While the mother and child motif inundates the Western art canon, few paintings prior to the twentieth century challenged the refined portrayals of the breastfeeding body. German Expressionist painter Paula Modersohn Becker (1876-1907) was among the first to render breastfeeding mothers with substance and palpability. Through comparative feminist analysis, this paper investigates portrayals of motherhood, womanhood, and identity in Modersohn-Becker’s Kneeling Mother with Child at Her Breast (1906) and American documentary photographer Catherine Opie’s Self-Portrait/Nursing (2004). Inspired by scholar Rainer Stamm’s distinction between the body as subject and the body as medium, I argue that Modersohn-Becker and Opie use the breastfeeding body as a medium to assert strength and reflect the complexities of motherhood. This paper interrogates the relationship between the works of Modersohn-Becker and Opie to suggest that themes of weight and presence, stamina and servitude, and mortality and transience both reflect and refute the canonized mother and child motif to demonstrate strength. Examples of these themes include motherly bodies depicted with thick brushstrokes, unlikely breastfeeding positions, and scars that symbolize the passage of time. Together, Modersohn-Becker and Opie not only use these elements to elevate the imagery of the breastfeeding body as a figure to be celebrated and revered but centrally utilize this body as the primary medium of their creative artmaking.

American artist Rockwell Kent (1882-1971) is primarily known for his landscape paintings of remote and harsh locations. Less known is the reason why he chose such unusual locations. Kent’s unorthodox upbringing, in which he experienced both great wealth and poverty, coupled with his time at New York University under the mentorship of Robert Henri, opened his eyes to the universal economic injustice widespread in America. After Henri took him to Monhegan island, Kent fell in love with both the people and the island. The hardworking toilers particularly struck a chord with him as he deeply empathized with their hard work, their difficult economic situations, and the near impossible odds they faced to reach the American dream. Kent’s painting, Toilers of the Sea (1907), highlights the dichotomy of his ideology and art. This presentation analyzes Toilers of the Sea as evidence that Kent’s ideology served as the guiding principle in selecting both his subjects and locations. Furthermore, this presentation examines the relationship between Kent’s socialist ideology and his desire to paint laborers in often brutal and unforgiving conditions.

This paper examines two works, Dynamic Hieroglyph of the Bal Tabarin (1912) and Armored Train in Action (1915), to explore how Gino Severini’s dual commitment to Italian nationalism and the Futurist celebration of modernity, technological progress, and war played a key role in his early works, particularly in his use of abstraction. These paintings reflect the Futurist ethos of speed, fragmentation, and the glorification of conflict as a catalyst for cultural renewal. However, Severini’s eventual shift toward classicism in the 1920s, marked by a return to religious and traditional themes, illustrates a more complex relationship between avant-garde experimentation and conservative nationalism.

By situating Severini within the context of early twentieth-century avant-garde movements, this study argues that his nationalist and Futurist beliefs influenced his creative trajectory and contributed to the development of abstract art. In doing so, this paper illuminates the intricate interplay between politics and aesthetics in Severini’s work, highlighting the importance of ideological frameworks in creating avant-garde art during a transformative period in European history before and during the early years of World War I.

The most renowned proponent of the avant-garde Dada art movement was Marcel Duchamp. Part of Duchamp’s mystique derived from his disregard of artistic intentionality; he stated that “the creative act is not performed by the artist alone,” instead arguing that meaning is formed through the viewer’s “deciphering and interpreting of its inner qualification.” This allows for infinite interpretations of Duchamp’s work, all of which are their own “contribution to the creative act.”

This research paper posits one such interpretation of Duchamp’s work, specifically that which exists on the boundary between art and personal identity. His 1920 work Fresh Widow was signed “Copyright Rose Selavy,” marking the fictive birth of Duchamp’s gender-bending female persona, Rrose Sélavy. Her identity took on a visual dimension in photographs (1921) taken by Duchamp’s fellow New York Dadaist, Man Ray.

