British Museum blog

The passion of Ajax

Ian Jenkins, Curator, ancient Greece, British Museum
I am often asked what my favourite object is in the exhibition Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art. I answer this by marching my interrogator past the great white marble sculptures glowing in the mysterious half-light of the gallery to a showcase containing a primitive and seemingly unprepossessing bronze figure, only seven centimetres high. I am usually greeted with a look of incredulity. But this is my favourite object; partly because I discovered it in 1996 in what we now call the Department of Britain, Europe and Prehistory, and partly because of what it shows and how it shows it.

The object is a helmeted matchstick man, forged from solid metal tubing, drawn out to represent the subject, sitting on a low stool, with his arms extended in front of him and a dagger turned inwards. At a glance, you can see that this is, by virtue of the action, a suicide caught in the moment before the dagger is forced in.

Bronze figure of Ajax. Greek, 720–700 BC. H. 6.7 cm. British Museum 1865,1118.230

Bronze figure of Ajax. Greek, 720–700 BC. H. 6.7 cm. British Museum, London 1865,1118.230

The short version of the story of Ajax’s suicide as told in Greek myth goes something like this: Ajax was big dumb-dumb Ajax, brave and good-hearted but not a subtle thinker. It was he who carried the body of Achilles, dead from the battlefield, and it was he who should have had the armour Achilles was wearing – armour that was made by the god of smiths himself, Hephaestus. But with weasel words, wily Odysseus manages to deprive Ajax of this prize. In rage and shame a night-long fit of madness fell upon the hero, who thought he could hear an attack by the Trojans on the Greek camp and set about single-handedly defending his companions from the danger. It was not until the cold light of the morning lifted the veil of his madness that the nature of his folly was revealed. For in fact there had been no attack – only the sound of the herd of Greek cattle moving about in their pen, every member of which he had slaughtered. With nothing left by way of honour, now twice humiliated, Ajax killed himself.

The image of the death of Ajax that comes most readily to mind is that in Sophocles’ tragic dramatisation of the story, where the brooding hero prepares to fall on a sword set into the Trojan earth. This, as Ajax bitterly remarks, is a hostile soil and the sword is that of his old enemy Hector. The sad story of Ajax’s suicide is not told by Homer in the Iliad. This centres instead on a quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon, and its impact on the progress of the Trojan War and the lives of those people caught up in it. In this Achilles does not yet die but his eventual end is related in a number of other contemporary epic poems, including The Aithiopis, which relates the heroic life of Memnon, king of the Ethiopians, sometimes known as ‘The Black Hector’. The little bronze has none of the literary power of either 8th-century BC epic poetry, nor of the 5th-century BC tragedy. But it has an indefinable poetry all of its own that, in spite of its great simplicity, seems to capture something of the bleak and solitary circumstances of Ajax’s death.

Like the great Greek sculptors of a later age, the smith of this bronze has chosen not to represent the act of suicide itself, but the moment just before the dagger is buried in the body of the hero. What really, though, evokes absolutely the mental agony of Ajax is his large erection. This has nothing to do with any ideas of the erotic charge of death. It is instead a metaphor used to mark Ajax as a figure undergoing extreme trauma. In the symbolic use of the phallus, the smith is straining at the very limits of his powers. He has departed from actual representation and makes a metaphysical statement instead. When we compare such art with contemporary literature, we find nothing in the former of the narrative and descriptive power of the latter. Nonetheless, our little stick-man Ajax points at the direction in which Greek artists will go in their quest to tell stories of the kind that Homer had already mastered in the medium of words.

The object dates to around 720–700 BC and as such may be among the earliest representation to survive of a named mythological character in Greek art. Because of its phallic nature, it had been previously misclassified in the Museum’s collection, now dispersed, of erotica. Its appearance in our exhibition seems unpromising on first acquaintance but, on reflection, it turns out to be an object with great poetic presence and one which anticipates the visual power of later Greek art.

Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art is at the British Museum
until 5 July 2015

Sponsored by Julius Baer
Additional support
In memory of Melvin R Seiden
Mrs Jayne Wrightsman, OBE

The accompanying book is available from the British Museum shop online.

Filed under: Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art, Exhibitions, , , , ,

Indigenous Australia: before the sheep arrived

Gaye Sculthorpe, Curator, Oceania, British Museum

As curator of the BP exhibition Indigenous Australia: enduring civilisation it is a great privilege to be presenting this major exhibition in London. Over the past two years, it has been a special and sometimes moving experience to view and discuss objects in the collection with artists and community visitors from Australia – and to see these special objects up close. It is a big responsibility to put together an exhibition that does justice to the cultural and historical complexity of the story of Indigenous Australia – a story that is still unfolding.

Kungkarangkalpa (Seven Sisters) by Kunmanara Hogan, Tjaruwa Woods, Yarangka Thomas, Estelle Hogan, Ngalpingka Simms and Myrtle Pennington. Acrylic on canvas, H 1790 mm, W 2330 mm, British Museum, London 2014,2009.1 © The artists, courtesy Spinifex Arts Project.

Kungkarangkalpa (Seven Sisters) by Kunmanara Hogan, Tjaruwa Woods, Yarangka Thomas, Estelle Hogan, Ngalpingka Simms and Myrtle Pennington. Acrylic on canvas, H 1790 mm, W 2330 mm. British Museum, London 2014,2009.1 © The artists, courtesy Spinifex Arts Project

Early British visitors to Australian shores were surprised to learn that there was more than one Indigenous language spoken across the vast continent. Even today in London, audience research makes clear that it is still a revelation to many to learn that there are hundreds of different Aboriginal language groups, each associated with a particular defined territory, and each with distinctive traditions and customs. Few here have heard of the Torres Strait islands and the distinctive culture and history of the Islanders. Familiar names and words in Australia – such as Namatjira, Mabo, ochre, dugong, sheep station and goanna – are foreign to British audiences. Questions such as ‘were there sheep in Australia before the British arrived?’ indicate that Indigenous Australia is still a subject about which international audiences know comparatively little (*see below). Some of the art styles may be recognisable, but the complex meanings and history remain little understood.

Ceremonies involving wearing masks of turtle shell were an important part of traditional life on Mer. From Mer, Torres Strait, Queensland, before 1855. British Museum, London Oc1855,1220.169

Ceremonies involving wearing masks of turtle shell were an important part of traditional life on Mer. Mask, from Mer, Torres Strait, Queensland, before 1855. Turtle shell, shell, fibre; L 400 mm. British Museum, London Oc1855,1220.169

In telling this story, with many objects collected in the late 1700s and 1800s, questions of how these pieces were brought to the British Museum and where should they be housed now are likely to arise. Some of these issues are addressed both in the exhibition itself and in the accompanying book. There are individuals who think there are objects in London that should be returned to Australia; others consider that objects exhibited here have an key role in showing the world that the history and culture of Aboriginal people and Torres Strait Islanders is as important, valuable and unique as any other civilisation in the world. These matters will no doubt be further discussed during the exhibition run in London and when many objects go on loan later this year to a related exhibition at the National Museum of Australia.

