For hundreds of years, people who have lived near Seneca Lake in upstate New York have reported hearing loud booms coming from the water. No one is exactly sure why.

George Steinbrenner’s theater-loving granddaughter Haley Swindal is taking a big swing with a revival of the musical, slightly retooled for a new generation.

They feast on bubbles of methane seeping out of the ocean floor. Could their appetites be harnessed to slow climate change?

Readers respond to a guest essay by Roxane Gay. Also: A Canadian’s lament.

In yesterday’s article I showed excerpts from two cycles of paintings of the journey of life, by Nicolas Poussin and Thomas Cole, and started the epic series of 34 images by Louis Janmot that constitute his Le Poème de l’âme (Poem of the Soul). The last painting of his depicted the child growing up in an idyllic country landscape in Spring.

The child’s family are at home during a thunderstorm, shown by flashes of lightning at the window. Grandmother reads a psalm to calm the spirit, while the mother and another young woman sit and sew. Father (a self-portrait at the age of thirty) looks on with concern. An even older woman, perhaps the great-grandmother, sits in the shadows near the window.

The couple have grown now, and find themselves walking along a path by the university. In the niches alongside the path are its professors, each offering false learning that might replace their faith. That learning is represented by the combination of papers and a lighted candle. In the niche closest to the viewer is the figure of death itself, its niche decorated with skeletons. The land is rocky and barren, with a wizened tree, where an owl is perched.

Still dressed in their gowns from their First Communion at church, the two sit together by a pond, with high mountain peaks in the distance. The boy is stroking a dove, a symbol of peace, while the girl strokes a panther, indicating tamed passions. They both hold a lily, for purity, which separates and unifies them.

In a revisit of Jacob’s Ladder, the pair fall asleep in the woods, and dream of a perpetual cycle of nine angels ascending and descending a staircase leading towards God in heaven. The angels each carry a symbol of the arts, such as a musical instrument.

The couple now face life’s challenges, symbolised by the ascent of a mountain, a task they accomplish together. So they achieve the ideals of life, both earthly and spiritual. This also indicates their exploration of space, and the world in which they live.

Later, when they have reached adulthood, she bids him farewell when she is called to ascend to heaven.

Now a man, returned to earth alone, his spirit back in heaven, he kneels before a wooden cross decorated with a garland of flowers that she left him. (It’s said this refers back to flowers she wore at their First Communion, but no such flowers appear in the paintings.) He pines for her memory, as breaks in the cloud cast bright sunlight down on patches of the earth.

Janmot’s story concludes in his series of charcoal drawings, where the man falls in love, but is abandoned. He then experiences doubt and falls into evil ways in an orgy. He suffers, and ages as a result of his sins, but his plight is taken by his mother to Jesus and the Virgin Mary in heaven for their intercession.

The intercession was successful, and a team led by an angel arrives to address the man’s plight. The woman’s corpse is despatched into the waves, perhaps in a form of burial at sea. The angel’s team consists of two other women, who sit and read from books held open by putti. At their feet are symbolic animals: a lion (strength), fox (cunning), and sheep (the sacrifice of Jesus Christ). Above them are three more putti, bearing symbolic objects including a large fish-hook, whose meaning is obscure.

The man is welcomed back at a heavenly Eucharist – the title is from the early words of the service, in Latin. Angels swing censors, there are rows of pious kings and clergy, and in the distance, descending a flight of steps, is the figure of Christ himself, bearing a lamb on his shoulders. The group at the right foreground contains the man’s soul, who looks directly at the viewer. With this, Janmot’s epic is concluded.

Just over a decade after Janmot completed that series of 34 images, Walter Crane condensed his account of the journey of life into a single painting.

Crane’s allegorical narrative of life as a bridge appears unique to him. It shows a newborn baby arriving in the hand of a winged angel in a white punt/gondola, left of centre. The baby is handed over to a mother or nurse, fed at the breast at the bottom left corner, walking up the steps, and learning at the top. Children play, then grow into young adults, and marry as they reach the top of the bridge. Throughout this runs the thread of life.

The mature adult in the middle of the bridge (by its keystone) then ages steadily, bearing the whole globe during the descent. He then gains a long white beard and walking stick during the descent into old age, finally dying, his body being placed in the black punt/gondola, where it is attended by the angel of death. Grieving relatives stand on the shore and make their farewells, one cutting the thread securing the boat to the shore with a pair of traditional scissors.

Crane explained the theme of his Bridge of Life (1884) as “fortune and fame pursued and ever eluding the grasp; til the crown perhaps is gained, but the burden of the intolerable work has to be borne.” It was first shown at the Grosvenor Gallery, then toured venues in the East End of London during a period of social and labour unrest.

