© Tako Robakidze for The New York Times
© Jason Henry for The New York Times
Dragonflies have suffered a bad press for too long. Commonly known on both sides of the Atlantic as the devil’s darning needles, they’re more widely associated with evil, biting people, or even sewing their eyelids together, all categorically untrue. In reality they should be our friends, as they’re insectivorous, and amazingly effective at consuming biting flies.
Unfortunately, their associations in paintings are as bad as those old wives’ tales, and they have been depicted infrequently.
Ambrosius Bosschaert (1573–1621) painted this Flower Still Life in oil on copper in 1614, during the early years of the Dutch Golden Age. At first its eclectic mixture of different flowers and flying insects appears haphazard, but they merit a deeper reading. The flowers include carnation, rose, tulip, forget-me-nots, lilies of the valley, cyclamen, violet and hyacinth, which could never, at that time, have bloomed at the same time. The butterflies, bee and dragonfly are as ephemeral as the flowers around them, confirming that it’s a vanitas painting.
In 1653, Jan van Kessel the Elder painted this collection of insects and berries in oil on copper. The dragonfly shown appears to be a southern hawker (Aeshna cyanea), one of the most common large species found throughout Europe, although its thorax is unusually pale, suggesting it might be a young adult (teneral), or had discoloured after death.
The large meal seen in the centre of Bruno Liljefors’ Chaffinches and Dragonflies. Five studies in one frame (1885) is another common European species, the beautiful demoiselle (Calopteryx virgo). This is considerably smaller than the hawker seen above, and is more correctly termed a damselfly, as its pairs of wings are of equal length, and when resting are folded back against its body.
Cornelis van Haarlem’s The Fall of the Titans from 1588-90 might seem a strange painting in which to find flying insects. This shows the classical myth in which the gods have defeated the Titans who preceded them. As a result the Titans fell from the heavens and were imprisoned in Tartarus, or Hell, as shown here. It was claimed that flying insects were associated with the fire of the underworld, although the two butterflies and one dragonfly here appear quite incongruous.
Tiepolo’s The Triumph of Zephyr and Flora from 1734-35 refers to Ovid’s account in his Metamorphoses, and to Botticelli’s Primavera, with Zephyrus in flight with his arm around Flora, just about to crown her with a garland. Unusually, Zephyrus is given the wings of a dragonfly.
In the Roman religion, Fortuna (Greek equivalent Tyche) was the goddess of fortune and luck, both good and bad. More usually depicted as being veiled and/or blind, to indicate the chance involved, she was the embodiment of capriciousness. In this updated portrait of the goddess, Elihu Vedder shows her as a carefree, happy-go-lucky woman, with the wings of a dragonfly, sat next to a sack of gold coins. Vedder first visited Italy in 1858, and lived there from 1906 until his death seventeen years later, so he may well have been referring to Tiepolo’s Zephyrus, which was and remains in Venice.
My last painting of a dragonfly is by far the most complex, and was made by Richard Dadd between 1855-64, when he was a patient in the Bethlem and Broadmoor psychiatric hospitals, after he had murdered his father.
Dadd’s The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke has its origins in Shakespeare’s plays, with its main content drawn from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This looks through fine stalks of Timothy grass at a foreground of scattered hazelnuts and plane tree fruit. Although its perspective is flattened, the figures in the lower half of the painting are stood on a gently rising grassy sward, behind which is a steeper bank and stone walling. Those in the upper third of the painting appear to be on another level, which rises more steeply towards the top edge.
The scene is set in the night-time, although daisy flowers are still unnaturally open, and there is night sky visible at the upper left. The feller himself, a hewer or fellow, seen at the centre, is about to cleave a hazelnut with his axe to provide a new carriage for Queen Mab (pronounced Maeve, to rhyme with rave), who replaces Titania as the queen of fairyland.
Even the distant upper section of the painting is rich in its array of characters. Trumpeters at the left include two boys, given as a ‘tatterdemalion’ and a ‘junketer’, and an insect intended to be a dragonfly. To the right of them are the characters from the still-popular child’s counting saying, of tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, and thief, although not quite in that order. The dragonfly may have been based on another large species found throughout Europe, the emperor (Anax imperator).
© Illustration by The New York Times; photo by Raul Arboleta/Getty
中国腾讯金融科技宣布，微信支付正式支持PayPal用户赴华扫码支付，首期向美国用户开放。
腾讯金融科技星期三（5月27日）在微信公众号引述腾讯金融科技副总裁洪丹毅公布，腾讯旗下跨境支付平台TenPay Global与PayPal World已实现互联互通，PayPal用户赴华可在中国数千万微信支付商户顺畅消费，首期将面向美国用户开放，其他市场也将分阶段接入。
此外，在中国人民银行深圳市分行、深圳市税务局的指导下和退税代理机构的支持下，深圳全市退税口岸将全面升级，陆续支持香港居民通过WeChat港币钱包账户秒级接收离境退税款。未来，这项服务将从粤港澳大湾区扩展到全国，也将支持更多亚太经济合作组织（APEC）相关国家及地区的境外钱包。
腾讯金融科技也说，针对APEC相关国家和地区赴华游客的支付需求，腾讯也进一步升级微信支付“外卡内绑”的支付体验。即日起至今年12月31日，首次在微信绑定国际银行卡的用户，在完成首笔消费后，可享受连续90个自然日、每日1000元（人民币，下同，188新元）额度及以内的3%交易手续费减免。2026年全年，所有国际卡用户单笔交易在200元及以内的消费，也可继续免除3%交易手续费。
为迎接APEC会议的到来，腾讯金融科技也宣布，微信支付将支付指引语言扩展至16种，携手深圳各口岸、机场、商圈、银行布设线下咨询服务台，“让入境支付的包容不止于一次顺畅支付，也蕴含在每一句‘听得懂、答得清’的对话里”。
据路透社报道，微信支付和支付宝主导着中国的数字支付市场，支撑着这个全球最大移动支付市场中涉及零售、交通、服务领域的日常交易。
© Jason Henry for The New York Times
© Juan Arredondo for The New York Times
Trees are prominent features of every continent apart from Antarctica, and even our more densely urban areas find room for a few of them. From our origins in East Africa to the city parks of New York, London and Tokyo, humans and trees have lived together. As a result, trees feature in a great many paintings. This series explores how they have been depicted in European and North American art from before the Renaissance to the early twentieth century.
Like many artists since, Peter Paul Rubens made studies of trees to support his studio paintings in oils. This one, known simply as Landscape, is a careful and quite detailed sketch in gouache (opaque watercolour) of a group of trees on the bank of a small river, painted during the last five years of his life. The evidence from the tree in the mid-right is that he constructed them anatomically, by putting in the structural curves and lines of the branches, then laying down areas of foliage, a method developed during the Renaissance and still widespread today.
This practice of painting studies from life was recommended by the great landscape artist and teacher Pierre Henri Valenciennes (1750-1819), who wrote in his book Elements of Practical Perspective for the Use of Artists:
“Be sure to make several painted studies of beautiful trees, whether standing alone or in groups. Pay close attention to every detail of the bark, moss, roots, branches, and the ivy that surrounds and clings to them; above all, make good choices and study the variety of wood, bark, and foliage, which is of the utmost importance.” (Second edition, 1820.)
Landscape specialists like John Constable painted studies of trees throughout their career, to inform finished works.
He learned to create plein air sketches in oils, which he used extensively for ‘skying’ particularly around Hampstead Heath near London, and for remarkable studies of trees, such as this ash, seen in its autumn colours. Here he too has taken the time to construct the tree anatomically, and to detail its foliage.
This continued through the middle of the nineteenth century, when landscape painting was evolving towards Impressionism.
Camille Corot’s The Toutain Farm, Honfleur from about 1845 appears to be a finished studio painting, perhaps intended for the Salon. Its trees are marvellous and all but obscure and upstage the farmhouse beyond. Their sinuous limbs reflect his structured approach to painting their canopies with a catalogue of ways the trunk can give rise to branches. The canopy itself is shown in careful detail, although at the upper left it seems more vague and sketchy.
Europe has a rich and varied flora of tree species, and one of the challenges in painting its landscapes has been to capture their distinctive characteristics.
Jacob van Ruisdael gave insight into the stages in the life and looks of oak trees. In Road through an Oak Forest (c 1646-7) he captures the later life of a stag-headed oak on the left, which lost its crown long ago, a flush of new growth on a fallen trunk, and another still clinging onto life despite a great split at its base. Judging by the girth of their trunks, the oaks shown here are around 400 years old, making it likely they were saplings in the thirteenth century, possibly even earlier. They form a remarkable window in time back to the late Middle Ages.