James Cook – with the Declaration by Vincent Namatjira, 2014. Acrylic on canvas, H 1010 mm, W 760 mm, British Museum, London 2014,2007.1

James Cook – with the Declaration by Vincent Namatjira, 2014. Acrylic on canvas; H 1010 mm, W 760 mm. British Museum, London 2014,2007.1 © Vincent Namatjira

For me, it is particularly significant that these objects are being exhibited first at the British Museum in London, a city that once sat at the heart of a Britain that ruled Indigenous Australians and the colonies that joined to become the nation of Australia in 1901. Indigenous Australians have been engaging with London and its museums since 1792 when Governor Phillip brought back Bennelong and Yemmerawanne, who visited the Parkinson Museum in London that housed objects from Cook’s voyages. In the mid-1800s Aborigines, such as those on Flinders Island in Tasmania and in the state of Victoria, made appeals to and sent diplomatic gifts to the Crown. At one level, the curation of this exhibition and the engagement of contemporary Indigenous artists in its creation and related events is an extension of this ongoing relationship between Indigenous Australia and the UK, but it puts Indigenous Australians in the centre rather than the periphery.

In the coming two weeks, the British Museum will be visited by a group of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander leaders, artists, and museum professionals who will be participating in discussions, giving lectures and seminars, and reconsidering the legacies of colonialism for contemporary museums.

This includes a special event on Friday 1 May: The art of country: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander art today, and the conference: Challenging colonial legacies today: museums and communities in Australia and East Africa on Saturday 2 May.

These and other events offer British audiences the opportunity to hear more about the nuances and regional variation in this rich story. I hope visitors to the exhibition and those who attend the related events appreciate the beauty of, and knowledge embedded in, the objects presented, the diversity of Indigenous cultures across Australia, and the complexity of the engagement with outsiders since 1788. Despite being affected by direct violence and the impact of new diseases, this history demonstrates that rather than being passive victims of an aggressive British colonisation, Indigenous Australians have since 1788 engaged with outsiders in strategic and diplomatic ways that continue today.

Land rights placard from the Aboriginal Tent Embassy erected, as a site of protest, in 1972 at Old Parliament House, Canberra

Land rights placard from the Aboriginal Tent Embassy erected, as a site of protest, in 1972 at Old Parliament House, Canberra. Paint on Masonite board; H 485 cm, W 815 cm. National Museum of Australia, Canberra

I would like to acknowledge the generosity of those Indigenous communities and individuals in Australia who participated in discussions about the objects and the exhibition (not all of whom may agree with my views). I would also like to acknowledge the input of my colleagues in Australia at the National Museum of Australia and the Australian National University who, with the help of funding for research through the Australian Research Council, have contributed significantly to the exhibition and associated publication.

*Sheep came with the First Fleet of British settlers and convicts in 1788 and merino sheep, famous for fine wool, in 1796. Spot the beautiful woman’s apron made of wool in the exhibition.

The BP exhibition Indigenous Australia: enduring civilisation is at the British Museum until 2 August 2015
Supported by BP
Organised with the National Museum of Australia
Logistics partner IAG Cargo

The accompanying book is available from the British Museum shop online

Filed under: Australia, British Museum, Exhibitions, Indigenous Australia: enduring civilisation, , , , , , ,

Conservation of a clove boat

Verena Kotonski, Specialist Conservator (Organics), British Museum

In November 2014, my workbench temporarily turned into something close to a shipyard when a model boat made of cloves arrived in the Organic Artefacts Conservation Studio. Every object that goes on temporary or permanent display at the Museum receives a thorough condition check and, if necessary, conservation treatment before its installation in an exhibition. The clove boat was to be included in the exhibition Connecting continents: Indian Ocean trade and exchange, in which it was to be displayed for the very first time.

I have come across many weird and wonderful objects over the years, but never a boat made of cloves! I was particularly looking forward to unpacking this object from its storage box to see what it looked like. When I opened the box, an almost overpowering smell of cloves was released, which was somewhat of a surprise as this boat was probably made during the 18th–20th centuries in Indonesia and was accessioned into the collection in 1972.

1_Boat & crate

Model boat after unpacking from its storage box. Model Boat, AD 1700s–1900s, probably from Indonesia, L 58 cm, H 30 cm, D 23 cm As1972,Q.1944

A thorough examination of the object revealed that the structure of the boat was reasonably stable, but a significant number of elements (14 altogether) had become detached over time. It was difficult to establish the extent of missing elements at this stage. Furthermore, a considerable amount of dust had accumulated on the surface. In order to make this object fit for display, the surface would have to be cleaned, the detached elements reinstated on the object and missing elements reconstructed if and where appropriate.

Cleaning of the surface
Centimetre by centimetre I slowly worked over the object, removing the dust from the surface. This allowed me to appreciate the boat in detail; its decorative scheme and the intricate details of the cloves themselves. The boat is constructed of cloves that are either strung on one or two threads, or threaded on thin wooden pins. The hull is built from strings of cloves layered on top of each other and tied together. I also discovered, for example, that the arms of the figures on the boat and the paddles they are holding were made as one element, which was then adhered to the torso.

It was lovely to see the creative way in which the four unopened petals of the cloves that form a small central ball were used to either depict the head of a rower, the knob at the end of a paddle, or were used as decorative architectural elements.

Tools and materials I used to remove the dust were: a soft, fine tipped brush, vacuum suction and a special conservation-grade natural rubber to catch and trap the more ingrained particles.

Model boat during cleaning treatment (right-hand side – after cleaning)

Model boat during cleaning treatment (right-hand side – after cleaning)

Stabilisation of broken elements
Work to stabilise the boat and its occupants included mending a break in one of the corner posts of the cabin and securing several sets of arms and paddles to the torsos of the figures. For this, I used a conservation-grade adhesive, hydroxypropylcellulose, that has good ageing properties, which means that it will remain reversible should the need arise to undo the repair in future. In order to hold the elements in place until the adhesive had set, a range of different devices were employed to apply gentle pressure, such as light weight carbon clamps, hairclips, pins padded with silicone tubing and a bamboo stick mounted on what is actually a brush washer.

3_During clamping

Different clamping devices in action

Reinstating the detached figures
Finding the original location of the figures that had become detached from the boat proved less straightforward than I initially thought. I found 14 detached elements on the boat: 5 torsos, 1 standing figure, 2 sets of arms and paddles, one long paddle rudder (?), 1 pennant (long tapering flag) without pole and 3 round-shaped objects.