My final series is the second of two Friezes of Life assembled by the Norwegian artist Edvard Munch. He seems to have started thinking about this during the 1880s, but it wasn’t until the early 1890s that it crystallised in his personal notebooks. He talked about building them into a ‘symphony’ in early 1893, and by the end of that year exhibited his first self-contained series of images in Berlin, under the title A Human Life.

During 1893 and 1894, Munch painted most of the works that were to form his first Frieze of Life, exhibited in March 1895, in Ugo Barroccio’s gallery in Berlin. His own explanation is that “the paintings are moods, impressions of the life of the soul, and together they represent one aspect of the battle, between man and woman, that is called love” (Heller, in Wood, 1992).

Munch later assembled his second and mature version, titled Frieze: Cycle of Moments from Life, and exhibited it in Berlin in 1902. It then consisted of twenty-two paintings, arranged in four sections. Here I show a small selection of some of the better-known paintings from that.

The Boston version of Summer Night’s Dream (The Voice) (1893), included in the 1895 version of the Frieze, was here titled Evening Star. It shows Munch’s lover ‘Mrs Heiberg’ at the edge of the Borre Woods, to the north of Åsgårdstrand. This features a brilliant golden-yellow pillar of reflected moonlight on the fjord, forming a distinctive ‘i‘ that appears in other paintings. This work initiates a sequence in which Munch gives his personal account of the process of falling in love.

Evening on Karl Johan shows the crowd from his painting Anxiety in an autobiographical scene. During Munch’s affair with ‘Mrs Heiberg’, he had arranged to meet her on Karl Johans Gate, the long, straight main street in the centre of Oslo. As he waited for her, his anxiety grew, exacerbated by crowds of people walking towards him.

Munch’s later depiction of this greatly foreshortens the perspective of this section of the street from the Royal Palace towards the Storting (parliament building), a distance of around 300 metres. This packs the pedestrians together and, coupled with their nightmarish faces, enhances its troubling feeling of anxiety.

A later section closes with The Scream, showing the isolated figure of Munch before the distant city of Oslo, its fjord with ships at anchor, and the surrounding hills. As the artist’s notes explain:
I was walking along a path with two friends. The sun was setting. I felt a breath of melancholy. Suddenly the sky turned blood-red. I stopped and leant against the railing, deathly tired, looking out across flaming clouds that hung like – blood and a sword over the deep blue fjord and town. My friends walked on – I stood there trembling with anxiety, and I felt a great, infinite scream pass through nature.

By the Deathbed (1895) is Munch’s painting from memory of his sister Sophie resting in her deathbed in 1877, when she was 15 and the artist wasn’t quite 14 years old. She died of tuberculosis, an unfortunately common event at the time. Munch explained that, when painting from memory like this, he depicted only what he could remember, and was careful to avoid trying to add details he no longer saw.

Sophie is seen from her head, looking along her length to her feet, her figure compressed into almost nothing by extreme foreshortening. Her deathbed resembles the next step, in which her body will be laid out in a coffin prior to burial. More than half the painting is filled by the rest of the family, father with his hands clasped in intense prayer. At the right is the mother, who had died of tuberculosis herself nearly nine years earlier.

References

Janmot’s Le Poème de l’âme: Wikipedia (in French).
Janmot’s Poem of the Soul 1
Janmot’s Poem of the Soul 2
Janmot’s Poem of the Soul 3
Janmot’s Poem of the Soul 4

Munch’s Frieze of Life
The Munch Museum, Oslo.
Wood, Mara-Helen (ed) (1992) Edvard Munch, The Frieze of Life, National Gallery Publications. ISBN 978 1 857 09015 4.

In this second and concluding article showing the seasons in paintings, I resume with one of the treasures of the Louvre in Paris. Towards the end of his life, Nicolas Poussin’s hands developed a severe tremor making painting fine details very difficult. Despite that, his final years saw some of his greatest landscape paintings, and standing head and shoulders above those is his series of the Seasons, believed to have been painted between 1660-64.

Each of these is both a fine painting of an idealised landscape, together with narrative referring to a Biblical story. They not only move through the seasons of the year, but through the times of the day, starting in the early morning of Spring, and ending at night for winter, a device used later by others including William Hogarth.

Spring starts at the beginning of the Bible, with the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Eve is persuading Adam to join her in an apple, the opening step of the Fall.

For Summer, Poussin chose the story of Boaz discovering Ruth gleaning after the wheat had been cut in his fields, as told in the Book of Ruth. In its contrasting Italian coastal setting, this shares common ground with earlier paintings of the Brueghels.

