Curio Cabinet / Art Curio

Who’s crazy for crèche? Nativity displays are still popular Christmas decorations, but nowadays they often take a backseat to things like Christmas trees. At one time, though, nativity scenes, also known as crèche scenes, were the most elaborate decorations one was likely to put out for the holiday. The image above shows a scene composed of clothed figurines gathered around an infant. There are ten human figures, several goats and sheep, and three angelic figures floating above the scene. Starting in 1700, crèche scenes gained popularity in Naples, Italy, thanks to an artistic revival under the rule of King Charles III of Bourbon. These displays consisted of highly-detailed figurines with painted terracotta faces and stuffed, clothed bodies. Like Nativity scenes today, they usually depicted the birth of Jesus, Christianity’s central figure, along with Mary, Joseph, the Magi, and sometimes angels, all wearing detailed, miniaturized costumes. In Neapolitan crèches, these costumes were often based on the popular fashions of the time, and the scene of the Nativity itself was sometimes contained within a larger scene of daily life in Naples. Seems like a lot more work than just hanging some ornaments.

 
Figures from a Crèche, c. 1780–1830, Painted wood and terracotta with various textiles,The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, Gift of the Womens Council of the Cleveland Museum of Art 1972.368. Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.]

What better time to be festive than when the weather’s so dreary? German artist Paul Klee painted this abstract scene of a circus in winter, evocative of lights and festivities against the stark white cold. Carnival in the Snow depicts three abstract human figures in odd poses alongside various geometric shapes and lines in red, blue, purple, and black against a white background. Born on December 18, 1879, Munchenbuchsee, Switzerland, to a German father and Swiss mother, Klee studied art in Munich before joining the German Expressionist group Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider). Always attracted to symbolism, abstraction, and geometry, Klee’s style eventually evolved to include vibrant primary colors, bold lines, and shapes. Tragically, Klee’s avant-garde pieces were deemed “Degenerate art" by the Nazis, who seized over a hundred of his paintings. Klee passed away in 1940 while living in Switzerland, though even in death, he got the last laugh. Over 9,000 pieces of his art survive today, and Klee is considered a pioneer who worked at the intersection of expressionism, cubism, and surrealism. If a picture is worth a thousand words, his art was abstract poetry.

 
Carnival in the Snow, Paul Klee (1879–1940), 1923,Watercolor, 9.43 x 9.25 in. (24 x 23.5 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art

 
[Image credit & copyright: Paul Klee, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Contemporary Collection of The Cleveland Museum of Art 1969.46, Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

This is one princess who knew how to get a head. Salome is one of the most notorious figures in the New Testament, and a heavily embellished version of her story is told in German opera composer Richard Strauss’s Salome, which debuted on this day in 1905. The piece above, Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, depicts a woman in a European style dress holding a large platter. Below and to the right is a man reaching for a decapitated head. This particular drawing was created by Dutch artist Nicolaus Knupfer in the 1600s, but Salome has captured the imagination of artists and writers for centuries. In the Bible, Salome (though not specifically named) is persuaded by her mother to ask her new stepfather, Herod Antipas, for John the Baptist’s head in retaliation for the latter’s criticism of their marriage. Wilde wrote a play about her in 1891, and that was eventually adapted into an opera by Strauss in 1905. Both iterations were controversial in their time due to their salacious contents, and the opera was even banned in Vienna. It’s not as if the original story was any more family friendly!

 
Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, Nicolaus Knupfer
(Dutch, 1603–1655), c. 1650, Pen and brown ink, brown washes and white heightening (oxidized), over black chalk on antique laid paper, 13.12 x 11 in. (33.4 x 27.9 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, Nicolaus Knupfer, John L. Severance Fund 2019.8

Snow: it’s the only thing that people anticipate with equal parts dread and excitement. American painter Childe Hassam managed to capture the quiet beauty of fallen snow while highlighting the hassle of it at the same time. His piece above, Sweeping Snow, shows a woman wearing a blue headscarf and a yellow sweater over a white dress as she sweeps snow that has accumulated on the steps. Snow covers the handrails and the bottom steps, which are made of brick. Hassam, who lived from 1859 to 1935, was an admirer of Claude Monet and other French Impressionists. Of his American contemporaries, Hassam is considered to have adhered most closely to the style pioneered by the French, and many of his works clearly feature direct inspiration from Monet. Like Monet, Hassam also didn’t shy away from painting the seemingly mundane. He once said of his art, “The man who will go down to posterity is the man who paints his own time and the scenes of every-day life around him.” Just like snowflakes, every given day and every person in it is unique to history.