Detached elements including a long paddle (rudder?), a flag and a drum shaped element with a stick attached (left)

Detached elements including a long paddle (rudder?), a flag and a drum shaped element with a stick attached (left)

Due to the vacant places among the rowers and a set of holes in the bottom at the stern it was fairly obvious where two of the torsos (including the respective arms and paddles) were meant to go, as well as the figure standing upright. It was possible to attribute a set of arms and paddle to the respective torso by matching the shape of the cut-out on the cloves forming the shoulders with the shape of the stick that forms the neck.

Having reinstated the standing figure and two rowers, I was still left with three torsos and two drum shaped elements as well as the pennant. Although the Museum’s records, which include a rather vague historic drawing, hinted at the possibility that some figures could have been on top of the cabin including a second pennant, the exact location of figures and pennant remained difficult to establish.

Drawing of the boat found in the Museum’s records

Drawing of the boat found in the Museum’s records

Fortunately, research into similar models carried out by Charlotte Dixon, Collaborative Doctoral Award PhD Student at the University of Southampton and the British Museum, provided me with a chance to compare our boat with photos of a boat held in the Kew Gardens Economic Botany Collection, which Charlotte kindly shared with me. This strikingly similar boat shows three figures with round elements in front of them on top of the roof of a cabin. Further research by Charlotte also established that the round elements might represent drums. Close examination of the break edges on both drums under the microscope established from which torso one of the drums had broken off, and allowed me to reattach it accordingly.

Despite the very revealing and informative images of the boat at Kew, the numerous holes in the roof canopy offered little guidance on how the torsos might have been arranged on the roof. The ethics of reinstating the detached figures without knowing their original location was discussed with Charlotte and Sarah Longair, curator of this exhibition. We decided in favour of installing the figures on the roof. We felt that the figures (drummers) are a key part of the object and therefore vital for the interpretation of this artefact. Furthermore, it is possible to install the figures securely without using any adhesive which means they can easily be removed and repositioned if further evidence on their original position should emerge. Knowing that the figures on the roof were meant to depict drummers certainly helped to find a sensible arrangement of the figures on the roof.

Torsos of drummers after installation on the roof top. The original location of the drum shaped element (front) with stick attached is still unclear

Torsos of drummers after installation on the roof top. The original location of the drum shaped element (front) with stick attached is still unclear

Reconstruction of missing parts
There were still a long paddle (rudder?), pennant and a drum with a pole attached, for which I hadn’t found a location. Unlike the other detached parts these three would have required substantial reconstruction of missing elements in order to be able to reinstall them. As there were no hints where those elements would have been situated originally and what the now missing elements had looked like, we decided not to include them on the boat. Instead, they were packed safely to go into the object’s storage box.

One exception to this was the reconstruction of a missing retaining collar, which was vital for the object’s stability. These collars on top of each corner post of the enclosure prevent the roof canopy from lifting off the upright poles. One was reconstructed using tinted Japanese tissue paper rather than a clove in order to distinguish the later addition from the original object. This detail, which could have been easily overlooked, highlights how important it is for the conservator to understand how an object was constructed in order to inform the decisions about treatment that ensure the long-term stability and integrity of an object.

7_Retaining collar

Retaining collar made of Japanese tissue paper to replace the missing collar of this corner post

Call for action
After 34 hours of conservation work, which included the time for investigation and discussion with curatorial colleagues, the model boat was ready to sail and take its place on its tailor-made mount, created by Amanda Gregory, Senior Museum Assistant in the Department of Coins and Medals. My sincere thanks go to Charlotte and Sarah for their enthusiasm and constructive support in the course of this project as well as other colleagues who contributed to the success of this conservation project. Thank you also to Imogen Laing, Museum Assistant in the Department of Africa, Oceania and the Americas, for providing me with an image of the historic drawing of the boat.

Despite all our efforts, not all questions regarding the correct original position of some detached elements have been solved. Therefore, I would like to extend an invitation to the readers of this blog to get in touch should they have further information about the position of the rooftop figures, the drum (?) with pole attached, the second pennant and/or about the arms and paddle (rudder?) of the standing figure. Please contact us via with any information that might help.

Connecting continents: Indian Ocean trade and exchange is on display at the British Museum until 31 May 2015.

Filed under: British Museum, Conservation, , , , , ,

Designing beauty

Caroline Ingham, Senior Designer: Exhibitions, British Museum


Detail of a Bronze reconstruction of around 1920 by George Römer of the Doryphoros or ‘spear-bearer’ by Polykleitos, made around 440–430 BC. H 212 cm. Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, Munich

Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art is the first major temporary exhibition of sculpture at the British Museum since Hadrian: Empire & Conflict in 2008. It is also the first sculpture show in the new Sainsbury Exhibitions Gallery (Room 30). For the Museum’s Exhibitions team this is the culmination of over a year of intensive work with the exhibition’s designers, Caruso St John architects and Matt Bigg, Surface 3 graphics.

Doryphoros, Diskobolos, Ilissos2

Sculptures on display in the exhibition, from left to right: Bronze reconstruction of around 1920 by George Römer of the Doryphoros or ‘spear-bearer’ by Polykleitos, made around 440–430 BC. H 212 cm. Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, Munich. Marble statue of the Diskobolos or ‘discus-thrower’. Roman copy from 2nd century AD of a bronze original of the 5th century BC, from Hadrian’s Villa in Tivoli, Italy. H 169 cm, W 105 cm. British Museum, London 1805,0703.43 Ilissos, marble statue of the river god, from the west pediment of the Parthenon in Athens. Greek, about 438–432 BC. H 81.28 cm, D 56 cm. British Museum, London 1816,0610.99

The exhibition presents some of the most beautiful and best-loved classical sculpture in the Museum’s collection. It includes some key pieces that have been temporarily removed from the permanent galleries to be juxtaposed for the very first and perhaps the only time, with loans of similar international significance. The movement of such important sculptures from the permanent day-lit galleries, into the controlled lighting environment of the Sainsbury Exhibitions Gallery presented the Exhibitions team with a unique opportunity to experiment with their display.

Through the design brief we challenged the designers to explore how they could present the objects differently, using dramatic lighting and by experimenting with display heights. We encouraged them to exploit the scale of the Sainsbury Exhibitions Gallery, in particular the 6-metre height and the very flexible lighting system, to encourage visitors to engage with these very familiar objects in a new way and at a deeper level.

Testing fabric colours

Testing fabric colours
Marble statue of a Nereid, from the Nereid monument, Lycian, about 390–380 BC, from Xanthos (modern Günük), south-western Turkey. H 137 cm. British Museum, London 1848,1020.81

It took many months to develop the design scheme. This included trying colours and fabrics against the objects, working up scale drawings of each object group, building a scale model and mocking up full-size elements of the design. We used our new purpose-built mock-up room, adjacent to the new gallery, which has the exact ceiling and floor specification of the gallery itself, to test the plinth heights and lighting.