Poussin refers to a story from the Book of Numbers for Autumn, in which Israelite spies visited the Promised Land, and brought back grapes as evidence of what lay ahead.

Winter returns to the Book of Genesis, to show the great flood, with lightning crackling through the sky, and survivors trying to escape the rising waters. This also demonstrates Poussin’s lifelong dread of snakes: one is slithering up the rocks on the left, and there is another in the water, although not visible in this image.

Early in William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s career he was commissioned to paint a series showing The Four Seasons (1854-55) for the music pavilion in the garden of the Monlun banking family in La Rochelle. In keeping with their opulent surrounds, these were painted on gold grounds, a layer of gold leaf into which the artist embossed a geometric pattern to result in this unusual appearance. He painted a series of young women with seasonal attributes. These include the flowers of Spring, with their reference to Flora, sheaves of ripened corn (Ceres), a bacchante with her goblet of wine and thyrsus, and wrapped up for winter with snow on her clothing.

The greatest series of mythological allegories of the seasons is that painted in the final years of Eugène Delacroix’s life. These were commissioned by the Alsacian industrialist Frederick Hartmann, and completed just before the artist’s death in 1863. Although considered to be allegories, in that they don’t directly show each season, they are unconventional in using stories from classical myths that are tied into the seasons.

For Spring, Delacroix chose Eurydice Bitten by a Serpent while Picking Flowers (Eurydice’s Death), in which the bride Eurydice is bitten on the foot (or ankle) by a snake immediately after her wedding, and dies.

For summer, the story is another tragic myth of Diana Surprised by Actaeon, again set in the season shown. Actaeon stumbled across the goddess bathing when he was out hunting; as a result of his unintentional glimpse of her naked body, he’s turned into a stag and killed by his own hunting dogs. He’s already in transition, with antlers growing from his head.

Delacroix’s choice for autumn draws on the common association between that season and wine, with Bacchus and Ariadne. After being abandoned on the island of Naxos by Theseus, who had promised to marry her, Ariadne is discovered by the young Bacchus. Here, the god has just arrived and is helping the gloomy and despondent Ariadne to her feet. They then fall in love and marry.

For the final season of winter, the artist chose Juno Beseeches Aeolus to Destroy Ulysses’ Fleet, with a slight conflation between the stories of Ulysses and Aeneas. In the Aeneid, Juno offers Aeolus a nymph as a wife if he will let loose his winds on the fleet of Aeneas. That he does, and the fleet is driven onto the coast of North Africa by a winter storm.

At the end of the nineteenth century, Alphonse Mucha made several series of prints showing the four seasons. Among these is The Four Seasons, probably from around 1897-1900. These make interesting comparison with Bouguereau’s more conventional paintings above.

A Masque for the Four Seasons, painted in oils between 1905-09, was possibly Walter Crane’s last major work in oils. This draws on Botticelli’s Primavera, in its frieze before a dense woodland background, and copious seasonal wild flowers. Its four Grace-like women are colour-coded from the Spring on the left.

The seasons are also a pervasive feature of much of East Asian art, and I close with a relatively modern example.

Araki Jippo 荒木 十畝 painted Birds and Flowers of Four Seasons 四季花鳥 on silk in 1917, which makes a fascinating comparison with the landscapes of de Momper.

In the closing years of the nineteenth century, following the publication of his illustrated edition of Spenser’s The Faerie Queene, Walter Crane was becoming more involved in teaching. He lectured at the Manchester School of Art, and for a short period was principal at the Royal College of Art in London. He also travelled, and in 1900 paid a successful visit to Budapest in Hungary to promote a retrospective exhibition of his work.

His watercolour portrait of the beautiful woman knight Britomart from 1900 was probably a sequel to his Spenser project, as she is one of the major figures in that epic, and an allegory of virtue. She is shown on a very English beach, with the chalk cliffs of the south coast behind her, staring wistfully into the distance, her chin propped on the heel of her right hand. She wears full armour, mixed with more feminine clothing. Her left arm rests on her shield, there’s an enchanted lance beside her, and her helmet on a dune behind her.

In the same year, Death, the Reaper may have drawn inspiration from faerie paintings of the previous century, in particular those of Richard Dadd, in the tiny humans cavorting among the wild flowers. Crane invokes one of the most exaggerated moon illusions I’ve seen, to add more atmosphere.

A Masque for the Four Seasons, painted in oils between 1905-09, is one of Crane’s most overtly Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and possibly his last major work in oils. Drawing on his memories of Botticelli’s Primavera, it uses a similar frieze of figures before a dense woodland background, and copious displays of seasonal wild flowers. The four Grace-like women wear loose classical robes, and are colour-coded. From the left they represent Spring, summer, autumn and winter.