Camille Pissarro’s Big Walnut Tree in Spring, Éragny from 1894 celebrates a species that is a source of binder in oil paint, in walnut oil, although it’s used far less frequently than linseed. Its wood is also sought after, making this tree a long-term investment for the landowner’s heirs.
Vincent van Gogh’s Cypresses (1889) are some of the best-remembered of all. As he moved style on beyond Impressionism, his swirling brushstrokes form solid but thoroughly living trees. These are most probably Italian cypresses, which are characteristic of the landscape around the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum where he was living at that time, and throughout Provence.
In his Olive Grove (1889), those swirling strokes of foliage complement the tortuous curves of the branches and gnarled blue-grey trunks.
Paul Cézanne’s oil paintings of trees, although abundant, show his emphasis on patterned brushstrokes in what is known as his constructive stroke. This isn’t true of his watercolours, as shown in Almond Trees in Provence (1900), where each tree rises in a flare of brilliant colours.
Cézanne’s constructive stroke became more prominent and started to dominate the structure of his oil paintings after 1890. In Large Pine and Red Earth (1890–5) it’s used throughout the foreground foliage and vegetation, and has even started to appear in some patches on the trunk.
Finally, Théo van Rysselberghe’s Pine by the Mediterranean Sea (1916) appears almost as substantial as the bleached rocks below it. Contrast between the lit segments and those in cast shadow behind is wide, as is seen on the shores of the Mediterranean.
I hope you will join me in exploring these and many other fine portraits of trees over the coming weeks.
© Matias Baglietto/Reuters
© Eric Lee for The New York Times
This series looks at two contrasting groups of paintings featuring reflections: those of figures seen mostly in planar mirrors arranged vertically, such as that mounted on a dressing table, and those of landscapes seen reflected by a horizontal water surface like a lake. When intended to be faithful to nature, these should all adhere to the same optical principles.
Optical effects as a theme in the Northern Renaissance, as seen in Jan van Eyck’s most famous painting The Arnolfini Wedding, completed in 1434 (above), and in the landscape behind his Madonna of Chancellor Rolin, probably painted the following year (below).
Any faithful depiction of reflections on water should show the following:
Analogous principles apply to reflections in a vertical mirror.
Self-portraits almost invariably rely on painting the reflection seen in a plane mirror.
Defined by Marco Bertamini, Richard Latto and Alice Spooner as occurring “every time the observer sees both an actor (eg Venus) and a mirror, not placed along the observer’s line of sight, and concludes that Venus is seeing her reflection at the same location in the mirror that the observer is seeing.” They were intrigued by “the situations in which we as observers read the scene in a certain way, but the mirror itself is used (deliberately or not) to lead us down the wrong path. More specifically, the mirror shows us something that we accept as the view available to the actor in the scene. However, the actor has a different vantage point from us and therefore the laws of optics imply that he/she cannot be seeing what we see in the mirror.”
Where the artist manipulates a reflected image for an effect, whether or not that image remains faithful to optical principles.
Early mirror play by Pierre Bonnard (1867-1947).
Later mirror play by Pierre Bonnard (1867-1947).
Where the artist uses a reflection to show more of the motif than can be seen directly, often to add information when developing a story.
Paintings by:
Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528)
Aelbert Cuyp (1620–1691)
Nicolas Poussin (1694-1665), Landscape with a Calm (c 1651)
Claude Lorrain (1604/5–1682)
Canaletto (1697–1768)
Claude-Joseph Vernet (1714–1789)
Paintings by:
John Constable (1776–1837)
Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775–1851)
Paintings by:
Gustave Caillebotte (1848–1894)
Martín Rico y Ortega (1833–1908)
Eilert Adelsteen Normann (1848–1918)
Laurits Andersen Ring (1854–1933)
Frits Thaulow (1847–1906)
Kazimierz Sichulski (1879–1942)
Paintings by:
Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (1796-1875)
Claude Monet (1840–1926)
Alfred Sisley (1839–1899)
Paintings by:
Georges Seurat (1859–1891)
Camille Pissarro (1830-1903)
Paul Signac (1863-1935)
Théo van Rysselberghe (1862-1926)
Paintings by Paul Cézanne (1839-1906)
Paintings by:
Ferdinand Hodler (1853–1918)
Gustav Klimt (1862–1918)
Brook Taylor (1719) New Principles of Linear Perspective, or the Art of Designing on a Plane the Representations of All Sorts of Objects, in a more General and Simple Method than has been done before, London. (Not available online, and later editions omit much of the material on reflections.)