The result is a scheme that transforms the way we see familiar objects in the collection. The designers have achieved this through the use of colour, lighting and displaying the sculpture at height. Many of the sculptures are lifted to 1.5 metres (approximately shoulder height) and our relationship to them is immediately transformed. The objects are lit from the ceiling track and not the space around them. This privileges them and makes them visible on key vistas – for instance, the Amazon can be seen at the west end of the gallery at a distance of 20 metres or more.


Sculptures on display in the exhibition Foreground: Marble statue of Dionysos from the east pediment of the Parthenon. Greek, about 438–432 BC, from the Acropolis, Athens. L 174 cm, H 127 cm. British Museum, London 1816,0610.93 Background: Belvedere Torso, 1st century BC. Marble copy after a Greek bronze, probably of the early 2nd century BC. H (including base) 156.5 cm, W 87.5 cm. Vatican Museums, Vatican City

The exhibition may not offer the definitive answer to the successful display of sculpture in all circumstances, but what it has done is given us a wonderful opportunity to display these sculptures for a short period, in a new and thought-provoking way.

Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art is on display from 26 March to 5 July 2015.

Sponsored by Julius Baer
Additional support
In memory of Melvin R Seiden
Mrs Jayne Wrightsman, OBE

Filed under: Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art, Exhibitions, , , , , , , , ,

Conserving Dürer’s Triumphal Arch: a moving experience

Joanna Kosek, conservator, British Museum

Dürer's paper triumph: the arch of the Emperor Maximillian

The display of Albrecht Dürer’s (1471–1528) monumental Triumphal Arch in the Asahi Shimbun Display in Room 3 in autumn 2014 was a great success. The enormous print, produced at the height of Dürer’s career to glorify the reign of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I (r. 1486–1519), appeared appropriately majestic in the softly lit room and attracted over 70,000 visitors in three months. Originally designed to be pasted on the walls of princely castles, the impression at the British Museum was never used as originally intended, and is one of only a handful to have survived. In the Museum the print, which measures four metres by three metres, had been lined onto a textile backing and had long been displayed in a massive frame by the Gallery Café. After the Room 3 show it was time to take the print down to inspect, conserve and store it in darkness to help preserve it.

Dismantling the exhibition started with detaching the glazing which consisted of three four-metre-high pieces of laminated glass that had been painstakingly installed back in September by expert glass handlers.

Now we watched the delicate operation of lifting the heavy glass in the reverse order of installation and, yet again, held our breath when giant suckers manoeuvred the heavy green-tinted glass panes, one by one, to expose the beautiful cream-coloured early 16th-century paper.

Detaching the glazing from the print.

Detaching the glazing from the print.

In the meantime, in preparation for taking the print down, we had constructed a huge half-metre-diameter tube in the Museum’s state-of-the-art Paper Conservation Studio. This ‘quicker-by-tube’ production needed to be sturdy but light. As nothing like this was commercially available, the team of conservation mounters made their own using transparent plastic sheeting filled in with foam padding and cardboard rings to prevent collapse, which could damage the print. There was a lot of laughter as two of the team plunged inside the roll to fix the padding! No effort was spared to make the roll perfect for the job.

The specially made tube being carried to Room 3 via the Great Court.

The specially made tube being carried to Room 3 via the Great Court.

The day of the great descent arrived on 17 November. Equipped with two scaffolding towers and supported by heavy object handlers and curators, and filmed by the Museum’s Broadcast team, we first attached the top edge of the vast print to a four-metre-long rod using heavy linen tape.

Attaching top edge of the print to a rod and taking the print down.

Attaching top edge of the print to a rod and taking the print down.

We could then slowly lower the rod plus print down through three successive platforms from person to person and from hand to hand. The print itself was also supported on a huge sheet of plastic with its sides and bottom held taught. Soon Dürer’s masterpiece was safely supported on the floor, and the moving of this flat paper giant did not seem such a difficult challenge now…

Inspecting and rolling the print up for transport.

Inspecting and rolling the print up for transport.

With so many helpful hands to roll it safely, in no time the print was taken onto its grand ascent to our Paper Conservation Studio in the World Conservation and Exhibitions Centre. As we had already rehearsed the route carrying the empty roll, we had no surprises, although that did not apply to crowds of bewildered visitors.

The print being taken through the Great Court to the World Conservation and Exhibitions Centre.

The print being taken through the Great Court to the World Conservation and Exhibitions Centre.

At last the arch was unrolled on the large tables in the Studio and while admiring it and planning what should come next we posed for picture as a memento.

The print laid out in the WCEC Paper Conservation Studio.

The print laid out in the WCEC Paper Conservation Studio.

The conservation of Dürer’s Triumphal Arch has been made possible by the generous support of Howard and Roberta Ahmanson.

You can see an interactive zoomable image of the print here.

Filed under: Conservation, Dürer’s Triumphal Arch, , , , , , , ,

The shock of the nude

Ian Jenkins, Exhibition Curator, British Museum

I’m currently working on the Museum’s major exhibition Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art, which opens 26 March 2015. When you see the sculptures on display, you might be forgiven for thinking that the standard dress for men, in ancient Athens especially, was a state of undress. The Greeks, if their art is anything to go by, spent a lot of time starkers.

Although we must separate art from life, nevertheless, they enjoyed many more occasions for nudity than any other European civilisation before or since. The reason why they performed athletics in the nude was said to be because, in the early Olympic Games, a runner lost his knickers and as a result also lost the race. That story may be true or not but either way, it doesn’t explain the true nature of Greek athletic nudity as an expression of social, moral and political values.

The Westmacott Athlete

The Westmacott Athlete. Roman marble copy of a Greek bronze original, 1st century AD. 1857,0807.1

The circumstances in which men and boys appeared naked were dictated by an exclusive attachment to certain values held by an elite ‘club’ of male citizens. To be naked was not the same as to be nude. The first befits manual workers or those engaged in lewd behaviour. Nudity by contrast was the uniform of the righteous. When a young man in ancient Athens exposed his athletic body to his peers, he was not asserting his sexuality, rather, he was demonstrating his qualification to compete in athletics and at the same time to be worthy of putting on a second skin of bronze and defending his city on the battlefield. Such young men were called Kaloi and Agathoi, that is to say, the beautiful and the good. Death in battle was the Kalos Thanatos or the beautiful death.

There is an interesting anecdote recorded in the life of the 5th-century BC philosopher Socrates, when he meets a fellow citizen Epigenes by chance. Socrates remarked tactlessly that his friend was looking rather chubby, which was rich coming from Socrates who, although he was a brave soldier, was notoriously pug-faced and pot-bellied. Epigenes told Socrates it wasn’t his business. He was now not in the army and, as a private citizen, he didn’t have to go to the gymn. Socrates replies that Epigenes owed it to his city and himself to be as fit and beautiful as possible. It was, said Socrates, the moral duty of every citizen to maintain himself in readiness in case called upon to defend his city. And besides, Epigenes was obliged to keep himself as pretty as he could be, while he was still young. The Greek body beautiful was a moral condition and one to which only the Greeks among the peoples of the ancient world were attached. Neither the Egyptians, nor the Assyrians, Persians or the Cypriots cultivated in art and in life ideal nudity.

