish villa built for the emperor’s grandson; the entire edifice was buried due to a volcanic eruption in 79 C.E. When this villa was uncovered and excavated in the early 1900s, the retrieved fragments were distributed to different museums, and this particular piece found its way to Harvard, where it was stored for nearly a century. When curators opted to showcase this decorated wall section in our Roman galleries in 2014, I reattached peeling paint and cleaned off the built-up grime from the surface, unveiling the vibrant hues and the glossy, polished red and yellow finishes.
The birds would not have been prominently visible near the ceiling; they were merely decorative components. Now that this segment of wall is at eye level in the museum, visitors can closely examine it. I cherish how the coarsely ground mineral pigments employed in its painting shimmer in the light, creating an impression of the birds being lively, agile, and attentive.
— Kate Smith, Senior Conservator of Paintings, Head of Paintings Lab
Exploring the artistic journey
“Leaping Antelopes,” c. 1745
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This diminutive illustration from the Kota painting tradition of India measures merely 3½ by 7 inches. It showcases lively antelopes bounding across the surface. As a conservator of paper, my role involves the meticulous care of various kinds of works on paper. What I find most fascinating is any evidence of the materials utilized by the artist.
This drawing features equally graceful swirls of ink, as the artist experiments with different ink hues and dilutions. Many shades of gray are visible, alongside a vibrant orange squiggle and a chartreuse one — colors that do not correspond with an antelope. One perceives that the paper serves not only as a mid-18th-century sketchpad where the artist refines the prancing antelopes but also as a notepad. These nuances draw us closer to the artist’s process. Speaking of tiny elements, don’t overlook the small head in the lower left corner. I find these little details both charming and enlightening.
— Penley Knipe, Philip and Lynn Straus Senior Conservator of Works of Art on Paper and Head of Paper Lab
Attempt to divert your gaze
“Child from the Old Town,” Ernst Thoms, 1925
Currently exhibited at the museums is a modest painting with a significant impact. The somber gaze of a child is accentuated by the striking contrast of light and shade on her forehead and around her lips. The unnamed subject is referred to in the painting’s title solely as a resident of a city center, which is faintly illustrated in oil paint behind her.
During a time of economic and political uncertainty in Germany following World War I, such locales frequently faced housing challenges and a lack of new green areas for working-class families. By giving such dramatic contour to the young girl’s visage — as if a spotlight were directly focused on her — Ernst Thoms brings her to life and urges us to reflect on the material conditions of working-class existence.
— Lynette Roth, Daimler Curator of the Busch-Reisinger Museum
Resonances of love’s verses
“Portrait of Maharaja Kumar Sawant Singh of Kishangarh,” 1745
“Dwell in the garden of love, sing of the garden of love. Nagar declares: enter the beloved’s abode in the garden of love.”
These are the verses of Maharaja Sawant Singh, an 18th-century monarch of Kishangarh, Rajasthan, and a poet known by the name Nagari Das.
In this portrait, the poet-king is positioned among blooming pink roses. His beloved gazes down from the window above.
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Yet my favorite subtle nuance — and the most delicate and heartfelt one — is the female attendant keeping the door slightly open. With merely the tip of her adorned nose and the hem of her crimson garment visible, she reaches out with a cluster of roses, beckoning Sawant Singh to “enter the beloved’s abode in the garden of affection.”
However, these phrases do not accompany the artwork. Instead, they are from one of his verses titled the “Garden of Love” (or “ʿIshq Chaman”). Devoted to the celestial passion of Krishna for Radha, the poem articulates Sawant Singh’s fervent affection for Bani Thani, a poetess and vocalist, who is likely the lady perched at the window.
— Janet O’Brien, Calderwood Curatorial Fellow in South Asian and Islamic Art
Can you find the minute creature?
“Garden Carpet,” 18th century
The Islamic Art gallery currently showcases an impressive Persian carpet. Originating from the 18th century, this wool piece features a design inspired by gardens. While numerous Persian carpets depict gardens through botanical motifs, this example illustrates a formal garden layout called the chahar bagh (four-part garden). Such gardens, populated with fruit trees and separated by axial water channels, were crucial elements of the palatial and urban structures of the Islamic period in Iran, Central Asia, and later in India. This carpet presents a broad waterway, crossed by narrower channels, flowing through flowerbeds. Amidst this intricate design, a small creature, likely a goat, is asymmetrically situated in one of the flowerbeds. Often unnoticed by the untrained eye, the little goat appears to be a mark left by the weavers of this carpet. Although the artisans who crafted this carpet following a pre-existing design remain unknown, the tiny creature serves as a reminder of their presence and the creative liberties they exercised to embed their identity, only to be uncovered by the discerning observer.
— Aysin Yoltar-Yildirim, Norma Jean Calderwood Curator of Islamic and Later Indian Art
Coin engraved by its creator
“Decadrachm of Syracuse,” Kimon, 405-400 B.C.E.