Cole, Rex Vicat (1921) Perspective, Seeley, Service and Co, London. (Available in various reprints, and Archive.org.)
de Piles, Roger (1708) Cours de Peinture par Principes, Paris. (Available at Archive.org.)
de Valenciennes P-H (1820) Élémens de Perspective Pratique à l’usage des artistes, 2nd edn., Paris.
© Kim Raff for The New York Times
XREAL 把今年的第一场发布会，留给了一个之前没听说过的新牌子：xbx。
内部的全称是 x, by XREAL。
考虑 1699 的定价，xbx 的第一款产品 a01 的性价比相当不错：50° 视场角，tandem OLED 显示模组的亮度高达 1600 尼特，等效 4 米左右 147 英寸大屏，支持 HDR10 和在至高 120Hz 帧率下的空间防抖。
但参数远没有颜值和戴起来轻松更重要。62g，半透明未来感机身，可替换的多种个性化镜框。CEO 徐驰说，「颜值就是正义，只管玩就好。」
这是成立十年来一直在拼了命地往「上」冲的 XREAL，第一次「向下」。
过去这些年，徐驰和他创立的 XREAL 从来没有走过容易的道路。尽管中国的消费电子供应链资源足够好，以至于整合能力成为了成功的硬件创业者必备的素质——XREAL 却是不搞纯粹的「供应链整合」的。
正相反，XREAL 一直都在往上走，做最贵、最难、最「极客」的产品。为此，XREAL 不惜做极高比例，同时也是同行中最高比例的自研，甚至不惜因为过去两三年里的国际半导体波动，而损失相当一部分利润率。
这才是为什么去年 XREAL 能和硅谷巨头 Google 联合推出 Project Aura，一台令行业人士刮目相看，也让消费者打破对现有「智能眼镜」刻板印象的原型机（今年将正式面市）。徐驰毫不收敛地将 Project Aura 称为他所在的行业体验的「天花板」。
能做出这样的产品，断不可能靠整合供应链。为什么只有 XREAL 能做到，为什么谷歌选择了，LG、ROG 等也都选择了 XREAL？
徐驰说，答案是 XREAL 的 A 面：内敛、冷峻、长期主义、押注绝对的技术创新。
那么，XREAL 的 B 面又是什么？
在徐驰带领着公司一往无前地朝着头戴式显示技术的性能优化与极致轻量化冲刺的同时，他的背后险象环生：
在通过 Apple Vision Pro 试水也试错了之后，苹果立项了更多轻量级 AI/AR 眼镜产品，如无意外将于 26H2-27 全年逐步问世；小米、阿里千问、Rokid、VITURE 等纷纷杀入市场。
它们当中，有的用 AR 显示眼镜围攻 XREAL 占据已久的光明顶，更多的则是用 AI 眼镜（屏显/无屏）来提前抢占行业领头者尚未明确布局的新空间——无论何种产品定义，价格都被压得越来越低。
对此徐驰并不紧张。在和他深聊过后，爱范儿得出这样的感觉：XREAL 的 A 面朝前太久了，以至于同行们似乎误认为它没有或者不屑于展现另一面。
「怎么说呢，A 面没立住的时候，就没有 B 面。我们现在来了，虽迟但到。」
XREAL 主品牌的势能已经积攒到位，徐驰和他的产品团队终于腾得出手去做另一种风格的产品——一个更年轻、外放、价格也更亲民的牌子 xbx。
这就是 XREAL 的 B 面，与那个永远创新不止的 A 面，互为映照。
他说，自从创业以来，见到了 VR/AR 的泡沫，破了；然后元宇宙来了，也破了。一路走来，这次创业越来越像一场万米长跑——这也是从一开始他就坚信的赛制。「抢跑一点都不重要，跑对方向才重要。」
所以，徐驰看起来并不担心这些新来的竞争者。问他怕不怕大厂和其它创业公司一拥而上，他答：「我们最怕的，是这个行业只有自己。如果没有别人，没准说明我们走错了方向。所以热闹一点挺好的。」
2016 年，徐驰离开混合现实先驱企业 Magic Leap，回国草创，做一副在当时没人看好的眼镜。
快十年过去了，他庆幸 XREAL 能活到今天，运气占了相当大的因素。
「感谢这个赛道前十年的起起伏伏，让我有机会不断打怪升级……等到真的要跟大厂掰手腕的时候，不至于一上来就是总决赛。」
爱范儿等与徐驰、XREAL 产品负责人刘宗楷进行了一次专访，从全新的子品牌 xbx 和第一副价格打到 1699 元的 AR 眼镜产品 a01 聊起，一路聊到他怎么看待竞争，如何比较自己与同行之间的资本效率、AI 眼镜会不会最终取代手机，以及一个第一次创业的人，凭什么活到今天。
爱范儿：XREAL 这些年的特质就是高端化，为什么要在这个时间点推出 xbx 这个品牌？
徐驰：我们一直说，今天的智能眼镜行业很像 05、06 年的手机行业，很碎片化，系统、应用生态、交互范式都不统一。在这个相对早期的阶段，没有哪个品牌能够覆盖所有的价位段。所以我们就想，有没有可能做两种风格不一样的产品，像 A 面与 B 面一样。
这个行业充满波折，是出了名的难做。很长一段时间里，大家都在摸索，我们自己也（一段时期内）没有一个特别清楚的定位。但是「XREAL 」在我心里就是那个极致创新的品牌，更冷酷、更经典。但是，一个品牌尚未立住的时候，我没办法再去做一个更大众、更宏观的东西。
慢慢地，XREAL 成为了我想要的那种更内敛的品牌，这时候，就可以有一个更绽放的品牌跟它相互映照了。这就是我说的 A 面与 B 面。A 面没立住的时候，就没有 B 面。
这件事虽迟但到。从今往后，我们不只是一家叫 XREAL 的公司，还是一家 x by XREAL 的公司。
爱范儿：年轻人想要什么样的 AR 眼镜？难道年轻人就不想要极致的产品？
刘宗楷：对年轻人来说，个性与自我表达是每个人心里的渴望。市面上不管是 AR 眼镜、AI 眼镜、还是 XR 头盔，很多人下意识觉得这东西就该不好看、不轻便。但我们偏要反着来，为什么不先做出一副好看、够轻、年轻人愿意戴在头上的眼镜？一副愿意戴出门的眼镜，是所有事情的第一步。
徐驰：年轻人最好的，就是不迷信那些传统的大道理。颜值就是正义，好看就好，好用就好。我们希望用 a01 这副眼镜让大家明白，一千多块的价格也可以做到两千多块的体验。我们会把它长期做下去。
爱范儿：必须戴到外面，才能影响更多潜在受众。
徐驰：没错就是这样。我们希望这个产品可以在地铁上，在咖啡馆里，在飞机上，在各个地方，更多的年轻人把它戴到外面，而且是不尴尬的。所以我们做了极致的轻量化和个性化设计。
爱范儿：轻量化肯定有取舍。一个产品想做更高的分辨率、帧率、视场角，模组就会变大；模组大了，重量就会大、配重也会失衡。
刘宗楷：做轻的同时还要保证体验，真的非常难。镜片和外壳的厚度能不能再降一点，但强度还能保住。每一个器件既要轻还要保住性能，我们抠了很多细节。
这条路没有尽头，就是一个个夜晚，一次次较劲和争吵。当然，我们觉得还可以做得更好。
爱范儿：AR 眼镜能做到的 FoV（视场角）物理极限是多少？以及不考虑极限，只说在不同场景下人类佩戴的人体工学舒适度，最优解是多少？
徐驰：我给你个最直接的答案，最好的视场角应该是在 85° 左右，但这是在不计成本堆料、不考虑重量的前提下。
在 Project Aura 上，我们做到了 70°，在这个产品形态下已经是非常不错了，但是仍然有差距。什么时候我们能做到 85°，并且仍然是轻量化的，那么我们会觉得至少在显示端做到极致了。
刘宗楷：根据场景来看，比如你戴上 VR 头显去火星，画面主体是一艘宇宙飞船，背景则是宇宙星空——你需要同时看到主体和背景才能获得最大的沉浸感。但是对于 AR 眼镜，最好的背景其实是真实世界。如果是打游戏或者看球赛可能就不需要很大的角度；但如果是看电影，或者附着在真实环境里的 AR 显示，那么宽视角的沉浸感就更重要。所以最终还是取决于内容是否沉浸。
至于人眼的注意力聚焦视角，从眼科学上来说的确有极限，一般就是水平方向的 50° 左右，垂直的 30-40°这个区域内。
视场角并不是唯一的关键因素，还有电致变色、性能续航等等。在我们定义不同产品的时候，会有无数个取舍的拨杆，往不同的方向去拨。
爱范儿：苹果也入场了，国内大厂的竞品也已经上市，价格越压越低。你怎么看？
徐驰：大家进来，我认为是好事。我们最怕的是什么？是这个行业只有我们自己——那说明这个赛道没人关注，没人看好。
我们始终认为，眼镜是最有机会替代手机的下一代计算终端。虽然已经创业十年了，我们也才刚刚开始，我们的渗透率可能还不到 1%，后面还有百倍甚至更大的成长空间，所以大家一起来把蛋糕做大是件好事。
我们这个行业是有泡沫的，但泡沫不一定是坏事，说明大家对行业的期待值很高。过去在每个阶段，都有过想挣快钱的人，发现不好赚就走了。泡沫褪去，受害的其实是消费者。而真正推动行业往前走的，是那些把「用户期待」和「产品体验」之间的差距一点点缩小的人。
打个比方，今天的 AI 眼镜就像五岁小孩，而我们定义的全天候佩戴的 AI 眼镜就像贾维斯。这中间的差距得靠底层创新去一点点推动。这些创新不会无缘无故发生，背后一定有人负重前行。
问：你们跟 Meta 的距离还有多少？
徐驰：举个不那么恰当的对比：2025 年 Meta 的 Reality Labs 业务营收是 22 亿美元，亏损接近 200 亿美元。我们今年做到了 2 亿美元营收，差不多是它的十分之一，但我们的亏损不到 2000 万美元。
十分之一的营收，千分之一的亏损，我觉得我们的资本利用效率还可以，这也是我们的优势。
爱范儿：你们有自己的全栈自研芯片、光学，但 Project Aura 的部分算力还是用的骁龙，两者这两者是什么关系？将来 XREAL 会否提高核心算力的自主性？
徐驰：X1S 是一颗完整的 SoC。在 Aura 上，所有对延迟和带宽敏感的计算，放在我们的 X1S 芯片上，其它的给骁龙。
我们的芯片就是纯端侧计算，骁龙芯片放在 puck（外挂的计算单元） 上。这两者不是处理器和协处理器的关系，而更像是「端侧」和「云」之间的关系。有些计算需要发生在离你更近的地方，更加及时。
我们一直说眼镜会取代手机。在可预见的将来，puck 会消失，直接换成你的手机就行了；更长远来看，如果眼镜真的取代手机，它需要自己能够处理所有的计算。这才是我们为什么押注自主芯片的意义所在。
前段时间美国出台禁令，先进制程的晶圆不能直接运进中国大陆。这件事挺流氓的，我们的芯片在这个范畴内，本来要在大陆做封装，结果必须在台湾封装完才能运回大陆。当时国内一大批芯片厂商都在争抢台湾的封装资源，造成了一次性的短缺，跟今天的内存短缺很像。为此，我们的业绩也少了蛮大一块，否则去年 Q3、Q4 的增长会很明显。
但从长远看，这反而驱动我们继续往前走。还好我们今天销量不是很大，总比卖了几百万台突然被卡脖子要好（笑）。我们希望中国有越来越多的先进制程握在自己手里，谁也卡不住。
爱范儿：Project Aura 在国内能上吗？你们会选择哪些国内模型厂商一起探索？
徐驰：因为 Android XR 和 Gemini 强绑定，而 Gemini 在国内用不了。所以很遗憾，要不你海淘吧（笑）。
我们不会放弃国内市场，如果 Android XR 能够和 Gemini 解耦，连上国内 AI，就是 Project Aura 进入国内市场的时候，但不是今天。就像当年 iPhone 也不是刚问世就进入中国。我觉得这个结果我们可以接受。It’s okay.