Bronze statuette of a veiled and masked dancer

Bronze statuette of a veiled and masked dancer. Hellenistic, 3rd–2nd century BC. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. 1972.118.95

The ideal Greek male body, then, is at the very heart of the Greek experience. Female nudity was much rarer than male nudity and the wives of well-to-do citizens were expected to stay indoors preserving their reputations with their pale complexions. Sculptors become increasingly skilled at showing the body beneath thin tissues of drapery and to judge from such objects as terracotta figurines and white marble sculpture, women were adept at flaunting their figures using drapery as a means of exaggerating their shape and so drawing attention to the body beneath. Aphrodite, goddess of love, is alone among the female Olympian gods in being represented naked. Hers is an ambiguous presence, however, for crouching or standing at her bath she appears to lure us in to erotic pleasure, only then to punish us for having the presumption to gaze upon her divine beauty.

Marble statue of a naked Aphrodite crouching at her bath

Marble statue of a naked Aphrodite crouching at her bath, also known as Lely’s Venus. Roman copy of a Greek original, 2nd century AD. Royal Collection Trust/Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2015. 1963.1029.1

To conclude, the Greek body is a pictorial sign through which the Greek experience is communicated. Nudity in ancient Greece was all part of an obligation to promote moral values that were amplified and endorsed through the culture of athletics and military training.

Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art opens 26 March 2015.
Sponsored by Julius Baer
Additional support
In memory of Melvin R Seiden
Mrs Jayne Wrightsman, OBE

Filed under: Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art, Exhibitions, , , , , , ,

The many faces of Napoleon: ‘Little Boney’ or Napoleon le Grand?

Sheila O’Connell, Curator: British Prints, British Museum

On a Tuesday at the end of January, we unpacked the marvellous large bronze head of Napoleon Bonaparte made by Antonio Canova for Lord and Lady Holland in 1818. It currently sits in pride of place at the beginning of the exhibition Bonaparte and the British: prints and propaganda in the age of Napoleon, on display in Room 90 until 16 August 2015. The Hollands set up the Canova head in the garden of Holland House in Kensington after the former emperor had been exiled to St Helena. In so doing, they signalled they demonstrated their admiration for the man who had influenced the course of European history for 20 years.


Antonio Canova (1757–1822), bust of Napoleon. Bronze, 1817–1818. Private collection.

Most of our exhibition consists of satirical caricatures showing Napoleon in a far from flattering light. These started to appear in 1797, once the young general became internationally known after his military successes in Italy. At first, when his face was still unfamiliar, he was portrayed as a wild moustachioed bandit humiliating the Pope and driving out the Austrian imperial forces. Then in Egypt in 1798, he met his first defeat at the hands of the British when Horatio Nelson destroyed most of the French fleet at the Battle of the Nile. Napoleon, an intellectual as well as a brilliant soldier, had taken more than a hundred scholars with him to study the little-known country. The ancient objects that these scholars acquired included the Rosetta Stone, which came to the British Museum along with other treasures in 1802.

In 1799, Napoleon became First Consul of France and the following year he led his army across the St Bernard Pass to drive the Austrians out of Italy again. Peace treaties were signed with the continental European powers and eventually in 1802 between Britain and France. After nearly a decade of war, Britons flocked to Paris. James Gillray’s portrayal of the meeting of a fat Britannia and a sly Frenchman reflects the lack of trust between the two countries that would lead to an outbreak of war before long.


James Gillray (1756–1815), The First Kiss this Ten Years! Hand-coloured etching and aquatint. Published by Hannah Humphrey, 1803. 1868,0808.7071

From 1797, Gillray had been receiving regular payments from the government to ensure that his talents were used to support official policy. His most lasting contribution to the denigration of Napoleon was his invention in 1802 of ‘Little Boney’, an aggressive bully of tiny stature. It was at that time that Britain’s fear of French invasion became focused on Napoleon who was in fact about 1.67m tall (5 foot 6 inches). It is thanks to Gillray and his caricaturist colleagues that history remembers Napoleon as a tiny man with huge ambitions.

As well as looking at Napoleon’s career through the eyes of caricaturists, the exhibition shows examples of portraits made for his admirers and expensive prints made to record the famous battles of the war. The cheaper end of the market was also targeted by the print publishers. The triumph of Nelson at Trafalgar in 1805 was followed by the publication of a huge number of prints mourning the great admiral’s death. These include mass-produced prints aimed at the sailors who hero-worshipped Nelson.

Napoleon’s great victory at Austerlitz, shortly after Trafalgar, received less attention in Britain. At this point in the exhibition we show examples of Napoleon’s own print campaign against the British. He ordered French printmakers to show John Bull, the archetypal Englishman, handing bags of gold to the Austrian emperor to fund his army. In another pair of French satirical prints, William Pitt, the British prime minister, is shown dreaming of victory and waking to defeat.


Anonymous, François II partant pour la guerre (Emperor Francis II leaving for war). Hand-coloured etching and aquatint. Published by Aaron Martinet, 1805. 1868,0808.6905

In 1807, as Napoleon’s army entered Spain, Britain rallied to the cause of the Spanish guerrillas as they tried to defend their country. Caricatures by Gillray and Thomas Rowlandson were copied in Spain to encourage the resistance that continued for years. The next profusion of British satirical prints came with Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow in the winter of 1812. By then, Gillray had suffered from a mental breakdown and his place as the leading anti-Napoleon caricaturist was taken by the young George Cruikshank. News of Napoleon’s army struggling through the snow of the Russian winter inspired Cruikshank to high comedy.

In 1813, the tide began to turn. Prints satirising Napoleon had previously been harshly suppressed in the countries that he dominated, but in that year they began to appear all over Europe. A particularly popular example showed a devil rocking a baby Napoleon. There were around 20 versions of this image, one of which was made in London by Thomas Rowlandson and given the title The Devil’s Darling.


Thomas Rowlandson (1757–1827), The Devil’s Darling. Hand-coloured etching, 1814. Published by Rudolph Ackermann, 12 March 1814. 1868,0808.8116

Napoleon’s crushing defeat at Leipzig in October 1813 and the crossing of the Franco-Spanish border by the Duke of Wellington’s army, led to Napoleon’s abdication in April 1814. He was exiled to the Mediterranean island of Elba, but returned in less than a year. His renewed rule lasted only 100 days before the final Battle of Waterloo on 18 June 1815. Lifelong exile to the remote south Atlantic island of St Helena followed.