Gaps in the trees provide two cameo glimpses of appropriately seasonal agriculture, with Spring ploughing on the left, and the grain harvest in the centre. At the right is Father Time playing the pipes, his hourglass beside him. This coincided with Evelyn De Morgan’s similar frieze The Cadence of Autumn, shown below, also from 1905.

Crane appears to have travelled more widely in the early twentieth century, as far as Colombo in modern Sri Lanka, where he painted this gouache Under the Palms at the Galle Face, Ceylon on 17 February 1907.

Original artwork for illustration can become more difficult to classify, as shown in this watercolour and ink drawing for The Mirror, one of Crane’s illustrations for Arthur Kelly’s The Rosebud and Other Tales from 1909.

Although Crane’s Race of Hero Spirits Pass from 1909 may have been in preparation for an illustration to accompany Charles Kingsley’s poem The World’s Age (1849), it was painted in tempera on canvas, suggesting it may have been intended as a standalone easel painting. This was accompanied by the quotation:
“Still the race of Hero-spirits
Pass the lamp from hand to hand;
Age from age the Words inherits –
‘Wife, and Child, and Fatherland.'”

The fourth modern Olympic Games had been held in London the previous year (1908), and may have been his inspiration.

The Judgment of Paris, painted in 1909 in watercolour, returns to the Pre-Raphaelite frieze. Although competent, it lacks the flair and innovation of his earlier depictions of myth.

On 27 February 1910, Crane was on his travels again, this time in North Africa, where he painted this watercolour of Porte de France, Tunis.

I also have two interesting undated paintings I suspect may have come from Crane’s later years.

Painted in a combination of transparent watercolour and gouache, A Diver is an unusual and challenging motif.

His more illustrative watercolour of Nyads and Dryads melds its Dryads in with their trees, puts the ‘Nyads’ or Naiads (water nymphs) in the water, and has a river god watching from the reeds in the distance.

Late in 1914, after the start of the First World War, his wife Frances became unwell and went on a ‘rest cure’ in Kent. She then suffered an episode of acute mental illness and killed herself. Walter Crane died on 14 March 1915, at the age of 69. Although his paintings had already lost their popularity, as a children’s illustrator his accomplishments live on.

References

Wikipedia

O’Neill M (2010) Walter Crane. The Arts and Crafts, Painting, and Politics, 1875-1890, Yale UP. ISBN 978 0 300 16768 9.

By 1883, Walter Crane was a successful illustrator who had also established himself as a painter of repute. He was associated with members of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement, including William Morris, although Crane’s paintings remained distinctive and usually strongly narrative.

Like Morris, Crane was a socialist and from 1883 joined a string of related organisations including the Fabian Society, the Social Democratic Federation, and the Socialist League. He also promoted and supported the arts and crafts movement, and played active roles in both the Art Workers Guild and the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society. For each of these he provided support in the form of illustrations.

Following his earlier Renaissance of Venus (1877), in 1883 he took a contrasting view of La Primavera (Spring), featuring Flora bent picking daffodil flowers on a plain.

Crane’s allegorical narrative of life as a bridge appears unique to him. It shows a newborn baby arriving in the hand of a winged angel in a white punt/gondola, left of centre. The baby is handed over to a mother or nurse, fed at the breast at the bottom left corner, walking up the steps, and learning at the top. Children play, then grow into young adults, and marry as they reach the top of the bridge. Throughout this runs the thread of life.

The mature adult in the middle of the bridge (by its keystone) then ages steadily, bearing the whole globe during the descent. He then gains a long white beard and walking stick during the descent into old age, finally dying, his body being placed in the black punt/gondola, where it is attended by the angel of death. Grieving relatives stand on the shore and make their farewells, one cutting the thread securing the boat to the shore with a pair of traditional scissors.

Crane explained the theme of his Bridge of Life (1884) as “fortune and fame pursued and ever eluding the grasp; til the crown perhaps is gained, but the burden of the intolerable work has to be borne.” It was first shown at the Grosvenor Gallery, then toured venues in the East End of London during a period of social and labour unrest there.

The following year, he painted Pandora in an unusual interpretation that is only loosely connected with the myth of her releasing all the evils of man from a large urn. She is shown draped in grief over a substantial casket, and on its side panel are the figures of the three Fates. At the corners of the casket are guardian winged sphinxes, each clasping a sphere.

Crane’s illustration for Baby’s Own Aesop (1887), engraved by Edmund Evans, underlines many of the differences between his illustrations and narrative paintings. First, the illustration here supports the text on the page, and doesn’t stand alone from it. Look at the picture and you could hardly deduce the accompanying text, but put the two together and you can see how the picture depicts the narrative in the text. Illustrators also have to be careful to ensure that there are no disparities between their work and the text, although narrative paintings often depart from a literal representation.

