The Art of Color Reproduction

Most of us these days use Google as our main source when researching new projects. It's an invaluable resource for sure, but consider the issue of fidelity: How can we be sure that we are seeing color the way it is in the original?

Anthony Van Dyck's portrait of Cornelius Van Der Geest is a classic. Like many artists, I've attempted to copy it myself. I immediately noticed a huge variation in color chroma and value between the many images available online. It's a bit of a head-scratcher.

My 'copy' of Cornelius Van Der Geest, by Anthony Van Dyck

I put copy in quotes above because all we can really hope for is a kind of composite melting-pot of a painting. A tiny few of us have the opportunity to sit next to an original when attempting a copy. The rest have to make do with the largest reproduction we can find in the archives, either in print or - more frequently these days - through a Google Image search.

Visual Hint took this concept much further, researching the many variations of classic paintings and re-arranging them into collages to demonstrate the huge variety of color and even shape available online. The uneven edges demonstrate the available crops of the original.

Danae, by Gustav Klimt [Image: Visual Hint]

Though photographic color reproduction of artwork has advanced tremendously in recent years, anyone out there who collects Art books will know that there was a Dark Age in print quality roughly from the 1920s through the 1970s. Unless I see that a book contains line drawings or lithographs, I hardly pay any attention to Art books of that period: What's the point of printing poor black & white or washed-out color photographs of art? We want color, and lots of it!

Girl with a Pearl Earring, by Johannes Vermeer [Image: Visual Hint]

Writing about the limitations inherent in historic source material, Roger W. Moss tells us that "books such as Exterior Decoration, Century of Color, and Victorian Exterior Decoration, based primarily on historic photographs...have certain inherent problems." Researchers of 17th and 18th Century paint colors had little to rely on in terms of printed reproductions of color, they simply had to go straight to the source. However, "the student of nineteenth century paints has first a trickle, then a flood of rich visual documents." That's good news for the researcher, or is it?

Some issues worth considering when researching 'Historic colors':

• Early books had plates that were hand-colored, which of course could never be precise. Even if the colors themselves were not subject to fugitive changes and fading, the paper underneath turned brown and changed the overall effect.

• The advent of color lithographs in the 19th century advanced the process, but the color separations were done by eye and there was a fair degree of room for variations and differences between copies and editions.

• Readers in the 19th century were cautioned by publishers to work from paint chips rather than plates when selecting colors. There is no such disclaimer on Google!

• The actual paint chips contained in some books were subject to the same discoloration found in samples removed from historic structures. Verdigris sometimes turned a very dark brown, for example. I doubt if Mount Vernon would look have the same impact if we relied on paint chips alone.

• The problems were compounded when modern printers reproduced those reproductions on an inked drum.

• 19th century photographic film was less sensitive to reds and yellows. A print rendered from one of these negatives would yield much darker yellows than modern film, and reds would appear virtually black.

Not to mention that color 'correction' software is misleading: You're still looking at pixels and light, not paint, after all. Combine that with endlessly variable differences in Monitors and desktop printers, and the photo editor's preference for hitting the 'Auto Levels' and 'Auto Color' button in Photoshop, and we have a disaster in the making.

Truth, as we know, is relative, and the photographic record is as manufactured as memory. It seems that History is a matter of what we settle on as being the generally accepted view. The victor turns out to be the one who simply turns up at the top of Page One in a Google Image search.

Les Monuments De Paris, Joseph Dufour

Panoramic murals are about as Romantic an idealized vision of nature as you can get. The section above is from a huge room wrap that I painted on canvas for a client in Europe. Except for the glaring errors in perspective (two horizon lines? seriously?), I was really happy with the result, and jumped at the opportunity to produce a new mural based on the classic woodblock printed 'papier peint' Les Monuments De Paris, by Dufour et Cie (1814).

The goal of these wonderful panels was "to stir emotions through the amazement and bewilderment at the "magical" effect of the spectacle of nature, experienced as a maze in which one gets delightfully lost" [Odile Nouvel-Kammerer].