This feminine figure appears throughout Duchamp’s work; the various complexities that she presents will act as the focal point of this paper. Background on gender, sex and sexuality in the early twentieth century will be provided through discussion of the burgeoning field of sexology, as well as an investigation into the relationship between masculinity and World War I. An analysis of the other works that are associated with Sélavy or exemplify similar ideas to those seen in her persona, including the infamous Fountain (1917), will show the authorial significance of Sélavy to Duchamp. Speculation on the figure of Sélavy herself and her status as an independent entity, will reveal the possible complications of adopting a non-traditional gender identity. This research paper seeks to provide insight into the possibility of queer identification in Duchamp through the identity of Sélavy, an alternative to perspectives in current scholarship that obscure this potential by treating Sélavy as an art making tool and a “masquerade” of femininity rather than the embodiment of it.

Roy Lichtenstein’s comic-book paintings were never sole reproductions. Each features minor deviations from his source material, unnoticeable without comparison but highly intentional, nonetheless. When asked about these alterations, Lichtenstein claimed that they were motivated by “purely formal reasons.” Recent scholarship, however, complicates the validity of Lichtenstein’s claim in consideration of the intentions and the impact of these changes, finding that many activate cultural phenomena rather than elevate compositions. This is most relevant in consideration of his war imagery, a series of paintings created between 1961 and 1964 that depict airplane battles, military officers, and intense moments of combat. Similar to his prior work, the war images contain subtle adjustments; planes display different logos than their source comics, or text is rewritten to exclude certain proper nouns. Examined in the context of Lichtenstein’s service in World War II, it becomes evident that the changes made in the war series reference Lichtenstein’s personal experience rather than social narratives or compositional inadequacies. Existing scholarship has either failed to recognize this difference or diminished its significance by positioning it as supplemental evidence in an alternate paradigm. Neither attributes sufficient attention to the alterations made in the war images or the resulting implications. In this paper, I argue that Lichtenstein’s differential manipulation of his war imagery is best understood through a psychoanalytic framework that centers Lichtenstein’s war experience and its resulting trauma, repression, and displacement. The implications of the present argument not only challenge current scholarship but have the potential to redefine how we understand Lichtenstein and the impact of his work.

In Seven A.M., Edward Hopper presents a psychologically complex scene with elements key to his most popular paintings, yet it lacks critical analysis. My paper explores the construction and absurdly simple content of Seven A.M. with a variety of primary sources, including Hopper’s preliminary sketches of Seven A.M. and his discussions about the piece as recorded by Josephine Hopper. To both explain the painting’s ominous tone and place it within Hopper’s artistic biography, I draw upon existing scholarship about Hopper’s use of Victorian architecture, high-contrast lighting, photographic-style framing, and the American rural landscape. Hopper’s presentation of an empty, rural Victorian-style storefront taps into a collective American experience of alienation where viewers of Seven A.M. occupy the same position as theoretical subjects of the world within. Hopper creates this viewer experience through experiments with perspective. Walker Evans, a contemporary of Hopper’s, evokes a similar impression in some of his photography, which I use as a point of comparison for Seven A.M. Woven together through visual analysis, my paper produces a critical interpretation of Seven A.M. as a portrait of absence designed to force viewers into the position of subject. Because of how Seven A.M. portrays absence, each viewer’s experience with the work produces a self-constructed narrative, which was evident after reviewing the comprehensive literature that exists surrounding Seven A.M. Hopper draws each person in with the ghostly tone of his painting, but he does not give more than the stage upon which viewers can tell a narrative. Because of the human-less nature of Seven A.M., the only human subject of each viewer’s story is themself. In Seven A.M., we become our subject.

As psychologists Barry Moss and Andrew I. Schwebel describe, a contemporary Western perspective understands intimacy as a quality to be attained through relationships. Intimacy is, thus, inherently related to vulnerability, defined as “the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally”. In the realm of photography, artists portray intimacy in family portraits through diverse techniques that express vulnerability and trust between individuals. However, simply taking a photo of one’s wife, husband, or partner is not an inherently intimate or vulnerable act. It is through a planned artistic narrative or representation of one’s partner that the act becomes intimate and vulnerable. A photographer’s choice in composition, lighting, pose, and print method is what transforms a simple image into a personal portrayal of connection. 