 
Sweeping Snow, Childe Hassam (American, 1859–1935), c.1890s, Oil on canvas, 23 x 18 cm. 9.06 x 7.06 in., The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Childe Hassam, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Bequest of Mrs. Henry A. Everett for the Dorothy Burnham Everett Memorial Collection 1938.42, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation, Public domain.

This turkey doesn’t seem ready for Thanksgiving! Dutch artist Melchior de Hondecoeter, who specialized in painting poultry, created this lively image some time around 1680. A Rooster and Turkey Fighting, depicts a battle between a turkey with its wings spread out on the left, and a flapping rooster bearing down on the turkey. Around them are other livestock and exotic birds. Hondecoeter came from a line of painters; both his father and grandfather specialized in depicting animals. Hondecoeter almost exclusively painted birds, and was known for his lifelike details and dynamic poses. Whether roosters, hens, peacocks, or waterfowl, Hondecoeter faithfully captured the posture and plumage of each bird. As an artist, Hondecoeter was in high demand, and sometimes repeated the same themes. In fact, this painting isn’t his only one featuring a rooster and turkey fighting. Understandable, as it’s quite a scene.

 
A Rooster and Turkey Fighting, Melchior de Hondecoeter
(Dutch, 1636–1695), c. 1680, Oil on canvas, 54 x 65.5 in. (137.2 x 166.4 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, John L. Severance Fund 1986.59, Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Sometimes, it’s about the simple pleasures in life. The Biedermeier Era lasted for around 30 years in early 19th century Vienna, and its aesthetics emphasized the idyllic family life of the middle-class. The portrait above, Countess Széchenyi, depicts a smiling, seated woman in a white dress. To the right is a green parrot perched on a planter, and in the background is a mountain range. This portrait of the countess was painted by Austrian artist Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller, and like most of the works to come out of the Biedermeier Era, it's a relatively simple, straightforward painting without much symbolism or social commentary. The Biedermeier style gets its name from Papa Biedermeier, a character that acted as a caricature of the middle-class of the time. At a time of widespread economic hardship in Austria, the Biedermeier style idealized bourgeoisie comforts. Many Biedermeier paintings depict family gatherings and soirees, often around a piano. Though the style wasn’t always viewed favorably by the art community, it is recognized today for its influence on furniture and interior design. After all, what’s wrong with being comfortable?

 
Countess Széchenyi, Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller (1793–1865), 1828, Oil on fabric, 38.5 x 30.87 in. (97.8 x 78.5 cm.), Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, John L. Severance Fund 1988.57, Public domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Have you ever burned old documents just to get rid of them? This story might make you think twice before doing that again. In England, the 1834 burning of parliament was so dramatic and intense that it inspired several works of art. And it all happened because of the improper disposal of tally sticks. The piece above, The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16 October 1834, depicts a burning building across a river. The flames reach into the sky and are reflected on the water below. Painted by Joseph Mallord William Turner, the painting depicts the conflagration that destroyed most of the Palace of Westminster. The fire started because workers dumped massive quantities of tally sticks into a furnace to dispose of them. Used for centuries as a financial record-keeping tool, tally sticks were wooden sticks that were broken in two, with one piece for the debtor (the foil) and another for the creditor (the stock). Because stocks were valuable on their own, people began using them as improvised currency, so much that they eventually had to develop—you guessed it—a stock exchange. Seriously, though, just get a paper shredder—they’re much safer.

 
The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16 October 1834, Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775–1851), 1835, Oil on canvas, 36.25 x 48.5 in. (92 x 123.2 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Joseph Mallord William Turner, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Bequest of John L. Severance 1942.647. Public domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Wouldn't you love to impress this year’s holiday guests with a spectacular piece of serveware? Tureens are vessels for serving soup at the table, but this piece is a particularly elaborate example made for the English Duke of Kingston. The tureen is made entirely from silver and features a langoustine, also called a Norway lobster, lying on a pigeon as its lid. On the bottom and leaves of various vegetables that serve as the base of the stand. The rococo style, developed in the 1700s, is known for being ornate, and this tureen is no exception. Both the material and complex design by Pierre-François Bonnestrenne (King Louis XV’s official architect) were meant for the unremarkable purpose of serving soup…but their real purpose was to be an ostentatious display of wealth. The realistic details on the langoustine, pigeon, and vegetables were cast from actual specimens, and the asymmetrical, dynamic shape of the tureen is characteristic of the rococo movement, which valued naturalistic designs. Now if we only knew what the ladle looked like.