There are other stylistic clues, such as the use of drawn outlines throughout illustrations, and plain, simple drawings, which are much more likely in illustrations than in standalone paintings, although from the late nineteenth century onwards these appeared increasingly in paintings.

In 1891, Crane visited the US to promote an exhibition of his work there. Unfortunately, he appeared at a meeting of anarchists in Boston and openly expressed his opinion that those found guilty of the Haymarket affair, a bombing at a demonstration in Chicago in 1886, had been wrongfully executed. Despite writing a letter of apology to the press, Crane’s engagements were cancelled and the visit proved disastrous.

From 1887, Crane’s paintings moved away from his socialist politics towards what he described as “the forces of nature in elemental play”. Among the finest of these is Neptune’s Horses.

He painted this oil study for Neptune’s Horses in about 1892. Although it draws its theme from classical mythology, its treatment centres on explaining how that might have originated. It also hints at a visual pun, as the English phrase commonly used to describe breaking waves is white horses.

His finished painting of Neptune’s Horses (1892) reverses that study and brings the god a little closer.

Crane’s book illustration of King Midas with his Daughter, published in 1893, is one of the few works telling this myth directly. It shows the hapless king surrounded by all the gold objects which he has touched, his daughter dead on his knee, cold and gold.

Crane appears to have painted occasional watercolour landscapes, including this view of a pair of tall Lombardy poplar trees on a Bit of the Avon in 1893. There are several rivers of that name in England, and the title may refer to a section known then as the Bit.

The Swan Maidens (1894) is an elaborate fantasy depiction of one of the most widespread folk tales, known in almost every culture recorded around the world. This centres on one or more supernatural females who transform from human to bird form, most generally a swan, or sometimes a goose. This is accomplished by their donning the skin of the bird, as shown here. Swan maidens are featured in William Morris’s epic poem The Earthly Paradise (1868-70), although Crane doesn’t appear to have illustrated an edition.

In the mid-1890s, Crane devoted much time to making woodcuts for an illustrated and decorative edition of Edmund Spenser’s epic The Faerie Queene.

His title page establishes the seriousness of this illustrated edition, completed in six volumes over the period 1895-97, and published in 1897 by George Allen.

Crane’s woodcuts are detailed and delicate, as shown in his opening image of The Patron of True Holinesse in Book 1, Canto 1. These reflect his longstanding involvement with William Morris and his Kelmscott Press, which published 53 books between its creation in 1891 and 1898.

References

Wikipedia

O’Neill M (2010) Walter Crane. The Arts and Crafts, Painting, and Politics, 1875-1890, Yale UP. ISBN 978 0 300 16768 9.

Look in the log, and Visual Look Up (VLU) on an Apple silicon Mac apparently involves a great deal of work, in both CPU cores and the neural engine (ANE). This article reports a first attempt to estimate power and energy use for a single VLU on an image.

To estimate this, I measured CPU, GPU and ANE power in sampling periods of 100 ms using powermetrics, and correlated events seen there with those recorded in a log extract over the same period, obtained using LogUI. The test was performed on a Mac mini M4 Pro running macOS 15.6.1, using Preview to perform the VLU on a single image showing a small group of cattle in an upland field. Power measurements were collected from a moment immediately before opening the image, and ceased several seconds after VLU was complete.

When used like this, powermetrics imposes remarkably little overhead on the CPU cores, but its sampling periods are neither exact nor identical. This makes it difficult to correlate log entries and their precise timestamps with sampling periods. While powermetrics gives power use in mW, those measurements aren’t calibrated and making assumptions about their accuracy is hazardous. Nevertheless, they remain the best estimates available.

Log narrative

The first step in log analysis was to identify the starting time of powermetrics sampling periods. Although execution of that command left no trace in its entries, as it has to be run with elevated privileges using sudo, its approval was obvious in entries concluding
30.677182 com.apple.opendirectoryd ODRecordVerifyPassword completed
A subsequent entry at 30.688828 seconds was thus chosen as the start time for sampling periods, and all times given below as given in seconds after that time zero.

The following relevant events were identified in the log extract at elapsed times given in seconds:

• 1.3 com.apple.VisionKit Signpost Begin: “VisionKit MAD Parse Request”
• 1.3 com.apple.mediaanalysis Running task VCPMADServiceImageProcessingTask
• 1.4 ANE started and an ObjectDetectionModel run for 0.2 s
• 1.6 ANE activity and a NatureWorldModel run for 0.25 s
• 2.0 ANE activity for 0.15 s
• 2.4 ANE activity for 0.1 s
• 8.1 ANE activity and a UnifiedModel run for 0.01 s
• 8.1 PegasusKit queried Apple’s SMOOT service, the external connection used to populate the VLU window.