Consider Sally Mann (b. 1951), who utilizes the antique collodion wet plate process to document her husband Larry’s struggle with muscular dystrophy in her series Proud Flesh (2009). Mann presents Larry’s aging and withering body in ways that challenge societal ideals, such as that of masculinity, and offers a portrayal of shared vulnerability. Conversely, Harry Callahan (1912-1999) captures marital intimacy in his Eleanor (1940s-1960s), a series of over 125 silver gelatin prints of his wife, Eleanor. Callahan uses minimalism and the simplicity of domestic spaces to convey trust and familiarity. Through a comparative analysis, this paper will explore the different presentations of vulnerability and intimacy, and how they intertwine, in photographs by Mann and Callahan. I will argue that both Mann and Callahan utilize careful photographic planning, literary and historical references, and artistic narratives to capture intimacy and vulnerability with their photographs. 

Imagine a birthday party or a celebration, with people gathered around the one(s) they love. Typically, aside from the person being celebrated, what is the other object of central focus? The answer is cake. Whether it be a birthday cake or a wedding cake, cake holds a special place in the traditions and celebrations of cultures around the world. Cake has been a very important icon throughout our history and around the world, and different cultures thought of cake in both similar and dissimilar manners. For example, in ancient Greece cakes were seen as religious offerings, while cake was a sign of a person’s social status in England. Artists took this universal symbol and used it in their sculptures, paintings, and drawings to address and convey various things. In the genre of still life, cakes were used to show wealth and luxury. Many contemporary artists included cakes in their pieces to show the excesses of capitalism and how our society indulges itself. To others cake represents cultural unity: people coming together at a birthday party or a married couple cutting the cake together. Cake became a symbol of joy and nostalgia and is often able to transport someone back to a memory of better times. Even the type and flavor of the cake could determine a different symbolic reading.

This essay examines Hubert Robert’s Terrace in an Italian Garden, focusing on his use of sanguine to evoke temporal fragility and as a metaphor for his artistic dispositions. The drawing is defined by the choice of sanguine, a medium that dominated Robert’s artistic production. The versatility of engagement with the paper’s surface provides a metaphor for Robert’s range and volume of artistic output, prompting critics to align such practices with a sterile appetite for market value. Instead, this versatility should be understood as a reflection of fragility, seen in the drawing’s encroachment of nature over man’s natural paradigm of the garden landscape. Thus, this essay will explore how his choice and method of sanguine application in Terrace in an Italian Garden allows Robert to build a composition with elements of present and past that initially presents a picture of wistful serenity. Yet, the sanguine’s versatile disposition characterizes a momentary state rather than a reality, which will not last in harmony. Therefore, the energy of the sanguine grapples with the inevitability of time and the asymmetry of the relationship between man and nature that the scene represents. Sanguine’s greasy, spontaneous tendency, gives an increasing degree of autonomy to the artist in comparison with other drawing materials. This allows Robert to contend with a profusion of elements where he too, inevitability seeks to command control the natural elements on the paper, the very paradox of an overgrowing garden.

The artist’s Muse is rarely atemporal – she is a woman whose humanity fades with time, or a landscape now unrecognisable from what the artist once saw. Meaning is enforced, intention obscured. Yet, for Joseph Mallord William (J. M. W.) Turner, inspiration drawn from poetry, combined with his famed fascination with the British landscape, provides an atemporal constant for the viewer. Proudly displayed in London’s National Gallery and Tate Britain, Turner’s works are generally considered bastions of English Romantic painting. Alongside John Constable and Thomas Lawrence, he was a key figure in redefining the British art scene, contributing to the development of a staunch national image throughout his lifetime. However, before proto-Impressionistic works including The Fighting Temeraire and Rain, Steam and Speed – The Great Western Railway encapsulated both the triumphs and pitfalls of empire and industrial revolution, Turner was, as labelled by the London Magazine in 1829, a “romantic […] in the poet’s spirit.”