Les Monuments De Paris, detail

Les Monuments was a perfect example of an idealized vision of bucolic nature and artificiality. The buildings of Paris are unrealistically aligned beside each other, next to a perfectly horizontal river (the Seine, without a single bridge?!). You can easily picture the encircling effect created by the installed panels. You the viewer are sitting on an island refuge peopled by relaxing images of a Romanticized rural life, separated from the city in the background by a calmly flowing river.

It's no wonder works like these from the manufactories of Dufour, Zuber and Desfossé were instantly popular. That's to say nothing of the extraordinary workmanship that went into their making.

The process of production is fascinating, each panel employing hundreds of individually carved wooden blocks that were inked and printed with separate colors. It's hard to conceive of the amount of time it must have taken to produce a full set of these intricately carved blocks for all the panels. Historian Kathryn Kane tells us that

"In many cases, the same wood blocks which had been carved at the beginning of the century were still used for the papers produced at mid-century. In light of the huge investment in carving all those blocks, this made much economic sense. However, the French paper-stainers were aware of changing fashions and reflected those changes in their scenic papers. For example, The Monuments of Paris set was re-issued several times, and each time any significant new buildings in Paris were added and any which had been demolished were removed. "

The catalog raisonné in French Scenic Wallpaper 1795-1865 shows one set of panels for Les Monuments, but the set I have included here has marked differences, and not just in the architecture. Figures on horseback, ladies strolling by the riverbank; a lot has changed. It was apparently common to make such detailed adjustments. "The small figures of the people strolling about the city were given new costumes in keeping with current fashions."

Les Monuments De Paris, 26 of the 30 original panels

They were masterfully colored, but interestingly for the artist, employed very few pigments. A spectroscopic analysis of the pigments used in the production determined that;

"All the colour shades observed in [Les Monuments De Paris] were manufactured with the pigments red, iron oxide yellow, iron oxide Prussian blue, Scheele's green, raw sienna, burnt sienna, lead white, carbon black, vermilion (HgS), minium (Pb₃O₄), CaCO₃"

Once completed, the panels had to be shipped. There was no Fedex in 1814. "Each set of papers intended for shipment abroad was very meticulously packaged. Once each roll was completed, it was carefully wrapped, first in paper and then in tin foil. All the rolls of the set were then placed in a water-tight container, usually a barrel, ready to be loaded aboard the ship which would carry them to the United States."

Or wherever they were to be hung. I can imagine the horse-drawn carriage full of barrels of wallpaper crossing the Pyrenees and pulling up at some castle in the Basque country.

Les Monuments De Paris, detail

According to Carolle Thibaut-Pomerantz (a veteran dealer in decorative papier peints), wood-block panels such as these are "an extraordinary feat in printmaking". Well we knew that, but how much do they sell for these days? That's what we really want to know.

At last year's Palm Beach fair, Thibaut-Pomerantz sold a large panel from manufacturer Joseph Dufour's scenic "Monuments of Paris" (1812) for $65,000. In general, she notes, a fragment will go for $3,000 to $5,000, a good-size panel, $12,000 to $50,000; an exceptional, complete scenic can command as much as $200,000. Even at that price, she points out, they are "very affordable in relation to other works of art."

Les Monuments De Paris, detail

Of course, they weren't always so pricey. In fact, they were developed through the first half of the Nineteenth Century as "an affordable alternative to tapestries or to the hand-painted fresco". Indeed, the Victoria and Albert Museum lists an original price of 50 Francs for the paper.

My version is still in the planning and estimation stages, but I really hope this goes through. It's going to be a lot of fun to paint this!

The last word goes to Ms. Kane: "What could be more soothing to the soul than a room in one’s home in which one could contemplate an idealized and perfect landscape?"

Ornamental Ceiling Drawings, 1877

I came across this folio of original French lithographs from 1877, containing these wonderful drawings of designs for painted ceilings.I hope you like them! I posted a larger set of these lithographs on my Flickr page here. Don't forget to download the 'Original Size'.

An Instinct for Beauty

Harvesters, by Breughel

What makes a landscape beautiful? What is it about the Hudson River painters that appeals so much? Why does Constable still speak to us, or Levitan or Brueghel for that matter? Of course, the fact that they are incredible painters helps. 