Thus, the ANE was run almost continuously from 1.4-2.2 seconds after the start of sampling, otherwise was used little over the total period of about 9 seconds. Over that period of activity, an initial model used to detect objects was succeeded by a later model to identify objects in a ‘nature world’.

Power and energy estimates

From the log record, it was deduced that the VLU was started in powermetrics sample 10 (1.0 seconds elapsed), and essentially complete by sample 75 (7.5 seconds elapsed), a period of approximately 6.5 seconds, following which power use was low until the end of the sampling periods. All subsequent calculations refer to that series of samples and period of time.

Sums, averages and maxima of power measurements for that period of 6.5 seconds are:

• CPU 64,289 mW total, 989 mW average, 7,083 mW maximum (10 P cores)
• GPU 3,151 mW total, 48 mW average, 960 mW maximum (20 cores)
• ANE 1,551 mW total, 24 mW average, 671 mW maximum
• total 68,991 mW total, 1,061 mW average, 7,083 mW maximum.

Thus for the whole VLU, 93% of power was used by the CPU, 4.6% by the GPU, and only 2.2% by the ANE.

For comparison, in the M4 Pro chip running maximal in-core loads, each P core can use 1.3 W running floating point code, and 3 W running NEON code. The chip’s 20-core GPU was previously measured as using a steady maximum power of 20 W, with peaks at 25 W.

As each power sample covers 0.1 seconds, energy used during each sampling period is power/0.1, thus the total energy used over the 6.5 second period of VLU is:

• CPU 6.4 J
• GPU 0.3 J
• ANE 0.2 J
• total 6.9 J.

Those are small compared to the test threads used previously, which cost 3-8 J for each P core used.

Power over time

Power used in each 100 ms sampling period varied considerably over the whole 10 seconds. The chart below shows total power for the CPU.

Highest power was recorded between samples 10-25, corresponding to 1.0-2.5 seconds elapsed since the start of measurements, and most events identified in the log. Later bursts of power use occurred at about 4.2 seconds, and between 6.6-7.1 seconds, which most probably corresponded to opening the info window and performing the selected look-up.

Almost all power use by the neural engine occurred between 1.5-2.1 seconds, correlating well with the period in which substantial models were being run.

Peak GPU power use occurred around 1.0-1.5 seconds when the image was first displayed, at 3.1-3.2 seconds, and between 6.5-7.4 seconds. It’s not known whether any of those were the result of image processing for VLU as GPU-related log entries are unusual.

Composite total power use demonstrates how small and infrequent ANE and GPU use was in comparison to that of the CPU.

Conclusions

Given the limitations of this single set of measurements, I suggest that, on Apple silicon Macs

• power and energy cost of VLU is remarkably low;
• the great majority of work done in VLU is performed in the CPU;
• although use of the neural engine may result in substantial performance improvements, VLU doesn’t make heavy demands on the neural engine in terms of power or energy use;
• VLU may appear impressive, but it’s not actually that demanding on the capability of the hardware.

In the nineteenth century many painters paid the bills by illustrating books, often those intended for children. Two in particular are now known as illustrators, overlooking their fine art: Gustave Doré and Walter Crane. In this series of three articles I look at the work and career of the latter, who was one of the leading children’s illustrators who shaped how children’s books would look well into the twentieth century.

Crane was also an accomplished and recognised painter, an enthusiastic fan of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement, a close friend of William Morris, a key member of the Arts and Crafts movement, and an overt and active Socialist.

He started his training as an apprentice to the wood-engraver William James Linton, between 1859 and 1862. In 1863 Edmund Evans employed him to illustrate ‘toy books’ for children, and he continued to create book illustrations until well after 1900. In the later years, he extended his repertoire to include special editions of the Faerie Queene, a volume of Arthurian legends, and a book about the New Forest.

His career in painting had started slightly earlier, though, when his first work was accepted by the Royal Academy in 1862, and he continued to paint independently of his illustrations.

Crane was one of the first artists to base a painting on Alfred Lord Tennyson’s (1809–1892) poem The Lady of Shalott, published in 1833 and 1842. This tells part of the Arthurian legends, that of Elaine of Astolat, as given in an Italian novella from the 1200s.