Indeed, displayed quietly in the National Gallery of Victoria, Australia, Turner’s lesser-known Dunstanburgh Castle, North-East Coast of Northumberland, Sunrise after a Squally Night (1798), invites a cross-disciplinary poetic analysis. Like many of Turner’s early oils, the painting was originally displayed alongside several lines of James Thomson’s 1730 poem cycle The Seasons, emphasizing Romantic values of the imagination and natural sublimity. This case study will argue that Turner’s inescapable connection to contemporary literary movements, including the artist’s own passion for poetry, ultimately influenced his stylistic choices and shaped a transition from the topographical style in which he trained to better-known explorations of nature’s sublimity. Approaching Dunstanburgh Castle from a literary perspective offers refreshing insight into young Turner’s transition from picturesque imagery towards the impasto techniques and sense of continuous movement that, alongside his status as an English Romantic, define his artistic legacy in Britain today.

One of the first classically trained Jewish painters, Moritz Daniel Oppenheim came of age in the early nineteenth century, a historical crossroads for the German-Jewish community in which doors of opportunity were opening but the future was still uncertain. At a time in which leaders — both within the community and in society at large — debated whether assimilation and/or conversion were necessary conditions for Jewish people to gain civil rights, Oppenheim’s most well-known history and genre paintings look self-consciously inward to show images of the idealized Jewish home, family, and ritual. Although the costumes of his subjects are often dated, and the titles of his works often reference the observation of “old” customs, Oppenheim’s artwork is distinctly modern, and I argue that nostalgia as a visual motif in these paintings is utilized by Oppenheim to reconcile the place of Jewish people and their traditions in a modern German world. I present two case studies demonstrating this: The Return of the Volunteer (1833-4), presenting German patriotism coexisting with Jewish piety, and Bilder aus dem altjüdischen Familienleben/Images of Old Jewish Family Life (1866-82), Oppenheim’s widely popular suite of grisailles published in photographic form depicting domestic scenes of Jewish ritual, as a form of ‘Jewish Biedermeier’, pulling inspiration both thematically and aesthetically from his early life. This notion of ‘Jewish Biedermeier’ is particularly interesting because although many scholars have written about Oppenheim’s use of nostalgia in his images, few have sought to draw a direct connection to the Biedermeier movement (an art and decorative art style which emphasized simplicity, intimacy, and domestic life, popular with the ascendant middle class in German-speaking lands). 

My research uses Simeon Solomon’s 1864 painting Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene to examine the connections between Sappho and Solomon’s changing reception. Previous scholarship has established how Solomon’s reception has changed over time in conjunction with society’s growing acceptance of homosexuality and the rise of Queer theoretical studies in art history. The Greek poet Sappho’s reception has similarly changed as homosexuality has become an identity rather than a sexual act, a parallel I explore by examining Solomon’s 1864 painting Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene. This paper considers how changing perceptions of homosexuality have impacted the reception of Queer desire in art, which has evolved from something often ignored to a defining aspect of an artwork. My argument clarifies and expands on the work of previous scholars to show how this shift in the reception of homosexuality has changed how scholars view queer desire in Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene and examine how the parallels in Solomon and Sappho’s transformation as artists often defined by their queer desire. To do this I explore both artists’ biographies and compile a visual analysis of this painting.

In 1876, Gustave Moreau debuted the painting Salome Dancing Before Herod at the Salon in Paris. The painting depicts the Bible story of Salome dancing before her stepfather, King Herod, to satiate his sexual desires in exchange for the head of John the Baptist. Moreau renders the scene with painstaking detail, using inspiration from contemporary orientalist style such as Near Eastern architectural motifs and ancient gods. Moreau’s depiction of Salome also conceptualizes what academic Edward Said termed the Oriental Woman. Specific iconography, such as flowers and statues, indicate the sexually charged tension of the scene. Elements such as the Orientalist style, the sexual undertones, and the iconography cannot be fully appreciated without specific methods of analysis. The discipline of Art History has historically consisted of contrasting bodies of thought that may restrict the spectator to one interpretation. Exclusionary behavior of analysis began with Hegel, who conceptualized and applied his theory of the Absolute Idea to art historical studies in the early nineteenth century. Hegel’s method was parleyed by contemporary Carl Friedrich von Rumohr and his method of Connoisseurship. Ascribing to exclusionary bodies of thought promotes staunch opposition and limited analyses. In the twentieth century, newer methods such as social art history, Psychoanalysis, or Global Style have diverged further into exclusionary studies. In this paper, I attempt to merge the Iconographical-Iconological method, the Orientalism method, and the Feminist method as presented by art historian Erwin Panofsky, academic Edward Said, art historian Linda Nochlin, and philosopher Judith Butler, to analyze the scene’s sexual imagery. Using these three specific methods of analysis, amalgamated to achieve a super method and thereby its application, the viewer can fully appreciate the particular sexual imagery embedded in this scene.