This silver coin produced in ancient Syracuse is truly exceptional. It stands as a remarkable instance of miniature engraving. Although it ranks among the largest ancient Greek denominations ever minted — valued at 10 drachmai — it is only a third larger in diameter than a U.S. dollar. Nevertheless, the engraving is extraordinarily intricate: a four-horse chariot on the obverse — regrettably not well-preserved on this specimen — and the head of the nymph Arethusa adorned with a hairnet and jewelry on the reverse. Even more remarkable is that the engraver of the die — the tool used to strike the coin — signed his masterpiece! The letter K on the headband just above the forehead represents his initial, while his full name is recorded on the dolphin below her neck: KIMON. This is exceedingly rare. Only a handful of ancient die engravers are known by name, with Kimon being the most distinguished and talented. There’s something profoundly moving about being able to identify the artist by name, despite knowing very little else about him. It connects us to this individual who lived in Sicily around 2,400 years ago.
— Laure Marest, Damarete Associate Curator of Ancient Coins
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A timeless masterpiece
“Marsha,” Dawoud Bey, 1998
Depending on the era you belong to, you may remember the 2003 Outkast chart-topping song “Hey Ya!” that famously included the line “shake it like a Polaroid picture.” Surprisingly, this diptych is also a Polaroid photograph, albeit significantly larger. One of these “instant” photos measures approximately 20 inches by 24 inches and was literally extracted from its even larger traditional view camera, of which only a select few were ever produced and disseminated worldwide. The characteristic “squash” of chemistry along the edges is a byproduct of the intricate dye diffusion method.
An image-sensitive sheet is exposed inside the camera. This same sheet is then pressed against a second sheet (coated with dye-absorbing material) through reagent pods and mechanically driven spreading rolls as the sandwich is drawn out of the camera. After around 1½ minutes, the two sheets are artfully separated, and the second sheet reveals the captured image in color. It seems almost magical! Today, the Harvard Collection of Historical Scientific Instruments possesses one of the original 20×24 cameras.
— Tatiana Cole, Conservator of Photographs
Mystery concealed in ancient mirror
“Large Eight-Lobed Mirror with Relief Decoration,” eighth century
While inspecting an eighth-century Chinese bronze mirror under a microscope, I uncovered impressions of a long-forgotten textile concealed within layers of red, green, and blue corrosion. These pseudomorphs developed over centuries during burial, as the organic fibers decomposed and were replaced by copper corrosion, perfectly preserving the fabric down to its individual fibers. They provide a rare insight into ancient textiles that would otherwise remain eternally lost.
In addition to their intrigue, these textile pseudomorphs help reveal a segment of the mirror’s obscured history. Without any archaeological context to inform us of its discovery, previous ownership, or how it was positioned in the grave, the impressions left behind speak volumes. Observed on both the front and back of the mirror, the pseudomorphs indicate that the mirror was likely wrapped in cloth with care. This was an object cherished by a living individual, valued both in life and in death.
Discovering this unanticipated human link to the past deeply affected me, and the fact that it was not the original textile that endured, but remnants of it, preserved through a chemical transformation, adds to its compelling nature.
— Susan Costello, Conservator of Objects and Sculpture
Transported to Pollock’s studio
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“No. 2,” Jackson Pollock, 1950
This artwork remains in near-pristine condition with minimal restoration efforts, appearing as if it has just exited Betty Parsons Gallery. In this detail, we observe that the painting is secured from the front to a wooden stretcher with staples. The canvas exhibits drips and splatters of paint, while a singular blue thread indicates the selvedge. An additional selvedge on the opposing side reveals that this was the entire width of the canvas roll. Understanding this allows us to piece together the painting’s process. Pollock spread the canvas out on the floor and applied paint onto it in his signature technique. Upon completion, he severed the painting from the roll and, wishing to preserve every part of the image, he secured the canvas onto the stretcher from the front, at times through the paint. Most artists fold the canvas over the stretcher’s edge and fasten it from the sides or back where it remains hidden, but that detail was not a concern for Pollock. This collection of evidence provides a wealth of information from a limited perspective — transporting us from our present location in the gallery back to witnessing Pollock at work in his studio.
— Narayan Khandekar, Director of the Straus Center for Conservation and Technical Studies and Senior Conservation Scientist
Art encounters mechanics
“Light Prop for an Electric Stage,” László Moholy-Nagy, 1930
This emblematic piece of the Busch-Reisinger Museum epitomizes László Moholy-Nagy’s explorations at the Bauhaus. During his time as a faculty member at the prestigious art and design institution, Moholy-Nagy contemplated how to animate his sculpture. It was not until 1930 — two years after departing from the Bauhaus — that he brought his concept to fruition with the aid of the German electronics firm AEG, a technician named Stefan Sebok, and a mechanic, Otto Ball. Through this partnership, the Light Prop was able to take form and move. Since that time, the sculpture has endured various malfunctions and deterioration, necessitating the replacement of many original components. Aside from the motor from Boston Gear, identifying a replacement part can prove quite challenging. However, one easily overlooked detail remains original to the work: a metal plaque on its base bearing Otto Ball’s name and logo. For me, this minor indication is essential not only for grasping the Light Prop’s narrative but also for acknowledging that this pioneering sculpture has involved many contributors throughout its numerous iterations.
— Peter Murphy, Stefan Engelhorn Curatorial Fellow in the Busch-Reisinger Museum
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