对我们来说，阿里是我们的股东，我们也一直跟字节跳动保持交流。在模型方面，我们不会排斥任何一家。我们的终极理想，是 AI 能像搜索引擎一样换着用。未来的大模型会变成基建，谁家的 token 效果好就用谁，可以无缝切换。
爱范儿：你自己也说，AR 眼镜这个品类存在很多年了，但渗透率仍然很低。让更多人接纳它的「入门毒药」会是一个怎样定义的产品？
徐驰：大概率还是主流两大类：更加全天候的 AI 眼镜、带显示但不够全天候的 AR 眼镜。
这个「全天候」(always-on) 有两层意思：一是全天候佩戴，二是全天候使用。今天的问题是，AI 眼镜的主要场景不是 AI，而是听歌拍照；你打开相机拍个 30 分钟，产品就没电了。如果说眼镜是你的个人助理，但它每天只能睁眼 30 分钟……那就不是一个全天候的助理。
在将来的某个时间点，会有一款 35g 以下、全天候续航的产品，作为 AI 交互的载体。这样的产品，我认为是能做到的。如果做到了，它绝对会是人手一个的设备。
另一条路就是 AR 眼镜，追求更高清、更多内容。这个路线今天还是分体机形态，能做到 60g，但终极形态可能会是一体机。
这两种产品，一个像 iPhone，人手一台，整个品类可能是每年十多亿台的出货量；另一个像我们现在的设备，做到终极形态可能是平板和笔记本电脑加起来的体量，一年 1.5 到 2.5 亿台，也很不错；以及传统头显，可能体量会像台式机——这三者会长期共存。
至于那个彻底引爆品类，将眼镜真正推上「取代手机」道路的产品是什么，我认为到 2027、28 年，我们会看到更清晰的答案。
爱范儿：即便做到了极致的轻量化，你怎么说服那些仍然嫌重的客群？
徐驰：我认为今天大家太容易先行代入刻板印象，比如「没有 35g 绝对不戴」。今天的行业里，抛开补贴的产品，还没有不吃国补、销量过百万的产品。如果真能达到 35g，早就是 15 亿台的水平了。
我们得一步步来：先把一个单品做到百万，再做到千万，再做到一个亿、15 亿。中间有好多级台阶。我相信在今天，一副体验足够好的眼镜，50g 也不妨碍它卖一个亿。影响接受度、卡住销量的只是体验还没有打磨足够好。
爱范儿：手机厂商觉得未来 5-10 年里手机仍是主角。但与此同时手机厂商也在做眼镜。你看到的未来竞争格局是怎样的？
徐驰：的确，今天存在的东西，很长时间内仍然会存在。但核心是谁能站在价值链的最高点。就好比曾几何时我们觉得互联网大厂的超级 app 太牛了，但今天它们的风头一定没有 AI 公司更盛。手机也是一样。随着科技发展，总有一些新的领域、企业，会站到价值链更高的位置。
我们相信未来两年内会形成共识：眼镜是离 AI 最好的原生终端，它可能是离多模态 AI 最近的东西。这也是为什么我们跟谷歌一起去畅想未来的全新交互范式，以及新范式下的终端长什么样。
这件事令我非常兴奋，一是因为它难，二是如果做对了，会非常 rewarding。
爱范儿：其它形态的 AI 硬件，比如 pin、带摄像头的耳机，不如眼镜吗？
徐驰：不光我这么想，Demis Hassabis 也说眼镜绝对是所有 AI 里最中心的设备。因为只有眼镜能够拿到人的关注点这一关键上下文信息。
你戴了一个 pin，它能看到你面前有一堆人，但眼镜在未来会有眼动追踪，它能知道我当下到底在看什么，周围的信息可能没那么重要。只有眼镜能带来端到端闭环的数据链路，其它终端都不具备这个能力。当然别的形态可以辅助，但眼镜一定是最关键的入口。
爱范儿：创业者、企业家会有不同恐惧来源，可能是内部的组织效率跟不上时代，可能来自同业的竞争，可能来自异业的颠覆。足以让你从睡梦中惊醒的恐惧是什么？
徐驰：做企业和做人一样，做人也会迷茫，有人给你指点，让你找到对标。但我觉得说到底，烦恼都是自己给的。
我相信伟大的企业全是价值观驱动的。最核心的就是找到一个组织舒服的状态，让全公司都认可你的这套价值观——无论离开还是留下，都会继续在这套价值观的规范下做事。只要这件事做到了，竞争也好，别的也好，其实都还好。
我个人睡眠还挺好的，我觉得这是创业者得有的一个特质（笑）。
要说真有什么让我担忧，那就是我所崇尚的价值观，是否真的能够百分百贯彻执行？我怕的是 XREAL 变大了，文化会被稀释掉。我需要大家打心底里相信一件事：我们要当创新者、引领者。这不容易，在中国尤其不容易。在中国大家的习惯是服从等级制度，「老板说的都对」，可我还是希望，大家既能自下而上，又能自上而下，形成一个扁平高效的机制。
爱范儿：就像你说的，几轮泡沫起起伏伏，XREAL 还是活到今天了。
徐驰：2016 年我从 Magic Leap 回国，到今天整整十年了。那时候真是草根创业，我就是想做一副眼镜。能活到今天，回头看真是运气挺好。这是我的第一次创业，也感谢这一路的投资人（以及其他同行者），让我在这个过程里慢慢理解了怎么去运作一家企业，一个组织，一门生意。
说实话，如果这个行业发展再快一点，起势再猛一点，没机会把自己磨练好，去应对巨头杀进赛道时那种强烈的竞争，可能我们就没了。
每个创业公司大概都得经历这么一段：你得先打怪升级才能站上更大的舞台。如果一上来就是总 boss，来一帮阿里字节那样的对手就没得打了。所以我其实挺感谢这个赛道前十年的起起伏伏，才有一天让我能跟大厂掰一掰手腕。
AR 行业是出了名的难做，我又干得有点久了，所以对这些事现在看淡了。只要大家都还在牌桌上，这就是一件长期主义的事情。
我认为 AR 是一场万米长跑，跑对方向比抢跑更重要。如果行业还在早期但所有人都往一个地方冲，那个所谓的共识可能就是泡沫。反而是早期非共识的东西，最后被时间验证是对的。历史无数次这样告诉我们。
文｜杜晨
采访｜杜晨
#欢迎关注爱范儿官方微信公众号：爱范儿（微信号：ifanr），更多精彩内容第一时间为您奉上。
© Shafkat Anowar/The Dallas Morning News, via Associated Press
© Desiree Rios for The New York Times
© Annie Mulligan for The New York Times
Venice became an important part of the southern Renaissance with the paintings of the Bellini brothers in the latter half of the fifteenth century, and flourished in the sixteenth century with their successors Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese. Venetian painting distinguished itself by emphasising colour over line and form, but there were also important differences in media.
From long before the Renaissance, the largest paintings in Europe were made using fresco on the walls and ceilings of churches and other religious buildings. Because Venice had been built on marshy islands in a lagoon, the walls of its buildings remained damp and proved unsuitable for classical fresco technique. Supplies of wood were also limited, and the fabrication of large wooden panels was impractical. It was in Venice that the largest paintings were thus made in oil paints on stretched canvas.
In other circumstances, what are considered to be large canvases might attain five or six metres (16-20 feet) in their longer dimension. This article shows a selection where that exceeds ten metres (33 feet), and in one case twenty-two metres (72 feet), all but one created by Jacopo Tintoretto and his workshop.
In 1559-60, Tintoretto painted two commissions for the church of Madonna dell’Orto, where he was to be buried. Each nearly fifteen metres (50 feet) high, they’re among his most spectacular.
The Last Judgment was probably painted first, and shows apocalyptic scenes from Biblical eschatology, notably the book of Revelation. To some extent, paintings of the last judgement are inevitably chaotic, as that is part of the event, but Tintoretto’s overall composition here isn’t as well-conceived as in the second of the pair. The painting has several focal passages, in particular the horizontal winged angel wearing orange shorts just over half way up, and the figure of Christ at its apex.
The lower sections show a dark base filled with contorted bodies blending in with rock and water, an underworld without the usual fire. Above is a band of sea green, in which there is a reprise of the flood, and bodies are washed along in a great wave. The middle then takes to the air, where figures sit on clouds still bringing rain to those in the waters below. The central crucifix seen at the foot isn’t part of the painting.