Our idea of what constitutes Beauty in humans has already been linked with Symmetry and The Golden Ratio. We find symmetry and proportion in the human face attractive on a gut level because they provide unconscious cues to the sexual health of a prospective mate. It's the old Greek ideal. But what is Beauty in the natural landscape?

The view from Mount Holyoke, by Thomas Cole

In History of Beauty, Umberto Eco tried to persuade us that every historical era had its own ideas about beauty that are culturally based. From the middle of the Twentieth Century, art theorists tended to interpret art in terms of the historic and cultural context of its production; a kind of Nurture over Nature.


Recently, however, a different idea has been revived: Could it be that we have a universal instinct that literally compels us to respond to certain elements in a landscape?

"I know this sounds crazy, but ever since yesterday on the road, I've been seeing this shape. Shaving cream, pillows...Dammit! I know this. I know what this is! This means something. This is important!"

In Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Roy Neary finds himself compelled to form a mountain out of a plate of mashed potato thanks to a kind of implanted vision. It turns out that we too could be "sharing a common vision" like the people who showed up at Devil's Tower in Spielberg's classic movie.  


There is a theory that something similar happens in our brains when we observe the natural landscape. Evolutionary Psychology suggests that there are certain universal truths answering the age old question, "What is Beauty?" It's called the 'savannah hypothesis.'

Golden Autumn, by Isaak Levitan

Pastoral Landscape by Asher Durand

For hundreds of thousands of generations, proto-humans lived in the Pleistocene savannah. We learned to instantly recognize certain cues to the appropriateness for survival of one landscape over all others. Over time, goes the theory, nature selected those humans who could spot a suitable hunting ground or a good place to settle down for the night. Dutton says that "over tens of thousands of generations, such skills increased the status of those who displayed them and gained a reproductive advantage over the less capable."


Our mental capacities, inclinations, and desires were definitively shaped in those millions of years. These features were fully developed since the last 10,000 years, when human beings developed agriculture and cities, metal tools and writing. Our brains have changed little, if at all, since then [all the more remarkable when you consider our capacity to understand Physics, or the era of the Computer, for example]. We've only been tied to this modern era of cities for a blip on the cosmic timescale, and our brains are still very much mired in Stone-Age notions of what constitutes a 'beautiful landscape'.


Whether we consider the human eye, our upright walk, or our appreciation of landscape, they are each informed by natural selection working on the evolution of our simian brains.

Certain landscape elements shown to be universally preferred:

• A blue sky
 Stable weather is important.

• A pathway, or trail.

Landscapes that aid and encourage exploration are preferred over landscapes that hinder these needs. We like easy access, but also we like to know that we can escape back up that track if we need to.

• Mystery
A hint of interesting features that could be discovered. 'Uncertainty' is a key element in our everyday lives. Complete certainty in everything is the death of the spirit. In landscapes, we like our trails to lead around a bend, enticing us to explore. 

• 'Optimal complexity'
The landscape needs to be complex, but not so complex as to be 'unreadable.' We show highest preference for landscapes at the middling level of complexity.

• Security

Just as 'uncertainty' is important, so too (paradoxically) is 'certainty'. We want to feel safe from threat or harm.

• Trees that fork near the ground

We like to see trees branching close to the ground, which provide a quick means of escape should we need to dash up one to escape a predator. We have also been shown to prefer copses, or intermittent tree coverage, in our landscapes. 

• Open spaces of low grasses

It's easier to track and hunt if you have space to run. Our ancestors ran for hours after their quarry, literally exhausting them until they could flee no more, and simply dropped in their tracks.

• Rolling hills

Like the savannah from which we came, we prefer some undulations in our landscapes. They tell us that the land will be dry enough to camp on, and that the hills will also provide a good vantage point for safety or hunting, and multiple escape routes. It also ties in with our preference for mystery: stimulating the imagination and the desire to know "what's over the hill". 

• Natural environments over built environments

We consistently show a preference for nature over, say, a cityscape.