The Lady of Shalott lives in a castle connected to Camelot by a river. She’s subject to a mysterious curse confining her to weaving images on her loom, and must not look directly at the outside world. One day, while she sits and weaves, she catches sight of the knight Lancelot. She stops weaving and looks out of her window directly towards Camelot, invoking the curse. She abandons her castle, finds a boat on which she writes her name, then floats downriver to Camelot, dying before she arrives. Lancelot sees her body, and the poem ends:
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”

Crane’s Lady of Shalott from 1862 shows her white in death, laid out in her boat, tresses and flowing sleeve draped over its gunwhales into the still water at the river’s edge. This is set in an ancient wood, in dramatic twilight, presumably dusk. This painting was accepted for exhibition at the Royal Academy, and must have influenced JW Waterhouse’s much better-known version just over 25 years later (below).

The following year he chose a story from the Old Testament. According to various sources in the Bible, Boaz was a wealthy landowner in Bethlehem who noticed Ruth, a widow in such difficult financial circumstances that she came to glean grain from his fields. Boaz invited her to eat with him and his workers, and started deliberately leaving grain for her to glean. Because they were distantly related, Ruth then asked Boaz to exercise right of kinship and marry her. They had children, and David was their great-grandson.

Crane’s painting, which is in oils despite resembling a watercolour illustration, shows the couple at the end of lunch, during Ruth’s gleaning. Their dress is an odd composite of the Biblical and Arthurian. She is looking down at her hands, as if contemplating grain held in her left palm. He has turned and looks towards her. In the background Boaz’s workers continue the harvest, and saddled horses are idle, a castellated house set in the crag behind them.

Two years later he was one of the first artists to depict John Keats’ ballad of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, written in 1819, and later revised slightly. It gives a simple story of love and death, including the verses:
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a fairy’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

The ‘belle dame’ of the title is shown riding side-saddle on the knight’s horse, flowers in her long, flowing tresses, and the knight, clad in armour and heraldic overgarments, holds her hand. This appears to have inspired later paintings by Arthur Hughes and Frank Dicksee.

There’s some dispute over whether this triptych from about 1870 shows The Danaïdes, or Europe, Asia, Africa, or maybe both. The fifty daughters of Danaus were forced to marry the sons of their uncle Aegyptus, but their father told them to kill their husbands on their wedding night. All but one followed his instructions, for which they were condemned to eternally carry water in leaking vessels. Alternatively, the woman on the left could be African, that on the right Asian, and the woman in the middle European.

Crane married in 1871, and the couple travelled in Europe for the next two years. They visited Florence where they must have seen some of Botticelli’s paintings.

Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus (c 1486) is one of the world’s most famous paintings, and shows the goddess Venus, when she was born from the waters as an adult, arriving at the shore.

Crane bases his Renaissance of Venus (1877) on Botticelli’s painting, and links her rebirth back to the Renaissance. She is stood at the edge of a placid sea, the water just above her ankles. Three attendant graces are also getting out of the water in the middle distance, but appear to have been bathing. A train of white doves flies down and behind Venus, to start landing on the shore at the right. In the distance are the remains of a classical building at the water’s edge, and what appears to be a section of Mediterranean coastline. Further out at sea, a sailing boat passes by. Crane painted this in tempera, just as Botticelli did.

In classical Greek mythology, Persephone, daughter of Zeus and Demeter, is the queen of the underworld. She acquired that role when Hades, god of the underworld, was overcome with love and lust from one of Cupid’s arrows, and had seen Persephone picking flowers with friends. Hades then abducted her to be his queen.

Crane’s Fate of Persephone from 1878 shows her at the moment of abduction. She had been picking spring flowers in the meadow with the three other women shown at the left. Hades brought his chariot, complete with its pair of black horses symbolising the underworld, and is seen gripping Persephone’s right arm, ready to move her into the chariot and make off.

It’s remarkable that, although their body language is emphatic and clear, each of the five figures has a completely neutral facial expression. This helps its appearance as a frieze, an effect enhanced by Crane’s use of oil and tempera. The horses appear in complete contrast, champing at their bits and poised to set off at a gallop.

The following year he’s believed to have painted this elaborate setting of George Howard, 9th Earl of Carlisle, and Rosalind, Countess of Carlisle, seated in the gardens at Naworth Castle, Cumbria, with a companion, standing holding a book. However, it was later signed clumsily by “E Burne Jones”, possibly in an attempt to pass it off as a more valuable work.

This couple had married in 1864, and were ardent supporters of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement, and friends of Crane since they were both students, Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris. Howard was an accomplished painter who had trained at Heatherly School of Fine Art in London, and later became a trustee of the National Gallery in London.

Edward FitzGerald’s translation of a selection from the poetry attributed to Omar Khayyam (1048-1131) was published in 1859, was popularised from 1861, and appreciated by several of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement. Walter Crane’s painting from 1882 was accompanied by the following quotation from FitzGerald’s Rubaiyat:

Would that some winged angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
And make the stern recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!