In the upper section, above the angel in orange, rays of light are streaming down from Jesus at the apex. Individual figures are now more readily distinguished, and some of them recognisable. At each side are winged angels with long trumpets, and a double band of black clouds marking the threshold of heaven. On the right, a martyr wearing a deep blue loincloth sits with his crucifix against his shoulder: he could be Saint Andrew.
Higher still is the mother of twins, her back to the viewer, looking up towards the heaped black cloud on which Jesus Christ sits at the centre, with the Virgin Mary on one side and Saint John the Baptist on the other. Particularly in the upper section, many of the figures are foreshortened and distorted.
The second, the Making of the Golden Calf, shows one of the more memorable stories of Moses, from the book of Exodus in the Old Testament. During that epic journey from bondage in Egypt to the Promised Land, Moses left the Israelites for a period of forty days and nights, when he ascended Mount Sinai to be given the Ten Commandments. While he was away, the people demanded that Moses’ brother and deputy Aaron made them a graven image to worship.
He gathered all their gold, which was melted down and cast into the form of a calf, which they then worshipped. God told Moses that they had already fallen from his ways, so Moses descended from Sinai. He was so angry with the Israelites that he broke the two tablets containing the commandments. He burnt the golden calf, ground it to powder, scattered it on water, and made the people drink it. The only people who didn’t worship the calf were the tribe of Levi, who became the first priestly class.
Tintoretto’s overall design of this simpler narrative is clearer and well-organised. The lower half of the painting shows the golden calf and the Israelites worshipping and feasting around it. Just over half way up is Moses on the summit of the mountain, being delivered the tablets with the commandments, and above that is heaven, with the Israelites’ God.
The graven image of the golden calf is being carried with difficulty by four men. Piles of golden jewellery, coins, and chain are still apparently being melted down. Sitting on a rock bench above, under an ornamental awning, are several young women, who are being dressed and prepared for ceremonies to take place with the idol. More people are seen feasting on the grass over to the left.
In the upper section of the painting, Moses is stood on the top of the mountain, his arms outstretched to the sky, ready to receive the tablets containing the commandments. God still holds those, immediately above Moses, and two winged angels are just taking the tablets from him, to pass down to Moses. Around them and above are several other figures, flying around the clouds.
One last remark about these two exceptionally tall paintings: recognising that viewers would have to look up sharply to see their upper sections, Tintoretto projected their figures and other details as if they were ceiling panels. The higher up each canvas you look, the more the figures appear to be above you. That is an ingenious projection to enhance their visual impact.
In 1565, commissioned by the Scuola Grande for its albergo, Tintoretto painted one of the major religious works of the century: his vast Crucifixion, more than 5 metres (17 feet) high, and 12 metres (40 feet) across.
He applied the lessons learned in his tall works for the Madonna dell’Orto. He makes use of space and uses a narrative technique based on the traditional ‘multiplex’ form popular during the Renaissance, in which its single image shows events at more than a single point in time, in an ingenious and modern manner. Naturally, the painting centres on Christ crucified, but the two thieves executed beside him are not shown, as would be traditional, already hanging from their crosses.
Instead, to the right of Christ, the ‘bad’ thief is still being attached to his cross, which rests on the ground. To the left of Christ, the ‘good’ thief is just being raised to the upright position. There is nothing in the well-known gospel accounts to make this anachronistic, but it’s most probable that the crucifixions were more simultaneous.
Spaced out around the canvas are relevant sub-stories from that whole. At the foot of Christ’s cross is his group of mourners, including the Marys. Each of the crosses has attendant workers, busy with the task of conducting the crucifixion, climbing ladders, hauling on lines, and fastening each victim to his cross. This mechanical and human detail brings the scene to life and adds to its credibility, and grim process.
The crowd on the left is more spread out than in an earlier version. In the distance is a flag bearing the letters SPQR representing the Roman Empire, and its link through Pilate. Most faces are turned towards Christ, with their eyes wide in awe.
On the right, in a small rock shelter suggestive of a tomb, two men are gambling with dice. To the right of them, a gravedigger has just started his work with a spade. The ruling class, perhaps Herod himself, have turned up on horseback, and they too stare wide-eyed at Christ.
When the Doge’s Palace, or Palazzo Ducale, in Venice was destroyed by fire in 1577, it took with it a fresco from around 1365 by Guariento. Although initially unsuccessful in obtaining the commission to provide a replacement, with the death of Veronese in 1588, Tintoretto was invited to do so. By this time the artist was seventy, so much of the painting was performed by his son Domenico Robusti.
The room in which this painting was to be hung, the Sala del Maggior Consiglio, is one of the most majestic and imposing in the whole building, and was used for meetings of the Grand Council of Venice, at which it considered legislation and elected the city’s magistrates.
The resulting painting, which is seven metres (almost 23 feet) high and twenty-two metres (72 feet) across, was probably designed by Jacopo and largely entrusted to his son Domenico and the workshop to paint. In conformity with the rules of the commission, its composition focusses on the Coronation of the Virgin, inspired by Dante’s Paradise, as shown in the detail below.
At the top, the Virgin Mary, behind whom is her traditional symbol of the white lily, stands with Jesus Christ, in their matching red and blue robes. Between them is the white dove of the Holy Ghost, and all around are cherubic heads of infant angels. To the right are the scales of justice, also used for the weighing of souls.
Even at the height of his powers, and with his exceptionally fast brushwork, completing such a huge work would have been a major feat for Jacopo.
Paolo Veronese also made a name for himself with his earlier large canvases, but in 1573 exceeded them all in The Feast in the House of Levi, which wasn’t its original title.
Veronese painted this thirteen metre-long (42 feet) scene for the refectory of the Dominican Friary of the Basilica di Santi Giovanni e Paolo, but it was intended to show the Last Supper, Christ’s last meal with his disciples before he was betrayed and crucified, at which he laid out the sacrament of Communion, a key part of Christian life ever since.
However, he over-reached himself, and the painting was deemed so offensive that he was brought before the Inquisition accused of blasphemy. Thankfully the Inquisition didn’t impose any penalty on Veronese himself, but required that he ‘correct’ the painting within a period of three months. This he did by changing its title, not its content, to The Feast in the House of Levi.
Christ is shown in the centre of the painting, further emphasised by his halo. In addition to the standard row of disciples, Veronese adds a rich collection of other figures, described by the Inquisition as “buffoons, drunken Germans, dwarfs and other such scurrilities”, more in the manner of a Venetian feast.
The classical Greek hero Theseus had travelled overland to be reunited with his father Aegeus, King of Athens, where he narrowly escaped death by Medea’s poison. Following the example of his hero Heracles, he then killed the Marathonian Bull, in preparation for his most famous accomplishment, killing the half-bull, half-human Minotaur living at the centre of the Labyrinth on the island of Crete.
King Minos of Crete had been exacting a tribute of nine young men and nine maidens from Athens every nine years, who were taken to the Labyrinth to die. On the third such call for eighteen of Athens’ finest, its citizens accused Aegeus of being its cause. Although a matter of dispute as to how he accomplished it, Theseus went to Crete as one of those eighteen.
George Frederic Watts was apparently driven to paint The Minotaur in 1885 as a response to a series of articles in the press revealing the industry of child prostitution in late Victorian Britain. Those referred to the myth of the Minotaur, so early one morning he painted this image of human bestiality and lust. His Minotaur has crushed a small bird in its left hand, and gazes out to sea, awaiting the next shipment of young men and virgin women from Greece.
Because the Athenians knew that their young people weren’t going to return, the ship carrying them to Crete had black sails. On this occasion, though, Theseus gave its crew a white sail, telling Aegeus and the crew that when they returned, if he had been successful in killing the Minotaur, they would set that white sail as a sign.
Gustave Moreau’s painting of Athenians Being Delivered to the Minotaur (1855) shows the victims as they were preparing to enter the Labyrinth. Wearing laurel wreaths to mark their distinction and sacrifice, the young men and women hold back while Theseus crouches, waiting to do battle with the beast, seen at the right.
Left to his own devices, Theseus’ chances were not good. However, Minos’ daughter Ariadne had fallen in love with him when she saw him compete in the funereal games preceding the act of sacrifice, and promised to assist in return for his hand in marriage afterwards. It was she who provided Theseus with a ball of thread which he deployed as he entered the Labyrinth, enabling him to retrace his steps once he had killed the Minotaur at its centre.
In Henry Fuseli’s spirited mixed-media sketch of Ariadne Watching the Struggle of Theseus with the Minotaur (1815-20), Theseus appears almost skeletal as he tries to bring his dagger down to administer the fatal blow, and Ariadne resembles a wraith or spirit.