• Animals

Studies generally leave animals out of test photographs because they skew preference scores -  it is known that we overwhelmingly prefer the presence of animals. After all; a man's got to eat. Notice those cattle in the Asher Durand painting? Of course you did; It was the first thing you saw.

• Borders

We like to see a border or edge that can be followed for some miles. It breaks the landscape into large chunks for us, making it easier to make quick assessments about lurking threats or dangers, and the potential resources available.

• Landmarks for orienting

Wouldn't want to get lost if a mist or dust-storm rolls in.


• Evidence of water
A mix of wet and dry land implying distinct and reliable seasons, and of course, a reliable source of drinking water (for us, and for our prey).

"There is nothing ugly; I never saw an ugly thing in my life: for let the form of an object be what it may, – light, shade, and perspective will always make it beautiful." John Constable

"The needs of our hunter-gatherer ancestors were the same as our current needs - to find adequate food and water and to protect themselves from the physical environment, predators, and hostile conspecifics." [Evolved responses to landscapes. Barkow, Cosmides & Tooby (1992)]


Look again at the examples of paintings I've shown here. Some, or all, of the elements I've mentioned as essential are present in each of them.

"The magnificent beauty of the natural world is a manifestation of 

the mysterious natural laws that will be forever obscured from us." 

- Albert Bierstadt

An article in Ethology and Sociobiology (Mealy and Theis,1995) explored the relationship between mood and landscape preference across individuals:

"We predicted that subjects who reported positive moods (e.g., cheerful, energetic, optimistic) would be motivated to explore, and thus, would prefer landscapes rich in “Prospect” (vast expanses and overviews), while subjects who experienced mood dysphoria (e.g., tense, depressed, fatigued) would be motivated to reduce stress, and thus, prefer landscapes rich in “Refuge” (enclosed, protected spaces). While not all of the predictions were confirmed, in general, landscape preferences were found to relate to mood in the manner predicted."

So, while the Romantics like Byron and Shelley might have enjoyed the epic mystery of a Bierstadt or Friedrich landscape, the Intellectuals (or Realists/Rationalists - whatever you want to label them) among us prefer to gaze out a window at an English rose garden with a gazebo. They may seem different, but both concepts of what constitutes beauty in nature are defined by the same imperatives. The Romantics simply are giving precedence to the notion that a landscape must contain mystery (or "Prospect"), while the 'intellectuals' respond positively to nature when they feel secure from threat ("Refuge").

"This harsh and splendid land

With snow-covered rock mountains, cold-crystal streams,

Deep forests of cypress, juniper and ash,

Is as much my body as what you see before you here. 

I cannot be separated from this or from you. 

Our many hearts have only a single beat."

- From The Warrior Song of King Gezar

Mont St. Victoire, by Cézanne

Perhaps, like hamsters running tirelessly on a treadmill, we are gripped by a distant memory of our ancestral homeland when we stop in front of a vista and exclaim "wow, now that's beautiful."

"Beauty in art is truth bathed in an impression received from nature. I am struck upon seeing a certain place. While I strive for conscientious imitation, I yet never for an instant lose the emotion that has taken hold of me." Corot

"America's Most Wanted", by Komar and Melamid

Komar and Melamid are two Russian artist emigrés who undertook a fascinating project. Their book, Painting by Numbers, explains that "with the help of The Nation Institute and a professional polling team, they discovered that what Americans want in art, regardless of class, race, or gender, is exactly what the art world disdains--a tranquil, realistic, blue landscape."


Once they received the general consensus, they painted the result. The painting above is what Americans prefer to see, complete with a historic figure (George Washington), deer, and children. It's an ugly amalgamation for sure, but it is quite revealing of the aesthetic preferences of the general populace. One thing that immediately strikes me is that it looks absolutely nothing like what the Art World tells us is 'good art.' Although, I do suspect (like Arthur Danto) that most people would rather not actually hang this on their wall. I know I wouldn't like to.