Ah love! could you and I with him conspire
To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits – and then
Remould it nearer to the heart’s desire!

A male winged angel is on bended knee before the figure of Time, who holds his scroll recording the destiny of all mankind. The angel’s hands are intertwined with those of Time: both right hands grasp the quill used to record destiny, both left hands are at the other end of the scroll. The angel looks up pleading at Time, but Time looks down at him with a frowning scowl. In front of the dais on which the angel kneels and Time sits is an hour glass. The whole is set inside a circular building revealing the stars through its roof, like a planetarium.

Endymion was a classical Greek mythological character, an Aeolian shepherd. Although accounts differ, some tell that Selene, Titan goddess of the moon and in Roman terminology, Diana, fell in love with Endymion, when she found him asleep one day. Selene asked Zeus to grant him eternal youth, resulting in him remaining in eternal sleep. In spite of his somnolence, she still managed to have fifty daughters by him. In Crane’s beautiful pastoral watercolour of Diana and Endymion from 1883, he is fast asleep in a meadow. Diana is in her hunting role with her dogs, bow and arrows. Endymion’s flock of sheep is in the distance.

References

Wikipedia

O’Neill M (2010) Walter Crane. The Arts and Crafts, Painting, and Politics, 1875-1890, Yale UP. ISBN 978 0 300 16768 9.

If there’s one thing you can rely on about the UK weather, it’s rain. Unless you live in that narrow belt of East Anglia officially classed as semi-arid, you’ll be used to rain whatever the season or forecast.

The last time we had a long dry summer was 1976, when much of Northern Europe basked in sunshine from late May until the end of August. This year has proved similar, so here we are again, dry as a bone, banned from using hosepipes except to wash down horses, wondering when the inevitable floods will start. In 1976, dry weather broke but a couple of weeks after the appointment of a Minister for Drought, whose brief was promptly extended to cover the ensuing inundation.

With this shortage of water, it might seem surprising that over the next five years around a hundred new data centres are expected to be built in the UK. These are the data centres we all want to support our AI chatbots and cloud services, but nobody wants in their neighbourhood. No one has explained where all their power and water supplies will come from, although apparently ten new reservoirs are already being built in anticipation.

The best piece of advice we have been given to help our shortage of water is to delete all our old emails and photos. Apparently by reducing what we have stored in the cloud, those data centres won’t get so hot, and will consume less water. Really?

Meanwhile back on planet Earth, last week I was studying the log entries made on behalf of the Apple Neural Engine, ANE, inside my Mac mini’s M4 Pro chip, when it was running local models to support Live Text and Visual Look Up. We now take these features for granted, and maybe aren’t even aware of using them, or of what our Mac’s ANE is doing. Yet every Apple silicon Mac sold over the last five years has the dedicated hardware possessed by only a small minority of PCs. They can, of course, use other hardware including GPUs, well known for their excessive power and cooling demands. For many the only solution is to go off-device and call on some of those data centres, as you do with ChatGPT, Google’s answer engine, and even Elon Musk’s Grok if you really must.

Live Text is a particularly good example of a task that can, given the right hardware, be performed entirely on-device, and at relatively low energy cost. It’s also one that many of us would rather not farm out to someone’s data centre, but keep to the privacy of our own Mac. While it does work surprisingly well on recent Intel Macs, it’s just what the ANE was intended to make sufficiently performant that it can be commonplace. Just over three years ago, before WWDC 2022, I wrote: “But if I had to put my money anywhere, it would be on the ANE working harder in the coming months and years, to our advantage.”

With so many Macs now capable of what seemed miraculous in the recent past, we’re only going to see more apps taking advantage of those millions of ANEs. Developers are already starting to use Apple’s new Foundation Models supported by macOS 26 Tahoe, all of which run on-device rather than in those data centres. In case you’re concerned about the ethics of what this might be unleashing, Apple has already anticipated that in a stringent set of acceptable use requirements, that also apply to apps provided outside the App Store.

Obtaining reliable estimates of the performance and power consumption of the ANE is fraught, but I have measured them during Visual Look Up on an M1 Max (with an H11ANE), and found peak power used was 30-50 mW. According to mot’s comment to that article, when running an inference task intended to push that in an M1 Pro to the maximum, its ANE drew a maximum of 2 W. That’s frugal compared to running equivalent intensive tasks on Performance CPU cores or an Apple silicon GPU, which can readily use more than 1 W per P core.

Can someone suggest that, instead of deleting old emails and photos, we’d be better off running our favourite AI on-device using an Apple Neural Engine? I still don’t think it would do anything to help our current drought, but it could spare us a few of those projected data centres.