Theseus, Victor over the Minotaur (c 1791) is one of only three paintings by Charles-Édouard Chaise known to survive. With its crisp neo-classical style, it shows Theseus standing in triumph over the lifeless corpse of the Minotaur. He is almost being mobbed by the young Athenian women whose lives he has saved. At the left, his thread rests on a wall by an urn, suggesting the young woman by it may be Ariadne; she is being helped by a young man.
There are conflicting stories as to what happened next, but Theseus and Ariadne departed from Crete, ending up on the island of Naxos, where Theseus abandoned her and sailed on. This has been depicted by many painters, although most have naturally concentrated on the jilted Ariadne rather than her betrayer Theseus.
John William Waterhouse paints the moment that Ariadne (1898) starts to wake, as Theseus’ ship has just sailed. As she hasn’t yet realised she has been abandoned, she lies back at ease. On and under the couch are a couple of leopards, a clear reference to the imminent arrival of Dionysus.
Paulus Bor’s portrait of Ariadne, painted in the period 1630-35, can only show her on Naxos, immediately after she has been abandoned, still clutching the thread by which she thought she had tethered him, now hanging at a loose end. On the wall above her are sketches she has made of her lover. She looks deeply lost in thought and gloom.
Lovis Corinth’s Ariadne on Naxos (1913) is one of his most sophisticated and masterly mythical paintings, inspired by the first version of Richard Strauss’s opera Ariadne auf Naxos (1912). The left third of the painting (detail below) shows Ariadne lying in erotic langour on Theseus’ left thigh. He wears an exuberant helmet, and appears to be shouting angrily and anxiously towards the other figures to the right.
Having called in briefly at Delos, Theseus and his ship returned to Athens. But in their delight and celebration, they forgot to hoist the white sail to indicate the success of their mission. Seeing their ship with its black sail still set, Theseus’ father King Aegeus threw himself from a cliff in despair, and died.
Theseus’ return to Athens thus brought an odd mixture of celebration at his success, and lamentation at the death of his father. Their ship was carefully preserved as a monument to Theseus’ accomplishment, and he set about transforming and growing the city by settling all the citizens of Attica in it. He promised government without a king, by means of democracy, making himself its commander in war and the guardian of its laws. He also had its currency struck into coins, and instituted the Isthmian (Olympic) Games.
Back on the island of Naxos, Ariadne went on to marry Dionysus, the couple had many children, and lived happily ever after.
For Theseus, life wasn’t going to be as simple.
I hope you enjoyed Saturday’s Mac Riddles, episode 361. Here are my solutions to them.
This second (II) was actually the sixth (there had been five previous Mac models) and bumped up by 20 (its CPU was the first 68020 used in a Mac).
Its A5 (its chip) followed the A4 (the chip in the original iPad), without any one (there was no iPad 1), and a third thinner (it was claimed to be about 33% thinner than the original iPad).
First with a 750 (it was one of the first Macs with a PowerPC 750 processor) followed the 604 (previous models had PowerPC 601-604 processors), but there was neither 1 nor 2 (Apple didn’t start naming Power Macs by generation until the G3).
They were each the first model in their series to be numbered, but didn’t start at 1.
I look forward to your putting alternative cases.
Yesterday’s article examined Peter Paul Rubens’ masterwork Peace and War (1629-30), which he gave to King Charles I of England at the end of his diplomatic mission in London. Rubens returned to his busy workshop in Antwerp, and for the remaining decade of his life devoted himself to painting some of his greatest and most personal works.
His personal life changed greatly too: when he returned to Antwerp, he married the sixteen year-old Hélène Fourment, having lost his first wife four years earlier. In 1635, he bought a country estate near Antwerp, the Steen, which was to be his base until his death, and the subject of several of his finest landscape paintings over those years.
With Europe nearing the end of the Thirty Years’ War, Rubens was only too delighted to be commissioned to paint one of his final narrative masterpieces for Ferdinand de’ Medici, then the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Tuscany had been largely uninvolved in the war, and this time Rubens had no diplomatic mission to accomplish. He could afford to be frank in his story, and we are fortunate in having the artist’s own description of the painting as a reference.
The central figures in The Consequences of War (1637-38) are Venus and Mars. The god of war is advancing forcefully having just rushed from the temple of Janus, moving from left to right, with his sword bloodied and held low. His head is turned back to look at Venus, whose left arm is caught around his right, and who is clearly trying unsuccessfully to restrain him. Standing against the right thigh of Venus is a winged Cupid, child of Mars and Venus.
Drawing Mars forward is Alecto, her hair now looking more like that of a Fury but with few snakes visible, who bears a torch in her right hand. Monsters near her personify pestilence and famine, inseparable partners of war at that time. On the ground below Alecto is a woman with her back towards the viewer: she is Harmony, whose lute has been broken in the discord brought by war.
Nearby, also on the ground, is a mother with her child in her arms, symbolising the effect of war on families and their rearing. At the lower right corner is an architect clutching his instruments, indicating how fine buildings are thrown into ruin by war. Under the right foot of Mars is a book, showing how war tramples over the arts.
On the ground to the left of Cupid is a bundle of arrows or darts: these are not Cupid’s arrows of desire, but when bundled up would form the symbol of Concord; thus war breaks Concord. To their left is the caduceus and an olive branch, attributes of Peace, also cast aside.
The woman at the left in a black gown is the personification of Europe, whose globe, symbolising the Christian world, is carried by a putto behind her. Having endured the ravages of war for so long, her clothing is torn and she has been robbed of her jewels.
Venus and Mars are, in myth, well-known lovers. Venus is failing to restrain Mars from charging off to war, and in doing so, he is breaking their bond of love. This element of the composition had evolved over a long period, coming originally from Titian, and referring to another of Venus’ lovers, Adonis.
Titian’s Venus and Adonis from 1554 shows Venus trying, again in vain, to prevent Adonis from going off to hunt, where he was to be killed by a wild boar. This was a favourite motif of Titian’s: no less than seven versions have been attributed to him from the period between 1553 and about 1560.
Rubens’ early painting of Venus and Adonis from about 1610, now in Düsseldorf, adopts a similar compositional approach, with Adonis facing the viewer and about to move to the right, but Rubens turns Venus’ body to face the viewer more.
His much later Venus and Adonis from about 1635, now in the Met in New York, reverses the image as if it had been made from a print, and turns Adonis so that his back is towards the viewer. He is now about to move beyond the picture plane, away from the viewer. For The Consequences of War, Rubens keeps Venus in a similar position, but turns Mars to move straight along to the right in a more forceful and unconstrained action.
The figure of Europe has an even more contemporary reference, to a nearly identical woman in the centre of Rubens’ The Massacre of the Innocents (c 1638). She too is in distress, although here she is not a personification in the way that she is in The Consequences of War.
Perhaps the most telling comparison is with Rubens’ The Triumph of Victory (c 1614), made when he was young and the finest painter in Flanders. The Treaty of Antwerp had been signed in 1609, and the city was flourishing in the Twelve Years’ Truce which ensued.
Painted for the Antwerp Guild of St George, its organisation of archers, Mars dominates, his bloody sword resting on the thigh of Victoria, personification of victory. She reaches over to place a wreath of either oak or laurel on Mars, and holds a staff in her left hand. At the right, Mars is being passed the bundle of crossbow bolts that make up the attribute of Concord.
Under the feet of Mars are the bodies of Rebellion, in the foreground, who still holds his torch, and Discord, on whose cheek a snake is crawling. The bound figure resting against the left knee of Mars is Barbarism.
Nearly a quarter of a century later, with the experience that his work as a diplomat had brought, Rubens had expressed a completely different view of war. His Peace and War (1629-30) and The Consequences of War (1637-38) should hang in the office of every head of state, from the White House, to the Kremlin Senate, to 10 Downing Street, and the Ryongsong Residence in North Korea.
Lest anyone forgets.
Seventeenth century Europe was ravaged by war. Between 1618 and 1648, much of what is now Germany suffered the Thirty Years’ War, with widespread famines, epidemic disease, and the slaughter of battle. This spilled over to the Netherlands and Belgium, and beyond. Warfare at that time used weapons which individually had limited killing power, but wherever there was war, largely mercenary armies stripped the land of food and supplies, laying waste to large tracts of countryside, and bringing infectious diseases to kill many of the local population.
In the midst of that, some of the old Masters managed to flourish, among them Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640), arguably the greatest narrative painter in Western art, and an accomplished international diplomat.