As soon as Napoleon was removed as a threat, Britain began to perceive him as something of a hero. His most prominent admirers were Lord and Lady Holland but, as the French ambassador to London later recalled, by 1822: ‘Souvenirs of Bonaparte were everywhere; his bust adorned every mantelpiece; his portraits were conspicuous in the windows of every printseller’.

Our exhibition aims to show both sides of the British response to Napoleon. On the one hand, the view of him as the devious and belligerent ‘Little Boney’; on the other, admiration for his military prowess and administrative genius by those who hoped that he might rescue Europe from the excesses of the old hereditary regimes.

The exhibition Bonaparte and the British: prints and propaganda in the age of Napoleon is on display in Room 90, the Prints and Drawings Gallery, until 16 August 2015.

The exhibition catalogue by Tim Clayton and Sheila O’Connell is available from the British Museum shop online.

Filed under: Bonaparte and the British, Exhibitions, , , , , , , , , ,

Lost and found: toys, tears and the Thames

Janina Parol, Assistant Treasure Registrar, and Dora Thornton, Curator of Renaissance Europe, British Museum

If you walk by the north bank of the Thames when the tide is low you will spot mudlarks searching for finds, even when it is windy, raining and freezing. You might think they are crazy, but you will certainly be curious to know what they have found – if they are prepared to get that muddy and wet there must be a reason. Mudlarks can spend hours waiting to catch the right tide, but for the hundreds of hours that are spent out there in all conditions some of the last things we imagine them being interested in are toys.

Tony Pilson and Ian Smith on the Thames foreshore

Tony Pilson and Ian Smith on the Thames foreshore

But interested they are. One in particular has discovered a huge number from the medieval and post-medieval periods. Tony Pilson, the highly-regarded founder member of the Society of Thames Mudlarks, has generously donated a selection of these toys to the British Museum. This matches his gift of London toy finds to the Museum of London, which forms the basis of the foremost book on medieval and post-medieval toys, Toys, Trifles & Trinkets by Hazel Forsyth and the late Geoff Egan. We have now registered our toy collection from Tony Pilson on our collection database. The range is extraordinary: from miniature muskets, cauldrons and porringers, watch parts, tools, animals and detailed tableware.

The City from Bankside, Thomas Richardson, oil on canvas, c. 1816-25, © Museum of London (95.185)

The City from Bankside, Thomas Richardson, oil on canvas, c. 1816-25, © Museum of London (95.185)

Pewter doll, late 16th century (British Museum 2009,8020.5)

Pewter doll, late 16th century, found at Bull’s Wharf, London (British Museum 2009,8020.5)

Looking through this collection we soon realise that many tears must have been shed by children over their beloved toys, which suddenly fell out of their grasp and over a bridge or wall with no possibility of rescue. Thomas Richardson’s The City from Bankside, painted around 1816–1825, shows a small girl playing on one of the wharves where blocks of stone are being prepared for shipping. Looking at her, it is all too easy to understand how playthings were lost in the Thames. One doll in the Pilson collection in the British Museum, found at Bull Wharf in London, takes us close to her original owner, a small girl in late Tudor London. The doll is a rare find; her closest comparison in the Museum of London was also found on the Thames foreshore and donated by Tony Pilson. The British Museum doll is cast in lead alloy and is almost complete. Her dress is so exactly detailed that she can be dated to the late 1500s. She wears a heart-shaped hood, a fitted bodice which is laced at the back and a full skirt, which opens at the front to reveal a kirtle or underskirt. A sweetmeat bag hangs from her waist.

Mother and child at toy-stall; a woman reaching into her purse and smiling at her daughter, who pulls on her skirts and points to a large doll on the counter of a well-stocked street-stall; engraving after Adriaen van de Venne; illustration of an unspecified edition of Jacob Cats' "Spiegel vanden Ouden ende Nieuwe Tijd" (first edition published in The Hague: 1632) (British Museum 1952,0117.14.13)

Mother and child at toy stall; engraving after Adriaen van de Venne; illustration from an unspecified edition of Jacob Cats’ ‘Spiegel vanden Ouden ende Nieuwe Tijd’ (first edition published in The Hague, 1632) (British Museum 1952,0117.14.13)

We know very little about who made these hollow-cast dolls, but we think they were sold at city fairs such as St Bartholomew’s Fair at Smithfield in London. Elizabeth I’s entertainer, the oddly-named Ippolita the Tartarian, had ‘one baby of pewter’ bought for her in 1562, which might have looked a bit like this one. Could lead alloy dolls have been less expensive versions of the larger dolls made of ceramic and dressed in the latest style, which were imported into England from abroad? A Dutch print of 1632 shows these grander dolls for sale at a toy stall at a city fair. Any parent will recognise the scene of a little girl exercising pester power. Her mother smiles as she opens her purse, the stall-holder looks on indulgently while the family dog sits waiting. The Dutch inscription points a moral with a strongly Protestant commercial ethos: ‘Well set-out is half sold.’

John White, A wife of an Indian 'werowance' or chief of Pomeiooc, and her daughter, who carries a contemporary English doll. Watercolour over graphite, touched with bodycolour, white (altered) and gold (British Museum 1906,0509.1.13)

A wife of an Indian ‘werowance’ or chief of Pomeiooc, and her daughter, who carries a contemporary English doll. John Waite, watercolour over graphite, touched with bodycolour, white (altered) and gold (British Museum 1906,0509.1.13)

That marketing drive perhaps explains why dolls, or ‘babies brought out of England’, were given as presents to Algonquin people by English traders in Virginia in the 1590s as attractive presents ‘which we thought they delighted in’. A doll can be much more than a doll. Toys given to little girls were useful ways of winning over their mothers, as women often acted as intermediaries between Native Americans and the new English settlers. John White’s watercolour of the wife of a chief of Pomeiooc and her daughter shows a doll like the ones on the toy stall in the print. The English were cultivating new markets.

Utagawa Sadahide (歌川貞秀), colour woodblock print. European woman and young daughter standing at a toy stall decked out with a display of toys (dolls, stick horses, a toy axe, horns, and drums); the stall-holder shows a doll to the young girl. Japan, 1860 (British Museum 1998,0218,0.19)

European woman and young daughter standing at a toy stall decked out with a display of toys (dolls, stick horses, a toy axe, horns, and drums); the stall-holder shows a doll to the young girl. Utagawa Sadahide (歌川貞秀), colour woodblock print, Japan, 1860 (British Museum 1998,0218,0.19)

But even in Europe, dolls were not just playthings or useful diplomatic gifts. They might have been display pieces for adults, or curios for collectors with a taste for miniatures. In other cultures, dolls have an independent life. In Japan, for example, dolls were displayed in the households of families with daughters at the annual doll festival held on 3 March every year since the 1600s. With the opening of Yokohama to world trade in 1859, many Japanese people became intensely curious about foreign customs – particularly in relation to children – and the city had a European community. Perhaps that is why the Dutch print seen here appealed so strongly to the artist Utagawa Sadahide (1807-1873) that he copied it as a colour woodblock print. A quick comparison reveals how Sadahide retained the hobby horses stuck into a barrel; the drums on sticks; the toy trumpets; and even the folds of the women’s dresses. But the central doll in Sadahide’s print is no plaything: it has a formal presence relating to Japanese tradition. In translating a European print into an unmistakably Japanese idiom, Sadahide demonstrates how dolls as miniature human figures attract us across continents and centuries.