 
Covered Tureen on Stand (Pot-à-oille), Juste-Aurèle Meissonnier (1695–1750), Henry Adnet, Pierre-François Bonnestrenne, 1735–38, Silver, 14.5 x 15.125 x 12.5 in. (36.9 x 38.4 x 31.8 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Juste-Aurèle Meissonnier, Pierre-François Bonnestrenne, Henry Adnet, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Leonard C. Hanna Jr. Fund 1977.182, Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Oh, no, that kid is definitely not going trick-or-treating. 16th-century German artist Hans Holbein the Younger was renowned for his portraits, but he also had a grim fixation. His piece above, Dance of Death: The Child, depicts two people cooking food over an open fire. They are yelling with their hands on their heads as a skeleton walks out the door, leading a child by the hand. In the bottom right corner is an hourglass. Holbein made a name for himself in England by painting the Tudors, but the artist had a fascination with the theme of death throughout his career, evident in The Ambassadors, in which he depicts two wealthy men unaware of the distorted face of death beneath them. Dance of Death: The Child is part of a series of woodcuts based on a 14th-century drama. In the series, death is portrayed as an equalizing, indiscriminate force that affects the old and young, rich and poor, all alike. The drama was a reaction to the plagues that were sweeping through Europe, and in a morbid twist of fate, Holbein himself died of the plague in 1543. It seems his opinions on death weren’t unwarranted.

 
Dance of Death: The Child, Hans Holbein the Younger
(1497/98–1543), c. 1526, Woodcut, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Hans Holbein the Younger, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Gift of The Print Club of Cleveland 1929.169. Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

It’s the season of the orange gourd yet again. Pumpkins are inextricably tied to fall traditions in the U.S., and it’s not just because of jack-o’-lanterns. The piece above, Pumpkins Among the Corn, is a woodcut print depicting a farmer harvesting pumpkins from a pumpkin patch. The patch is surrounded by corn shocks—stalks of corn tied together and left to dry. Scenes like this one have been common in America since colonial times. While many Halloween traditions come from Europe, pumpkins are native to the Americas. Ready to harvest in the fall, they were an important source of sustenance for American colonists since they could last a long time without spoiling. By the late 1800s, pumpkin pies were heavily associated with Thanksgiving, and when an influx of Irish immigrants arrived in the states, they brought their traditions of carving jack-o’-lanterns. Before long, it became standard to use pumpkins and other gourds for decorative purposes in the fall, much to the delight of farmers. Pumpkins are more than just food, they’re fun and finery too.

 
Pumpkins Among the Corn, Winslow Homer (1836–1910), 1878, Wood engraving, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Winslow Homer, The Cleveland Museum of Art. Purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund 1942.1431, Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.]

It’s like looking at a landscape through tears of awe. American painter George Inness was a prolific artist whose style was characterized by reverence for nature. His piece above, Sunny Autumn Day, depicts a grove of trees with red and orange leaves against a blue sky. In the background are some buildings and in the foreground is the faint trace of a walking path. Born in 1825, Inness created over 1,000 paintings in the span of 50 years. Almost exclusively a landscape painter, Inness only briefly received any formal training. Instead, he derived his personal style from careful studies of works by artists like Claude Lorrain, Salvator Rosa, Thomas Cole, and Asher B. Durand. Inness was also inspired by the idea that there was divine influence in nature, and he sought to capture this in his paintings by being as faithful to the subject as possible. The piece above comes from later in his career, when his works were defined by loose brushwork that captured the essence of the scenery while stripping away the extraneous. It’s like a cozy autumn dream, but too vibrant to be just your imagination.

 
Sunny Autumn Day, George Inness (1825–1894), 1892, Oil on canvas, 31.87 x 41.75 in. (81 x 106 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: George Inness (1825–1894), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Anonymous Gift 1956.578. Public domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Don’t forget to wash your hands before you eat! The piece above is a bronze water vessel in the shape of a male lion with a dragon on its back as a handle. There is a spout protruding from the lion’s mouth. Medieval Europeans are often misrepresented as having been filthy, unhygienic people who hated to bathe. However, nothing could be further from the truth. Vessels like the one above, called an aquamanile, were used in some places to wash one’s hands before eating. Many villages also had a public bath where people would gather to get clean. Public bathing was a social activity too, with patrons of the baths taking time to gossip, play games, and eat together. And yes, they even had soap and perfumes to come out smelling clean and fresh. Smelling good was important, since it was believed that bad smells, or miasma, could spread disease. Ironically, bathhouses fell out of favor partly because of the bubonic plague, and fears that the disease could spread more readily in such gathering places. Maybe that’s when people started saying, “smell you later!”