Rubens was no stranger to the consequences of religious persecution, conflict, and war. His Protestant parents had fled Antwerp for Cologne before his birth, he returned to Antwerp with his widowed mother in 1589 to be raised as a Catholic, and from 1600 he travelled throughout Europe, including Italy, Spain, France, England, and the Low Countries.
In 1629, he returned from a period in Madrid where he had worked with Diego Velázquez, then spent a little time back in his workshop in Antwerp before travelling to London, where he stayed until April the following year. A relatively peaceful country during the war on the European mainland, England’s stable period during Queen Elizabeth I’s reign had ended with her death in 1603; two years later Guy Fawkes and conspirators had tried to blow up the House of Parliament, and the Civil War broke out in 1642.
Rubens was now in his early fifties, internationally successful, and able to choose his own motifs. He had developed his sophisticated visual language of narrative over three decades of painting stories. Acting as envoy to King Philip IV of Spain, he was trying to agree peace between Spain and King Charles I of England. Among his tools was one of his greatest narrative paintings, Minerva Protects Pax from Mars or Peace and War, painted when he had been in England and left there as a gift to its king.
Rubens’ painting, now in the National Gallery in London, is crowded with more than a dozen figures drawn from classical myths. Until you have identified them and understood their roles and meaning, its reading remains elusive.
Its central figures are those of Ceres, here in the role of Pax, personification of peace, and Minerva behind her. In attendance are Mars, Hymen, Plutus, and Alecto, with sundry Bacchantes, a satyr, putti, and the attributes of Bacchus and Mercury. It’s like an away day from Olympus, or part of an index to Ovid.
Ceres and Minerva are at the heart of the painting. Rubens shows Ceres expressing milk from her left breast, which arcs into the mouth of her son Plutus, the god of wealth, who is grasping her left arm.
The figures of Ceres and Plutus are almost identical to those of Venus and Cupid in Rubens’ earlier Venus, Mars and Cupid (c 1633), which introduces ambiguity to her figure. However, in this painting Cupid is shown with wings, and his traditional bow and arrows. In Peace and War, the infant is clearly not Cupid as he has neither wings nor bow and arrows: there he is Plutus.
Being the goddess of agriculture, grain crops (hence cereal), and maternal relationships, Ceres stands for values strongly associated with the benefits of peace: bread rather than starvation, fertility rather than barrenness and pestilence. Her son Plutus represents the growth of wealth in times of peace.
Although the figure immediately behind Ceres might be mistaken for a man (Mars, perhaps), her staff and helmet are characteristic of Minerva, the goddess with a curiously mixed portfolio of wisdom, industry, and war, a hangover from her part-Etruscan origins. Immediately above her is a winged putto carrying a caduceus, a short staff with wings at the top and entwined snakes, normally an attribute of Mercury, but also associated with commerce. That putto leans forward to place a laurel wreath, the crown of the victor and a symbol of peace, on Ceres’ head.
Minerva is pushing away the bearded figure of Mars, god of war, who is wearing his characteristic black armour. Rubens painted Mars not infrequently, and was flexible with his age and appearance, which vary according to context. With Venus and Cupid above, he is a young, clean-shaven man.
In Venus and Mars (1632-35) he appears more like an ageing general than a warrior, and Venus is also past the beauty of her youth. Perhaps they had succumbed too often to the temptations of Bacchus, seen behind brandishing an empty glass.
At the far right of Peace and War is Alecto, the Fury responsible for dealing with the moral offences of humans, usually by driving them mad. Rubens refrains from giving her snakes in her hair, but emphasises madness, the madness of war.
On the opposite (left) side of the painting is a Bacchante holding her tambourine (tympanum) aloft, and another bearing earthly riches at her left side. A satyr crouches low over a leopard, and proffers a cornucopia filled with fruit to the figures at the right.
This group is associated with Bacchus. Although he is not present, his chariot is normally drawn by leopards or similar big cats, and he is accompanied by Bacchantes. This is shown well in Lovis Corinth’s marvellous painting of Ariadne on Naxos (1913) below.
Bacchus’ age and appearance are remarkably variable. In Ruben’s later Bacchus (1638-40), he is old and grotesquely obese, but still accompanied by his big cats.
This painting was completed not long before Rubens’ death from the consequences of gout, and may be the artist’s personal reflection on the result of sustained familiarity with Bacchus.
On the other side of the cornucopia from the Satyr is a small group of children, and a winged putto or Cupid, led by Hymen, who bears his characteristic torch. The god of marriage has led the products of marriage to the fruit of peace and plenty. These figures were painted from the children of one of King Charles’ diplomats, Sir Balthasar Gerbier, who was both an artist and Rubens’ host while he was in England.
Rubens’ story is clear: push war and its associated madness away, and you will enjoy peace, prosperity, and a thriving, well-nourished population.
King Charles made peace with France and Spain, but couldn’t get on with his own parliament; he therefore ruled England without a parliament for the “eleven years’ tyranny”. Collapse of power was inevitable after that: he faced Scottish and Irish rebellions, then in 1642 found himself in a civil war. He was executed on 30 January 1649.
Rubens returned to Antwerp in 1630, where he painted a second masterwork on the subject of peace and war, the centrepiece of tomorrow’s article.
Here are this weekend’s Mac riddles to entertain you through family time, shopping and recreation.
1: This second was actually the sixth and bumped up by 20.
2: Its A5 followed the A4, without any one, and a third thinner.
3: First with a 750 followed the 604, but there was neither 1 nor 2.
To help you cross-check your solutions, or confuse you further, there’s a common factor between them.
I’ll post my solutions first thing on Monday morning.
Please don’t post your solutions as comments here: it spoils it for others.
Mythological worlds in classical Mediterranean civilisations often appear confusing and contradictory when stories and beliefs of many centuries and different cultures are merged, as happened in post-classical painting. What might appear to be a single distinctive attribute, such as a snake coiled along the length of a staff, then becomes a muddle.
There are two common combinations of snakes coiled around a rod or staff. Hermes (Roman Mercury) has a caduceus as his attribute, consisting of a rod or staff with a pair of entwined serpents along its length, and sometimes they are shown bearing small wings. This signifies his swiftness as a messenger. The rod of Asclepius (which has several alternative spellings) should have but a single serpent coiled around it, and is associated with healing and medicine, and remains so today long after its divine origins have been forgotten.
Although not known for his paintings of secular stories, William Blake’s Judgement of Paris (c 1806-17) was one of a pair made for Thomas Butts, the other being Philoctetes and Neoptolemus on Lemnos, a more obscure story leading to the death of Paris.
As with almost every artist before and since, Blake shows the three contestants naked in front of Paris, just at the moment that the golden apple is awarded to Aphrodite. Hera and Athena, standing either side of her, are visibly upset. Above them is the naked figure of Hermes, with his caduceus and its pair of intertwined serpents, and a winged helmet. The demonic figure at the top left is presumably a harbinger of the death and destruction to come in the Trojan War.
Renoir’s account of The Judgment of Paris, from about 1908-10 is a carefully composed image of the same moment of peripeteia. Watching on is Hermes, complete with his winged helmet, sandals, and caduceus.
The most popular scene in Ovid’s intertwined stories of the rape of Io and the murder of Argus is that of Hermes lulling Argus to sleep. However, hardly any painters depict Argus having the hundred eyes specified in the Metamorphoses. Abraham Bloemaert is an exception, in his carefully composed Mercury, Argus and Io (c 1592). Hermes is playing his flute at the left, his caduceus at his feet, as Argus falls asleep in front of him, his additional eyes visible over the surface of his head.
David Rijckaert’s undated Philemon and Baucis Giving Hospitality to Jupiter and Mercury gives the most popular account of the elderly couple entertaining the two gods. Hermes (left) and Zeus (left of centre) are seated at the table, with Philemon (behind the table) and Baucis (centre) waiting on their every need. Once again, Hermes is distinguished by his caduceus as well as a more contemporary winged hat.
In the eighteenth century, Giovanni Battista Cipriani drew Aesculapius Holding a Staff Encircled by a Snake, following the classical tradition.
Johannes Zacharias Simon Prey painted this group of Aesculapius, Apollo and Hippocrates in 1791. Asclepius, holding his distinctive rod, is shown in the centre of the trio, with Hippocrates, the less legendary ‘father of medicine’, to the right, clutching the basal half of a human skull, and Apollo, father of Asclepius, behind. They have entered a contemporary pharmacy, where an assistant uses a large mortar and pestle, and another works the bellows of a furnace.