Not content to stop there, the duo polled countries from all over the World. The results are in (and not a surprise): People the world over tend to prefer a strikingly similar landscape. The elements we have laid out earlier are all there. What does this tell us about aesthetics and human evolution? The argument has been made that the results are an aberration due to the ubiquity of Hallmark calendars in all the countries polled - that the results have been skewed. I like to think that the ubiquity of Hallmark calendars is exactly the proof we're looking for: Hallmark is everywhere precisely because that's what we prefer to look at.


Komar and Melamid have just laid out Hallmark's market research for them, and Evolutionary Psychology has backed it up: The experience of beauty belongs to our evolved human psychology.

Five tips for your Decorative Painting Portfolio

This is the entire package I drop off to prospective clients

In the current economic climate we need all the help we can get in order to secure that new contract. Developing a professional portfolio is the first all-important step. While it's not entirely true that your work will sell itself (you're going to have to hone your elevator pitch too), your portfolio is your first contact with a prospective client, designer or architect, and it says a lot about who you are as a professional. So it makes sense to put your best foot forward.

Here are five important tips for your Decorative Painting Portfolio to help you stand out from the pack and get you noticed:

1.  Pick only your best samples, and make sure they are all neatly trimmed to uniform size. I back them with self-adhesive black flocked fabric, which makes them feel nice to the touch, and also adds protection from scratching.

2. Buy some sort of neat box to put them in. Samples tend to be bulky, so I don't put them in a classic portfolio case. I bought a plain wooden box - the kind available from most Arts & Crafts stores - then stained and polished it black. I recommend a sturdy box because once those samples are out of your hands, you want to be sure they are protected. I used to use a folder-type portfolio, but all my samples got bent and trashed by clients. Your samples are gold, so take care of them.

Also; make sure to line the outside bottom of the box, because you do not want your portfolio scratching your client's table. I use the same self-adhesive flocked fabric as on the back of my samples.

3. Make a CD of your work, and print up a label that has all your contact info and 'please take one' written across it. I personally do not concern myself with the copyright issue of leaving unprotected images of my work. I'm more concerned that I leave as much varied collateral material for my client to remember me by.

I bought a nice card stock CD holder and glued it to the inside front cover of my portfolio book. I also place some business cards in there too.

4. Get some nice business cards made. Moo cards does a fantastic double-sided waxy card that is small, but big enough to carry all the basic contact info. Don't forget to write what you do on the card; it's amazing how many people forget. I don't know how many times I've pulled a card out of my pocket with someone's name on it, but no indication of their profession. It goes straight in the trash. Make sure that you drop off plenty with your portfolio.

5. Blurb does a great hard-cover printed portfolio book. I used the 12" square format, and with about 100 pages it came out at around $100. Not cheap, but well worth the investment. Of course, you'll have to make sure that your photographs are of sufficient size and quality, but the prints from Blurb are pretty good. As you can see in the photo above, I threw in some quotes by famous designers to lend it a whiff of respectability.

The Blurb software is easy to use, is MAC and PC compatible, and comes with a variety of handy templates that enable you to simply place your artwork before uploading it to their server for printing. They even have a storefront on their site where you can sell copies of your book.

Art Nouveau Screen

"There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathize with the color, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's sores the better. "

Oscar Wilde

Painting fine detail: Lessons from Caravaggio

Amor Vincit Omnia, by Caravaggio

I've spoken before about one of my golden rules: Never get out the small brush until you're done with the big one!

Knowing when to whip out the #0000 brush and concentrate on details is an all important lesson we can learn by studying the Masters. Caravaggio knew as well as anyone that he could leave large areas of his canvas almost completely devoid of detail as long as he threw in a painterly flourish here and there. Even a small area of fine detail is enough for our brains to read the entire painting as a fully finished and convincing representation of space.

Consider the striking Amor Vincit Omnia, noted for it's realistic representation of Cupid and for it's "photographic clarity". It's worth concentrating for a moment on what that means in terms of the construction of the painting.

The areas in red (above) have almost no detail at all, let alone fine detail. You could even include large areas of the rendered flesh in there too. Even a quick glance shows us that Caravaggio painted over 50% of the canvas with a big fat brush. Only the dark areas (highlighted above) were painted with his tiny brushes.