“I do not want art for a few, any more than education for a few, or freedom for a few,” states William Morris, artist and activist whose words proclaim the intertwined relationship between the act of craft and social activism. The Arts and Crafts movement of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in Europe and North America, largely inspired and influenced by the philosophy of Morris, blossomed as a response to rapid industrialization, emphasizing care towards hand crafted objects and the democratization of art as a means to build connected and sustainable communities. In the twenty-first century, craftivism empowers individuals to express their dissidence and political stance through creative expression and the act of making. From William Morris to the craftivists of today, handcraft has always been political, whether the object created is political or not. This paper explores the use of fiber arts by collectives including the NAMES Project Quilt and the Pussyhat Project as an outlet for activism and dissent, and demonstrates how the act of craft itself is an antidote to industrialism and an innate form of resistance.

Albrecht Dürer, a towering figure in art history, left an indelible mark with his prints. Among them, Melancolia I emerges as a captivating enigma, diverging from Dürer’s typical religious narratives to present a mysterious scene centered around a young woman adorned with wings. Dürer deliberately crafted Melancolia I with ambiguity, inviting varied interpretations from scholars. As noted in David Ritz Finkelstein’s The Melancolia Manifesto (2016), art historians like Erwin Panofsky Frances Yates, and Patrick Doorly have offered diverse readings of this print. Panofsky sees it as autobiographical, reflecting Dürer’s frustration at the gap between artistic and divine creation. Yates views it as a declaration of harmony between microcosm and macrocosm, while Doorly interprets it through Plato’s dialogue on beauty. The enigmatic nature of Melancolia I begs the question: can these readings be reconciled, or has something been missed in their explorations? This analysis, extending and enriching Panofsky’s insights, transcends the more simplistic interpretations of melancholy, exploring the multifaceted layers within the print. Delving into its symbolism and context, this study unveils Dürer’s intention to convey a melancholy infused with profound insight, intellectual engagement, and artistic struggle. Dürer personifies the angel in Melancolia I as his own melancholy, reflecting his despair in the pursuit of absolute truth and beauty. Through this exploration, the enduring significance of Melancolia I in art history becomes manifest as a reflection of the artist’s struggle to attain perfection.

The artistic tradition of depiction of allegories, especially allegories of the senses, existed throughout Europe and became the subject of numerous paintings and engravings. The Allegory of Hearing, on view at the Memorial Art Gallery in Rochester NY, belongs to this tradition. The painted panel has neither known artist nor date. I endeavor to uncover the context of this painting to better situate it within the larger tradition of allegory painting in the Late Renaissance. I seek to find connections between this painting and similar artworks, and in doing so suggest the possible contexts in which this painting would be displayed, either alone or among a larger set of the five senses. In the absence of known records of this painting’s provenance or life prior to its purchase by the MAG, it is necessary to look to similar work and the greater history of such panel paintings to begin to compile an idea of the history of this painting.

I will also challenge the assertion that this is an Italian painting, as it is labeled, and I will provide a number of alternative theories to the origin of the artist of this painting, primary among these being that I argue that this panel in Flemish, and not Italian, and that it fits within the context of late sixteenth century Antwerp, particularly within the tradition of the Cabinets of Curiosities.