Inevitably, the distinction between Hermes’ caduceus and the rod of Asclepius has been lost more recently, and many symbolic representations of medicine have erroneously used a caduceus.
Over the last months I have shown examples of the Naturalist painting that became popular in Europe during the late nineteenth century, although it is now neglected or glossed over in modern accounts of that period. This concluding article provides a table of contents, and an illustrated list of some of the better-known painters who were Naturalists for substantial periods in their careers.
Naturalism and Impressionism
Origins
Jules Bastien-Lepage 1875-81
Jules Bastien-Lepage 1882-84
Marie Bashkirtseff
Spread
Science and medicine
The modern meal
Urban poverty
Education
Photography
Into the 20th century
Sorolla and Zorn
Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848–1884)
Most prominent of the Naturalist painters until his early death in 1884, his Haymakers (1877) is a pioneering composition, with its high horizon and fine detail in the foreground. Together these give the impression that the whole canvas is meticulously realist, although in fact much of its surface consists of visible brushstrokes and other painterly marks. At the same time its deep recession and broad inclusion of land gives it the illusion of a wide-angle panorama, enhancing the exhaustion and desolation of its figures.
Articles:
Jules Bastien-Lepage 1875-81
Jules Bastien-Lepage 1882-84
Marie Bashkirtseff (1858–1884)
Bastien-Lepage’s brilliant protégé, A Meeting (1884) led the depiction of the urban poor.
Article:
Marie Bashkirtseff
Léon Augustin Lhermitte (1844–1925)
Previously an established social realist, his Naturalist masterwork is The Harvesters’ Pay from 1882.
Articles:
Commemorating the 100th anniversary of the death of Léon Augustin Lhermitte 1
Commemorating the 100th anniversary of the death of Léon Augustin Lhermitte 2
Fernand Pelez (1848-1913)
Specialised in urban deprivation and poverty.
Article:
Street Urchins: Paintings of Fernand Pelez
Jean-Eugène Buland (1852–1926)
Article:
A Civic Starkness: Paintings of Eugène Buland
Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret (1852–1929)
Articles:
Painting and Photography: the work of Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret 1
Painting and Photography: the work of Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret 2
Henri Gervex (1852–1929)
Article:
Surgery, sinners, and soirées: the paintings of Henri Gervex
Jean Geoffroy (1853-1924)
Specialised in children and schools.
Article:
Commemorating the centenary of the death of Henri Jules Jean Geoffroy, painter of childhood
Émile Friant (1863–1932)
Articles:
The Last Naturalist: Émile Friant, 1
The Last Naturalist: Émile Friant, 2
Gustave Caillebotte (1848–1894)
Although now known as an Impressionist, he also painted in Naturalist style.
Articles:
The Naturalism of Gustave Caillebotte 1
The Naturalism of Gustave Caillebotte 2
Christian Krohg (1852–1925)
A Norwegian social realist and Naturalist.
Articles:
Christian Krohg painting social reality 1: to 1883
Christian Krohg painting social reality 2: 1883-88
Christian Krohg painting social reality 3: 1888-95
Christian Krohg painting social reality 4: 1898-1924
Commemorating the centenary of Christian Krohg’s death
Erik Henningsen (1855–1930)
Danish.
Article:
Erik Henningsen: the thirsty man
Charles Frederic Ulrich (1858–1908)
Born in New York City, trained in the Royal Academy in Munich, Germany.
Antonino Gandolfo (1841–1910)
Italian, from Sicily.
Article:
Down and Out in Catania: paintings of Antonino Gandolfo
Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (1863–1923)
Spanish.
Articles:
Sorolla’s Naturalist paintings 1: Fishermen and white slaves
Sorolla’s Naturalist paintings 2: Science and the sea
Anders Zorn (1860–1920)
Swedish.
Articles:
1: Portraits of success
2: Far places and near death
3: Switching to oils
4: High life and low life
5: Portraits and prints
6: Presidents and Saunas
7: The White House and legacies
Jan van Eyck’s famous double-portrait of the Arnolfini Wedding (1434) introduced mirror-play, but didn’t quite demonstrate its use to extend the scene depicted because of the small size of its reflected image. Surprisingly it appears that four centuries were to pass before reflections became more widely adopted for this purpose, although I’m sure they had already been used for it in interior decoration.
One of the earliest of my examples refers back to the Arnolfini Wedding in its use of a circular and non-planar mirror.
The dates and background to Ford Madox Brown’s unfinished painting Take your Son, Sir! remain unclear. It’s thought that Brown started work on this in 1851, although it shows his second wife Emma with their newborn son. Their first son, Oliver, wasn’t born until 1855, and their second, Arthur, in September 1856, suggesting that he didn’t start this until at least 1855. It’s generally held that this shows not Oliver, who lived until 1874, but Arthur, who died aged ten months in July 1857, at which time Brown abandoned the painting. The detail seen reflected in the mirror is of a contemporary living room and a man, presumably a self-portrait.
A few years before that, William Holman Hunt’s The Awakening Conscience, painted over the period 1851-53, employs the reflection seen in a much larger mirror to add substantial detail to its unresolved narrative. This places the scene in a small if not cramped house in the leafy suburbs of London, in reality Saint John’s Wood, where this couple are clearly in an extra-marital relationship.
Rebecca Solomon’s Appointment (1861) is another early problem picture, with a deliberately open-ended narrative set in an interior. A beautiful woman stands in front of a mirror, and looks intently at a man, who is only seen in his reflection in the mirror, and stands in a doorway behind the viewer’s right shoulder. The woman is dressed to go out, and is holding a letter in her gloved hands.
In 1872 Alfred Stevens’ The Japanese Parisian filled its canvas with the reflection of the face of his model framed by floating flowers, which must be behind the viewer.
Soon after William Holman Hunt had completed his Awakening Conscience above, he started work on another painting using a smaller circular mirror to extend the scene and its reading, Dolce Far Niente, which may have been started as early as 1859 but wasn’t completed until 1875. The reflection in the mirror above the woman’s head shows this to be a domestic scene, with another figure leaning over a large wooden bureau or a dressing-table, perhaps.
So far, these examples have all appeared to conform to optical principles. It was Édouard Manet who challenged those.
His Bar at the Folies-Bergère from 1882 poses the problem of resolving the optically impossible, no matter how you try to read it. This forlorn young woman is serving at the bar in front of her, with what is presumed to be a large mirror behind showing a reflection that doesn’t match its original. Arranged on the bar are assorted bottles of beers and spirits, that on the far left bearing the artist’s signature. According to the reflection, the audience at the Folies-Bergère are watching the show under the light of a huge chandelier.
John William Waterhouse’s Circe Offering the Cup to Odysseus from 1891 develops the circular mirror of the Arnolfini Wedding into a key narrative device. Circe sits on her throne, holding up a krater for Ulysses to drink, with her wand in the other hand. The viewer is Ulysses, seen preparing to draw his sword in the large mirror behind the sorceress. On the left side of the mirror is his ship.
In the closing years of his career, Waterhouse returned with an even larger mirror at the centre of his story.
His “I am Half Sick of Shadows” said the Lady of Shalott (1915) is the third and last of his paintings based on the poem The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809–1892), published in 1833 and 1842. This recounts part of the Arthurian legends, the tragedy of Elaine of Astolat, as retold in an Italian novella from the 1200s from which it draws its title.
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 mustn’t look directly at the outside world, although she can view it using a mirror. Tennyson calls these reflected images ‘shadows of the world’, and this painting depicts the stanza from the poem:
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said
The Lady of Shalott.
The circular image behind her isn’t a window, but a mirror revealing Camelot with its winding river. Although this includes her loom, the castle can’t be real, but one of “the mirror’s magic sights”.
My last example, painted just before the Second World War by Paul Nash, extends this deeper into the unconscious.
Landscape from a Dream (1936-38) was inspired by Freud’s theories of the significance of dreams as reflections of the unconscious. Nash locates this collection of incongruous objects on the Dorset coast, a landscape he associated with the praeternatural. Dominating the scene is a large framed planar mirror, almost parallel with the picture plane.
Stood at the right end of the mirror is a hawk staring at its own reflection, which Nash explained is a symbol of the material world. To the left, the mirror reflects several floating spheres, referring to the soul. The reflection shows that behind the viewer is a red sun setting in a red sky, with another hawk flying high, away from the scene. To the right of the hawk is a five-panelled screen made of glass, through which the coastal landscape can be seen: it’s a screen which doesn’t screen.
Login