Cupid's charmingly crooked teeth and the huge wings lent by the painter Orazio Gentileschi as props are among the very few areas that receive Caravaggio's closest attention. Less than 10% of the canvas, in fact. Yet the painting as a whole invoked huge acclaim for it's realism. That's good news! Think of how much time can be saved by learning this lesson.

Detail from Amor Vincit Omnia

I had an opportunity to apply some of these techniques while working on a painting that was an homage to Caravaggio's theme of 'Love conquers All'. I know first hand just how long it takes to really focus on creating detail on such a precise level. I painted sheets of music that had been torn up and taped back together. The notes painted on these scraps took forever. I posted some details from the painting below.

Besides the compositional merit of leaving plenty of breathing room in a painting, of not overwhelming it with tons of distracting detail, it's also a simple and practical matter for the professional painter whereby it's commercially unrealistic to spend massive amounts of hours on any one painting.

It's not about cutting corners necessarily, but I do love finding ways of spending less time working. Thanks, Caravaggio!

Let's examine that even further: I know from experience that it would take me at least one day to complete each of those areas of detail in the Caravaggio's painting (if I was bold enough to attempt a copy). There are roughly 10 areas of detail, and you value your time at $300 per day. Congratulations! By painting all that detail you've just added $3,000 worth of value to your new painting. What was that? The buyer isn't prepared to pay an extra $3,000 for your effort?

Make no mistake: Somebody pays for all that effort. And if it's not the buyer, then it's you.

I know I cannot paint faster than I already do, because I've tried it. I'm not fast by any means, but I know my limits. I realize that if I'm about to paint a small still life of some fruit, then I had better finish that painting in one day and no longer because the most I can get away with charging for a small painting like that is roughly the same as my day-rate.

Duane Keiser does exactly that. Besides the marketing caché of 'a painting a day', it's also sound financially. If the most you can charge for a small painting is $300-$400, then you had better fine tune your technique so that you spend no more than a day painting it.

It sounds harsh to break it down in terms of money, but if we want to make a living (and maybe even retire one day) then I believe that we have to be a little businesslike about Art production.

Trompe l'Oeil painting class

I just figured out what I'll do for my Trompe l'Oeil painting class: The vase above, which I photographed outside the Vanderbilt mansion in Rhode Island. There's so much great detail going on within the vase itself that it's a perfect lesson in all the various forms of ornament, and grisaille painting. This photograph reminds me of the panel by De Lairesse which you've seen before on this blog. The balance of a large value range within the space of the vase, against the smaller value range of the rest of the niche is reminiscent of his trompe l'oeil masterpiece.

It could be combined with an Italianate landscape in the background as in the photograph below. Or maybe just painted as it is, in shades of grey.

I did something similar for the Kips Bay Show house in New York City in 2003, but I've always wanted to do a taller panel, with less stuff going on around the vase. I hadn't yet studied the De Lairesse piece and learned its lessons about value. Everything I painted in the panel below was treated with a similar range of values, and the result is a flattened painting with little sense of depth.

Kips Bay Show House mural, Alan Carroll 2003

Giovanni Battista Zelotti, Villa Godi

click on the image for much larger view

It's a little unclear whether Andrea Palladio enjoyed seeing the interiors of his buildings decorated with paint, but who cares?! This is awesome! Just look at the cast shadows thrown from the beaded molding around the door frame. Absolutely spectacular examples of wall painting.

The only thing that'd really rub old Palladio the wrong way would be the complete disregard for the architecture of the room. Zelotti's painted opening pays no attention whatsoever to the position of the actual door to the room. The trompe l'oeil columns just disappear into the door frame. It's as if Zelotti had a better idea as to where the door should have been placed than Palladio himself!

Giovanni Battista Zelotti added to the already overflowing decorations started by Gualtiero dell' Arzere in Villa Godi (Palladio's first villa), constructed in 1537. His trompe l'oeil in this, the large central salon, is more fluid and monumental than Gualtiero's, and takes on a popular theme of the time: the depiction of a human figure (presumed to be Palladio himself) in an opening or doorway.