Danaë is the most erotic subject of poesie painting to emerge in the sixteenth century, yet also one of the hardest to definitively ascribe invariable connotations to. Among a plethora of works which cast her as either a venal mistress to Jupiter or a heathen Madonna, Jan Gossart’s 1527 painting Danaë emerges as both the first and the most complicated in tone. The painting is highly unusual, its creation enabled by the artist’s exposure to the visual culture of Renaissance Italy while serving on a diplomatic trip to Rome with Philip of Burgundy-Blaton. It straddles the stylistic boundaries of the north and south to depict a figure of Danae which is at once chaste and carnal. The fleshy nude is encompassed by Marian iconography which emphasizes the mirror between Jupiter’s shower of gold and the annunciation—a stark contrast from the previous lush and paganized poesie Gossart made at Philip’s court. Danaë seems to contradict itself at every turn. These visual mysteries, however, can be leveraged to solve the historical questions it raises. This talk argues that the painting was made for Adolf of Burgundy, Philip’s successor as Admiral of the Netherlands, and that its model was his wife, Anna van Bergen. Provided this context, we can conclude that Danaë is a bedroom painting for the pair, which appropriates its trappings from antiquity, Christianity, and the Italian Renaissance to compliment Adolf’s political position in the wake of the Sack of Rome and Anna’s status as an ideal Catholic lady.

Not even death could end Pietro da Cortona’s intense devotion to Saint Martina, whose remains he discovered, whose church he restored, and whose tomb he strove to be buried beside. Cortona was a prolific painter and architect, but the church of Santi Luca e Martina may represent his most personally significant work: he funded and designed the renovation of the crypt dedicated specifically to Saint Martina and constructed the new church directly above it. This paper draws from several sources of existing scholarship on Cortona and SS. Luca e Martina to integrate historical context with visual analysis. Focusing primarily on the lower church, I first establish the building’s site and origins. I then explain Cortona’s restoration of the crypt, his discovery of Saint Martina’s relics, and the resulting construction of the church. After a brief description of the upper church and a detailed formal analysis of the lower church, I return to the controversy that stemmed from Cortona’s desire to build his tomb there. I argue that Cortona’s architectural intervention doubly dedicates the lower church as both a religious funerary monument to Saint Martina and a personal funerary monument to Cortona himself. The lower church therefore creates a visual and historical association between the martyr-saint and the painter-architect.

Sottobosco is a genre of art unknown to many due to the connection to spontaneous generation and the creatures within it. Spontaneous generation is the idea that forest dwelling creatures; snakes, lizards, frogs, etc.; are not born but instead come out of the detritus of the forest. Otto Marseus van Schrieck, as the creator of sottobosco, bridged the gap between art and scientific discovery. As an artist, Marseus had a unique connection to the scientific community that allowed him more of a personal connection to the sciences. He was an integral part of scientific discovery at the time and was sighted in research papers written by his peers. His connection aided in both the development of sottobosco, as well as its popularization. Scientists and the scientific community were among the very few people interested in these types of paintings as the general public at the time despised its contents. This attitude has not changed much in modern times. Sottobosco is often mislabeled and underappreciated even in the art world as it is unlike other easily identified paintings of the time. Although sottobosco is a genre that often goes unnoticed by most art historians, it is a powerful and impactful genre that highlights the marriage of art and science.

The use of human anatomical wax sculptures dates to the fifteenth century, marking a pivotal development in the intersection of art and anatomy. Anatomical manakins served as vital instructional tools for physicians navigating the challenge of complex surgical procedures to patients in an era when anatomical knowledge was limited. Crafted from transparent and vibrantly colored waxes, these models featured removable layers of internal organs, providing a thorough representation of the human body’s intricacy.  Collaborations between sculptors such as Gaetano Zumbo and anatomist Guillame Desnoues furthered the exploration of organ functionality and its implications in disease causation. Italian sculptor, Clemente Susini, furthered the understanding of anatomy by producing the Anatomical Venus along with over 2000 models. Anatomy was given as a course study to students in Bologna where anatomist and wax modeler, Anna Morandi, began to reproduce detailed body parts such as capillary vessels and the oblique muscle of the eye which she discovered. Wax anatomical models advanced the discipline of medicine by aiding in discoveries and improving medical techniques. They were crucial for research and the training of physicians much in the way they are used today. Art and science came together in the service of medical education.