 
Lion Aquamanile, 1200–1250, Bronze: cast, chased, and punched, 10.37 x 11.43 x 5.87 in., The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, Gift of Mrs. Chester D. Tripp in honor of Chester D. Tripp 1972.167. Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Someone’s in for a rude awakening. American artist Harriet Goodhue Hosmer was one of the greatest Neoclassical sculptors of her time, creating lifelike figures from Greek and Roman myth out of marble. The piece above, The Sleeping Faun, is a marble sculpture depicting a sleeping man holding a goatskin. To his left, a faun is tying the tail of the goatskin to the tree stump. Fauns were half-man, half-goat creatures from mythology, often associated with the Greek god Pan or his Roman counterpart, Faunus. Either way, they were described as having the horns and legs of a goat, though they weren’t always depicted that way in art. In Hosmer’s piece above, like many before it, the faun has an entirely human appearance. Adding to the confusion is the younger creature, who does have the legs of a goat. Regardless of their true identities, one thing is clear: with friends like this, we’d be sleeping with one eye open.

 
The Sleeping Faun, Harriet Goodhue Hosmer (1830–1908), 1870, Marble, 50 in. (127 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Harriet Goodhue Hosmer, The Cleveland Museum of Art. Leonard C. Hanna Jr. Fund 1997.15. Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

There's nothing like home sweet homestead. With autumn just around the corner, we’re looking forward to changing leaves, apple cider, and pumpkin pies. The piece above, American Homestead, shows a family in 19th century attire in front of their house in the autumn. A man is on a ladder picking apples while a woman and three children are on the grass putting them in a basket. Idyllic scenes like this were the bread and butter of Currier & Ives, a printmaking company based in New York City. Founded in 1835 by lithographer Nathaniel Currier, James Merritt Ives joined later on as lithographer and bookkeeper. Currier & Ives considered themselves publishers of “cheap and popular pictures," and indeed, they produced over 7,500 unique images and over one million prints. They're even mentioned in the popular Christmas song Sleigh Ride, as they were practically synonymous with holiday cards. The company struggled financially in the early 20th century as lithographs fell out of fashion in favor of photography, and shuttered their doors in 1907. They couldn't keep up with the times, even if they could help you remember the good times.

 
American Homestead, Nathaniel Currier (1813–1888) and James Merritt Ives (1824–1895), 1869, Lithograph, hand colored, 8.25 x 12.5 in. (21 x 31.7 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art

 
[Image credit & copyright: Nathaniel Currier and James Merritt Ives. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Gift of Mrs. S. Prentiss Baldwin on her 94th birthday 1946.448. Public domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

Here's one horse you can lead to water while you have a drink. This horse-shaped drinking vessel was made in ancient Iran, where horses were seen as symbols of power and prestige. The animal is seated, with a cropped tail, and is adorned with an ornate saddle and other accessories. This particular vessel dates back to sometime in the Sasanian dynasty (224–651 CE) and is made of pure silver with some gilded details. Horses were instrumental in the military success of ancient Persians and were used for everything from hunting to communication over vast distances, so it’s no wonder that they were held in such high regard. Although this particular horse is dressed in regal trappings, something appears to be missing: stirrups. While stirrups were used in China by this point, they hadn’t been universally adopted yet. Stirrups enhanced the utility of horses in military applications by providing stability and making the animals easier to control. But maybe this particular specimen is taking things at a more leisurely pace.

 
Horse-Shaped Drinking Vessel, Iran, Sasanian Empire, 200–325 CE, Silver, partially gilt, 4.75 x 4.25 x 12.87 in. (12 x 10.8 x 32.7 cm.), Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, John L. Severance Fund 1964.41. Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.]