Postscript (added 9 January 2015):

We wrote this blog in Tony Pilson’s honour and to thank him for his generosity to the British Museum and the Museum of London in donating substantial collections of small finds accumulated over many years. We were very sorry to hear of his death, on 24 November 2014, but we hope that this small tribute can serve as our way of remembering him. His legacy is upheld in the work of the Society of Thames Mudlarks, who continue to search the foreshore and record their finds with the Museum of London.

Anyone can walk along the Thames foreshore, but scraping or digging is strictly regulated by The Port of London Authority and there are different levels of searching, from eyes only to scraping and using a metal detector. There are prohibited areas and permission should always be sought.

Filed under: Archaeology, Portable Antiquities and Treasure, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Night at the (British) Museum: fact and fantasy

Sian Toogood, Broadcast Manager, Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb, British Museum

In the century or so since the birth of film, the British Museum has had many cameras within its galleries, labs and libraries. For the most part they have been filming documentaries, unravelling mysteries of the Museum’s collection, but every once in a while the Museum gets to participate in the organised chaos that is feature film production. In the past we have had Hitchcock in the Egyptian Sculpture Gallery, Merchant Ivory in the Assyrian Galleries and Phaedra in the Parthenon Galleries; we can now add Fox to this pantheon, with their third installment of the hugely popular Night at the Museum series: Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb.


I was extremely pleased when I was approached by Fox, not because it was a fantastic opportunity to get more people interested in the Museum, nor because it would be an interesting project filled with lots of exciting and complicated challenges (though it was undoubtedly both of these things). I was pleased because ever since I’ve worked at the British Museum I have consistently been asked why they didn’t film Night at the Museum here! Now I can finally say that we have.

The limitations of what is possible within the Museum meant that Fox only filmed at the Museum for three nights, from the moment the gates closed to the public to 07.00 the next day. The remainder of the British Museum scenes were shot over three months on a specially built set in Vancouver, Canada. Filming a full-scale feature in a 19th-century Grade I listed building is no joke – given some of the dramatic and explosive chase and fight scenes, it could never have been done on the actual premises.


Those of you who have seen the film and know the Museum, even reasonably well, might wonder why parts of the fictional Museum look so different to the real thing. There are significant differences between the real Museum and the museum of the film. For one thing, our natural history collection became the basis of the Natural History Museum in 1889, so to see a triceratops you will have to go to South Kensington. Equally, if you want to see a knight in full armour, then the Wallace Collection is a much better bet. I’m afraid I can’t tell you where to find a nine-headed serpent cast in bronze though!

Apart from the objects in the collection, the layout and style of the Museum has been almost entirely altered for the film, with only the Parthenon Gallery (Room 18) and the Great Court remaining as they are in real life. So why was there a need to change the Museum to such an extent? Well, this film is the third in a series and so it had to fit in with the aesthetics of its predecessors in the trilogy, and we must allow for the artistic licence of the film’s director, Shawn Levy. This is an adventure film with a wish to get young people hooked on history. While there are some wild inventions, the Fox team also paid meticulous attention to detail for the general ‘look’ of the British Museum. For example, the Museum’s distinctive brass doorknobs were designed especially for the Museum and can be found nowhere else in the world. We sent a single pair of them to Vancouver so that they could be recreated for the film.

The Artistic Director spent a week looking at the original plans and elevations of the Parthenon and Egyptian Sculpture Galleries, and recording the details of many of the galleries, floor tiles, heating grills and columns to faithfully recreate them. Paint chips and marble samples went to Vancouver to join the doorknobs and these details, along with the great care that Fox took to recreate signage in the building, make a lot of the imagined Museum look as though these scenes could have been shot in brand new galleries of the British Museum.


We were lucky that Night at the Museum came in only few months after we had had our own first foray into cinema production with a live broadcast from our exhibition on Pompeii and Herculaneum. The Museum facilitates about 50 commercial film crews a year, shooting documentaries, music videos, fashion photo shoots and commercials, so we are well used to dealing with the requirements of film crews. But it was the experience of broadcasting live to hundreds of cinemas nationwide that gave us the confidence and base knowledge about the fabric of the building to be able to facilitate the scale of Night at the Museum. All those tedious facts about the weight loading capacity of the forecourt and the exact power provision in the Great Court suddenly became very useful!


Fox were certainly not the average Museum film crew. They had 200 crew on site, a 40-tonne crane, helium balloon lights so large they couldn’t fit through the front door when inflated, and a myriad of other lights, cameras and stands. There was also a visual effects crew that 3d-scanned key spaces and dozens of objects from the collection to populate the film with living objects. Then there were the horses (outside) and the monkeys (inside). All of this kit, people and animals needed significant managing and overnight supervision.

We saw this film as an opportunity to interest new audiences across the world in museums in general, and to show the British Museum in particular in a new light. At the heart of the series is the idea that when you enter a museum you see the objects gathered there as if they were alive. These objects are used as gateways to other places and times and we invest them with personalities – we do not need to know everything about them to have an emotional connection with them. Visitors to the British Museum in the past might not have had the capabilities of Fox’s digital team, but in our mind’s eye I think we have all seen a lion roar or Greek sculptures walk, and we now have the opportunity to see them on the silver screen.

I doubt that we will ever have another film that is so closely linked to the Museum and its collection. I personally have been delighted and proud to have been part of this new chapter in the Museum’s film history.

Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb is in cinemas across the UK from 19 December.

Download the free app based on the film to help you explore the Museum, and enter a competition to win a real Night at the Museum!

Filed under: At the Museum, , ,

You acted funny tryin’ to spend my money…Bowie on a banknote

Ben Alsop, curator, British Museum

If you were to walk down the high streets of a town or city in the UK you would most likely be struck by a sense of the familiar. You could move from shop front to shop front recognising typefaces, colours, window displays and smells as they are wafted out through peculiarly open doors (even in the depths of winter). Where once there was variety, now sit the well-known brands of mobile phone shop, fast-food restaurant, stationer, coffee shop and the smaller version of the bigger supermarket that sit on the edge of town. Success on the high street gives birth to repetition and replication.