This essay aims to explore the intellectual, scientific, and artistic contributions Maria Sibylla Merian made as a woman in the history of Europe. Illustrations of her observations will be discussed, which showcase both science and art. It will also briefly be mentioned how the findings and achievements of this powerful woman still impact the world to this day. Maria Sibylla Merian, who lived from 1647-1717, was a seventeenth century Frankfurt born German naturalist, artist, and scientific illustrator born into a family of printers and engravers. This female pioneer in science closely observed and documented flora and fauna, particularly the metamorphoses of insects. From an early age, Merian would collect and raise larvae of moths and butterflies, allowing her to carefully observe and record them, as well as the plants that they lived off. In addition to this, she would also copy well-known artworks to practice her skill. This fascination with raising insects sparked her interest in the natural world. Of importance to consider when discussing this individual that left such a big impact on the world of art and science is that she took on a role that would have been dominated by men during her time. The mother of Merian was not in agreement with the talents of her daughter, however, her stepfather and fellow artist Jacob Marrel influenced, recognized, supported, and guided her.

In 1699, Merian traveled to the Dutch colony of Suriname in South America, embarking on a journey that would have only been made by men during this period. Of importance to note is that her trip is considered the first European voyage meant exclusively for field work in science. In her biggest work, Metamorphosis insectorum Surinamensium, which included 60 engraved plates as well as 90 different animal species, and was published in 1705, Merian disproved the common theory during this time of “spontaneous generation,” a belief that living things like insects could develop from non-living matter, such as mud, earth, and flesh. Merian closely studied and depicted the life-cycles of moths the butterflies as well as other insects as well as drew and discussed the plants found in the region, which were these animals’ food source.

The beautiful work of Maria Sibylla Merian is a reminder to slow down and observe. She had a modern and scientific idea of observation and the interconnectedness of plants, insects, and the cycle of life. When it comes to the legacy of Maria Sibylla Merian, it is important to realize that her major work Metamorphosis insectum Surinamensium, with which she exposed Europe to the wildlife of South America, is still referenced today. What is remarkable about Merian is that she is the opposite of other seventeenth century Dutch, middle-class women, who were not expected to work for a living. This brings a wider context of women and their roles during this time. Although Merian died in poverty, she still made a lasting and powerful impact for science as well as for women. The accomplishments of Merian speak not only for intellectual contributions in scientific discoveries, but also for having made an impact on women of her time and of centuries to come. The observations, findings, and artworks of Merian are still very much prevalent today, and it is fascinating that we have so much evidence that can still be referenced both in art and science.

Since 2005, a dubious portrait of Baroque composer Johann Pachelbel has circulated widely online, appearing in innumerable media publications and educational resources. Notably, no authentic likeness of Pachelbel survives. Despite lacking scholarly authentication—or even academic comment—this Pachelbel Pseudo-Portrait was readily embraced, reflecting the public’s persistent need for a visual representation of the composer, a desire entrenched in notions of musical genius. The unchecked proliferation of the portrait mirrors Pachelbel’s own trajectory. Within academia, he remains a figure of secondary or even tertiary importance, valued primarily for his contributions to organ music. Yet beyond scholarly circles, his Canon in D has achieved immense cultural prominence, cementing itself as the definitive soundtrack to Western weddings. In many ways, the Pseudo-Portrait does not so much depict the composer as it represents this singular composition. Both Canon and Portrait have been removed from their original contexts—one now serving an unintended purpose, and the other misrepresenting its subject entirely. In my presentation, I seek to restore academic authority to this long-dismissed image. Drawing on fieldwork in Wunsiedel, Germany, my research suggests that the subject of the portrait may be a distant family member of Pachelbel’s. A lengthy conversation with Peter Seißer, a descendant of the composer and local historian, substantiated this hypothesis. The online version, a poor black-and-white reproduction, not only lived in a false identity, but distorted the original oil painting beyond recognition. During my visit to the museum housing the portrait, I was struck by how unaware the curators were of its online journey or its association with the composer. Its widespread acceptance online—despite a complete lack of scholarly scrutiny—calls forth deeper concerns about authority and authorship in the digital age.