Today, Notre-Dame Cathedral is as famous as the city in which it resides, yet this beautiful Parisian landmark once fell into disrepair, and there was even talk of tearing it down. That all changed thanks to Victor Hugo's 1831 novel, Notre-Dame de Paris (The Hunchback of Notre Dame in English). The piece above is an illustration from an 1889 edition of the novel. It depicts a man hanging from a gargoyle. The man is being attacked by a crow as he dangles. Behind him is the city of Paris. In the early 1800s, Paris underwent a series of drastic changes. Following the ideals of the French Revolution, Parisians were eager to erase some of their ties to the past, including certain old buildings. But Hugo was a great admirer of Parisian architecture, and advocated for its preservation. His greatest success in this regard came in the form of his 1831 novel, which featured Notre-Dame as a sort of character as well as a setting. Readers were once again enchanted with the cathedral, and it was saved. In fact, thanks to Hugo, Paris has retained much of its historic architecture. Paris without Notre-Dame? That's like wine without cheese.

 
Notre-Dame de Paris, Luc-Olivier Merson (1846–1920), 1881, Pen and black ink, brush and black wash, white gouache and graphite on paper, 12.81 x 8.56 in. (32.6 x 21.7 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Luc-Olivier Merson (French, 1846–1920), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Bequest of Muriel Butkin 2008.359, Public domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

It’s not quite clear what’s going on with this guy, but one thing’s for sure: he’s in trouble. German artist Hans Baldung created this woodcut illustration that continues to confound scholars. The piece, titled The Bewitched Groom, shows a man lying on his back. There is a horse in the background looking toward the man, and an old, laughing woman carrying a lit torch is leaning through a nearby window. Baldung was deeply concerned with themes of death, the threat of witchcraft, and female sexuality in general, which is reflected in many of his illustrations. It’s not entirely clear, though, what this piece is meant to represent. The coat of arms featuring the head of a unicorn that is hanging above the old woman is Baldung’s own, and the man on the floor also resembles the artist. It’s possible that the old woman is meant to be a witch, and that Baldung was simply expressing his fears about black magic or even his own mortality. The woodcut was completed in 1545, and Baldung actually died that same year. If the meaning of the illustration was a secret, he didn’t have to wait long to take it to the grave.

 
The Bewitched Groom, Hans Baldung (1484/85–1545), 1544–45, Woodcut, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Hans Baldung (German, 1484/85–1545), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Mr. and Mrs. Charles G. Prasse Collection 1966.172. Public domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.

They may look fearsome, but their meaning is actually quite friendly. Guardian lions, sometimes called “Foo Dogs” in the West, still stand watch in front of Buddhist temples all over the world. The piece above is a stone sculpture of a lion sitting on a square base. Its head is looking up and to its right, and its front legs are outstretched. Although these lions are heavily associated with China, they were actually introduced during the Western Han Dynasty (206 BC – 9 AD) by a diplomat who was returning from Central Asia. Since their introduction, they’ve become intertwined with Buddhism and the spiritual practice of feng shui. The lions are always supposed to be placed in pairs in the north, west, or northwest, with one male on the left and one female on the right. They’re believed to guard temples from evil spirits and to protect the truth. Over the centuries, they’ve been created in many different styles, ranging from more austere examples like this one to intricately-adorned versions made of gold or copper. No matter what they’re made of, these guardians always seem full of pride.

 
Guardian Lion, Tang dynasty (618-907), c.600, White marble, 31 in. (78.8 cm), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: The Cleveland Museum of Art, Purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund 1965.473. Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation, public domain.

Imagine running into this kid in the playground! This portrait of a young King Louis XIII of France was painted by Flemish artist Frans Pourbus the Younger. It depicts the boy-king dressed in regal, pink attire. He also wears a blue sash around his torso and his left hand rests on the hilt of a sword. Louis XIII was crowned king of France in 1610, when he was just nine years old, after his father was assassinated. Although his mother, Marie de’ Medici, effectively took control until the young monarch grew up, he was king nonetheless. Thus, his portrait was created by Pourbus, who was prized by royalty and nobility for his skill at capturing both the physical likeness and regal air of his subjects. Like many other portraitists of his time, Pourbus was also adept at recreating the dazzling, intricate rooms, objects, and fashion that went along with French royalty. In some ways, the outfit looks more realistic than the king himself.

 
Portrait of King Louis XIII of France, Frans Pourbus (1569–1622), 1611, Oil on canvas, 62.68 x 37.5 in.(159.3 x 95.3 cm.), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio

 
[Image credit & copyright: Frans Pourbus (Flemish, 1569–1622), The Cleveland Museum of Art, Mr. and Mrs. William H. Marlatt Fund 2003.225, Public Domain, Creative Commons Zero (CC0) designation.