These images are from Volume II of Antiques in Italian Interiors, which came out in 2010 from Verbavolant books. Both volumes are an incredible treasure trove of gorgeous photographs by Mario Ciampi, of interest to anyone curious to see the painted decoration of Italian villas. Highly recommended.

Natural History Museum dioramas, New York City

Source: Research Library, American Museum of Natural History

James Perry Wilson (above) painting the background for Western Pine Forest Group, Forestry Hall

The painted dioramas in The Natural History Museum in New York City are some of the most outstanding examples of mural painting that I have ever seen. There is a palpable sense of place in these dioramas, such that the viewer feels instantly transported. The feeling is not unlike vertigo. Though the hand of the artist is distant, the sense of joy and awe they clearly felt is there in abundance.

James Perry Wilson was one of a group of incredibly talented artists responsible for painting the dioramas. Yale Peabody Museum (for whom he also painted dioramas) presents an excellent and in depth study. The author says of him that "it is worth noting one of the differences between Wilson's plein air painting and his diorama work.  Accuracy was possibly more pronounced in Wilson's diorama work than in his plein air studies, but in both, he tried to paint himself out of the painting to allow the viewer to focus on the illusion of reality and not the artifice of its creation.  Wilson sought to make the artist transparent."

In fact, it takes close inspection to tell that there are different hands involved in the production of the paintings. Yet somehow they defy blandness of expression, and maintain a freshness that is still present many years after they were produced, despite aging and the damaging effects of ultra-violet light.

"Wilson's paintings have a clarity and lack of muddiness that would have been impossible to achieve had he fussed over mistakes, over-painted, or made numerous changes."

The article goes on to describe the fascinating characters and working conditions at the Natural History Museum in the '30s:

"In 1934 when Wilson started at the AMNH, many of the major figures producing dioramas were already at work: Francis Lee Jaques, William R. Leigh, Robert Rockwell, James  L. Clark.  Belmore Brown, Carl Rungius, and Hanson Puthuff would come a few years later.  Even though Carl Akeley had died eight years before, his influence was still strongly felt.  All of these men were not only extraordinary artists, but they were also outdoorsmen, hunters, and explorers.  They walked with a swagger, they had strong personalities and big egos.  Conrad Schwiering described working as an apprentice with these diorama painters in the summer of 1941:

Imagine my sitting there on a ladder in the middle of a wildlife setting listening to [Charles] Chapman and William R. Leigh debate points of perspective, with Belmore Brown finally coming over from where he had been working to tell them they were both nuts-then Brown giving his own views on the matter in eloquent style...."

The effect of staring into Wilson's sunset is almost blinding. It's that convincing. Largely self-taught as an artist, his immense painterly skill is matched by his technical mastery of perspective and composition. James Gurney, the Dinotopia creator, writes on his great blog Gurney Journey of Wilson's working method that;

"The full backdrop was often 35 feet wide or more, with a dome-shaped ceiling. This required large amounts of paint and careful mixtures. To make the perspective accurate across such a oddly curving surface, Wilson worked out a unique grid system that he called “the unsquare square” to compensate the foreshortening of the side sections. Every backdrop was carefully planned using maquettes, color sketches, and full-size charcoals drawn on the backdrop before the final paint was applied."

These artists were dedicated professionals and all went to extraordinary lengths to create their work. Carl Akeley (along with William R. Leigh) famously made an expedition to the Congo in 1924 to research the landscape for the Gorilla diorama, and wrote a book detailing his experience, called In Brightest Africa, available for free download. They were dangerous and physically taxing journeys into the blankest sections of the map, pith helmets and pistols in hand. In fact, Carl Akeley died on the Eastman-Pomeroy expedition to Africa in 1926, underscoring the demanding nature of the work.

James L. Clark, the man responsible for building the diorama halls, had a number of close scrapes himself, on one occasion falling ten feet into an elephant trap and miraculously missing sharp, poisoned bamboo stakes on the way down. He and Akeley, in a fit of impetuousness driven by boredom, once decided to ignore warnings of "hostile natives with poisoned arrows" to climb Mount Elgon (14,176').

I posted a large set of photographs of the dioramas on my Flickr page.