The phenomenon of modern local currency is, however, attempting to rectify this by supporting small, independent businesses against large national and international companies. The first of a new wave of local currencies in Britain began in Totnes, Devon in 2007 with the issuing of 1,5,10 and 21 pound notes by Transition Towns Totnes, and has given rise to a further four schemes in Lewes, Stroud, Brixton and Bristol. These schemes allow for the exchanging of a local currency 1:1 with UK pound sterling which then can only be spent in participating, local, independent businesses. The hope is that this money will then be used by traders to purchase produce from local providers, ensuring the money continues to circulate in the community. The inspiration for this modern British take on localised monetary systems came from a number of progenitors that include the Berskshare in Massachusetts, USA and the Chiemgauer in Prien am Chiemsee in Bavaria, Germany. These systems have offered a blueprint for the UK and are part of an international family of local currencies from EarthDay Money in Japan to the Bangla Pesa in Mombasa, Kenya.

Oh you pretty things…

When it was decided to put together a display of UK local currencies in the Citi Money Gallery, the joy of collecting the various issues was in the variety and vibrancy of the designs. By their very nature Bank of England notes have to be conservative in appearance, adhering to our notion of what banknotes should look like. Local currencies have no such restrictions. This freedom means that while historical figures are depicted, such as the writer and Lewes resident Thomas Paine, it also allows for a fantastic array of contemporary designs.

David Bowie and Luol Deng on Brixton five and ten pound notes, as displayed in the Citi Money Gallery

David Bowie and Luol Deng on Brixton five and ten pound notes, 2nd edition, design by Charlie Waterhouse and Clive Russell, This Ain’t Rock’n’Roll, 2011. as displayed in the Citi Money Gallery

Five Bristol pound note showing ‘Graffiti Tiger’ by Alex Lucas

Five Bristol pound note showing ‘Graffiti Tiger’ by Alex Lucas

Local heroes David Bowie – shown in the iconic image from the cover of his 1973 album Aladdin Sane – and Luol Deng, professional basketball player for the GB national basketball team, are shown on the Brixton notes. Bristol artist Alex Lucas‘ tiger in a hoodie was one of the designs for the Bristol pound notes chosen from competition entries.

Local issues have also allowed for a redressing of gender disparities on UK paper money, with images of author Mary Wesley and secret agent Violette Szabo among others.

One Totnes pound note showing author Mary Wesley.

One Totnes pound note showing author Mary Wesley. Designed by Samskara Design


To ensure that they are as simple as possible to use, UK local currencies are changing with the times and now offer ways to pay digitally, with SMS payment systems available in Brixton, Bristol and Totnes. There have even been forays into the world of cryptocurrencies (which I’ve written about in a previous post) with plans to create HullCoin garnering significant interest earlier this year.

These changes are central to their ability to grow and remain a viable part of the local economy but not all currencies have been a success. The Stroud pound is no longer issued (although there are hopes to reintroduce it) and there are questions as to how far these currencies have permeated different areas of society. Time will tell if the established local currencies continue to prosper and if proposed new local currencies in places such as Hackney and Oxford can continue this story.

Watch this Space (Oddity)…

The Money Gallery is supported by Citi

Filed under: Money Gallery, , , , , , , , , , , ,

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You can now discover thousands of British Museum objects in partnership with @googleartproject at We’ve asked staff members to highlight their favourites and explain what makes them special. Chris Spring, Curator of Africa Collections, describes why he finds the ‘Throne of weapons’ so powerful. ‘This war memorial celebrates the ordinary people of Mozambique, many of them unarmed, who stood up to a culture of violence. It represents both a human tragedy and a human triumph. The Throne's essential humanity is suggested right away by its anthropomorphic qualities - it has arms, legs, a back and most importantly a face - actually two faces. My first reaction was that these faces are crying in pain, though they could also be seen as smiling faces finally freed from conflict. These anthropomorphic qualities also link it immediately to the arts of Africa, in which non-figurative objects such as chairs, stools, weapons, pots etc are seen as - and described as - human beings. The Throne has toured the world, taking its message of peace to schools, churches, shopping centres and even prisons – and of course, to museums and galleries.’ #MuseumOfTheWorld We’re celebrating our partnership with @googleartproject, and have asked curators to tell us about their favourite objects. Hugo Chapman, Keeper of Prints and Drawings, explains why he chose this chalk drawing by Michelangelo. ‘One of the things I love about drawings is the way they sometimes allow a glimpse into the private, behind the scenes world of an artist, one unseen in finished works in paint or stone. An example of that is a red chalk drawing by Michelangelo of grotesque heads in red chalk that reveal that the Florentine Renaissance artist had a lively, if caustic, sense of humour. The three heads were probably drawn to amuse but at the same instruct his pupils, as the three studies show how slight changes can radically alter the reading of an image with the character and mood of each figure (paranoid anxiety; vacuous joy; and depressive gloom) signalled by the position and erectness of their donkey-like ears.  I wish my ears were as expressive.’ Discover many more incredible works of art in the Google Cultural Institute at

#Michelangelo #art To celebrate our partnership with @googleartproject, we’ve asked members of British Museum staff to highlight their favourite objects and explain what makes them special. Jill Cook, Deputy Keeper of Britain, Europe & Prehistory, chose this stone chopping tool from an early human campsite in Olduvai Gorge, Tanzania. ‘Holding this 2 million year old African tool in my hand I am reminded that whatever differences exist between people now, we are united by our common origin in Africa. The discovery of this piece by Louis Leakey in 1931 began to change our understanding of what makes us human. It illustrates the beginning of a transition from an ancestral ape that walked upright on two legs within the confines of a limited ecological niche to humans with more complex brains capable of changing and eventually dominating the world around us by making tools and weapons. This chopping tool is one of the seeds from which all human cultures and societies have grown.’ Discover the stories of thousands of objects in the Google Cultural Institute at

#MuseumOfTheWorld In Victorian England many people were fascinated by their past, and the ancient tribal leader Caratacus (also spelt Caractacus) was adopted as a symbol of national pride and independence. Like Boudica, Caratacus resisted the Roman invasion of Britain. Although he was eventually defeated, he earned a reputation as a noble and worthy foe. The Victorian sculptor J H Foley portrays him here standing triumphant, the embodiment of courageous English spirit. See this incredible #Movember moustache in our #Celts exhibition, until 31 January 2016.
J H Foley (1818–1874), Caractacus. Marble, 1856–1859. On loan from Guildhall Art Gallery/Mansion House, City of London. Some more #Movember inspiration! Here’s the Museum’s security team from 1902 photographed on the front steps. They include officers from the Metropolitan Police, and the London Fire Brigade (identified by their flat caps). We’re celebrating #Movember with Museum moustaches great and small. Here’s a #Movember fact: Peter the Great of Russia introduced a beard tax in 1698 and this token was given as proof of payment!

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