Museum Fatigue: A Century-Old Problem
Have you ever stood in an exhibition hall, gazing up at a 2000-year-old sculpture or a priceless painting, and felt… like you wanted to curl up in bed?
If so, you might have experienced something called ‘museum fatigue’. This phenomenon can affect even the most enthusiastic culture buff, and refers to a sense of feeling increasingly overwhelmed and exhausted as you mooch around a museum or gallery.
The term ‘museum fatigue’ was first coined by Benjamin Ives Gilman in 1916. He focused on how the placement of exhibits led to unnecessary physical strain, causing us to tire ourselves out.
But since then, researchers have also come to recognise the mental toll of a museum visit. This stems from a number of factors, including:
Information overload – where the sheer amount of information in a museum gets a bit much. This includes lengthy gallery labels and descriptions, as well as the exhibits themselves!
Object competition – when different exhibits in the same space battle it out for our attention. This prevents us from focusing properly on a single piece and erodes our overall engagement with a museum.
And last but not least, satiation – where we take in a number of similar pieces in a row, causing us to become progressively less interested. (One ancient Greek statue? Fantastic. One hundred? OK, now you’ve lost me.)
Together, these elements can contribute to an acute case of cultural burnout – and more than 100 years on from Benjamin Gilman, museum fatigue doesn’t look like going away.
So, it’s clear that something has to change; that we need a whole new way of approaching museums, and the amazing things in them. Because if we’re getting tired of Da Vinci and Van Gogh – of the Rosetta Stone and the Venus de Milo – then something has gone seriously, seriously wrong!
4 Spanish Restoration Fails
¡Ay, caramba! In art restoration, good intentions don't always lead to good results.1. Anonymous, “Religious Sculptures” (c. 15th century)
A local tobacco shopkeeper took it upon herself to add some flair to the trio of 15th-century wooden sculptures using industrial enamel paint.
“I’m not a professional painter” Maria Luisa Menendez
The sculptures had been professionally restored just 15 years before but the parish priest apparently had given his blessing to the amateur.
2. Unknown, “Saint George” (c. 16th century)
This 500-year-old sculpture of Saint George was turned into a cartoon character after the church hired a local teacher for the job.
Re-restoring it cost $37,000! The church paid for the re-restoration to “somewhat” its original appearance.
3. Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Copy of “The Immaculate Conception of El Escorial” (c. 17th century)
Spanish amateur restoration’s latest victim...
In 2020, an art collector paid $1,200 for a furniture restorer to clean up his copy of The Immaculate Conception of El Escorial.
He Made 2 Attempts. But the restorer only took it from worse to worser.
4. Elías García Martinez, “Ecce Homo (Monkey Christ)” (c. 1930)
Initially suspected as vandalism, the alterations were instead the creation of an 81-year-old parishioner.
“They didn’t let me finish” - Cecilia Giménez
Remarkably, this restoration turned into a notorious attraction, ultimately revitalizing the struggling economy of the small Spanish town. The Sanctuary of Mercy Church in Borja had around 46,000 visits between August and December 2012.
Spanish paintings:
Some voices in Spain are now calling for tighter rules for art restoration...
Nudes with Pubes: Art’s Biggest Controversy
Who knew that a patch of hair covering less than four square inches could spark so much scandal across human history?
Nudity itself has rarely been the issue—it’s that little patch of hair that seems to get everyone talking.
A Brief History of the Bare and the Hairy
In the ancient world, body hair was largely removed. Greek and Roman men might have had some stylised pubic hair in their art, but women? If they appeared nude at all (which was rare), they were usually depicted without a single strand below the neck. Prudish? Perhaps. But by the Middle Ages, a hairless pubis had taken on an entirely different connotation—one tied to prostitution.
To keep things "decent," artists covered up genitals with fig leaves, flowing fabrics, or strategically placed hands. Even classical Greek sculptures, famous for their idealised male physiques, often had their "manhood" modestly veiled. But, of course, there were exceptions. In 1540, German engraver Heinrich Aldegrever gave us a glimpse of Eve with an impressive, centre-parted bush.
Around the same time, Bronzino’s An Allegory with Venus and Cupid (1545) might be the first Western painting to depict female pubic hair… if you squint hard enough.
The Hair Renaissance (or Lack Thereof)
While the Renaissance and Baroque masters mostly kept their nudes bare, artists like Rubens and Rembrandt ensured their figures had at least a wisp of modesty. Then, in 1800, Francisco Goya changed the game with La Maja Desnuda—a nude so unashamed that, yes, you could actually see her pubic hair.
Fast-forward to 1814: Napoleon’s sister commissioned The Sleeper of Naples from Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres and, for once, a female nude was painted with the same hairy detail that men had always received. Unfortunately, the painting was lost, and we only have a 1911 study to go by.
Meanwhile, in Japan, artists like Hokusai were already well ahead in the pubic hair department. His shunga (erotic art) often depicted women with full, natural pubes—a stark contrast to the West, where the mere suggestion of such hair was scandalous. In fact, in Japan, it was shaved pubic hair that was linked to prostitution, a cultural association that still lingers today.
The Victorian Era: A Hairy Scandal
The 19th century was a tumultuous time for pubic hair in art. In 1866, Gustave Courbet painted L’Origine du Monde—a bold, unapologetic celebration of the female form in all its hirsute glory. But the world wasn’t ready. The painting was kept hidden for 122 years before finally being publicly displayed in 1988.
For Victorian-era audiences, the mere sight of pubic hair was considered shocking. Just ask art critic John Ruskin. Legend has it that on his wedding night, he was so horrified by his wife Effie’s natural pubic hair (having only seen hairless statues before) that he fled and never consummated the marriage. The union was annulled a few years later.
The 20th Century: The Return of the Bush (and the Triangle)
By the late 1800s, artists like Van Gogh, Klimt, and Schiele were challenging the norms of beauty and eroticism. Schiele, in particular, painted women in unashamedly provocative poses, complete with wild, untrimmed pubic hair. Klimt’s Nuda Veritas (1899) caused an uproar, while Oskar Kokoschka’s nudes leaned more into the naturalistic than the erotic.
By 1917, the pubic taboo had mostly faded in art. Amedeo Modigliani’s signature elongated figures often included a neatly shaped triangle of hair—perhaps the inspiration for the "Brazilian" trend of today.
Conclusion: Hair Comes and Goes
Throughout history, pubic hair in art has been erased, censored, scandalised, and celebrated. Whether it's hidden behind fig leaves or boldly on display, the way we depict the body reflects cultural attitudes of the time.
So, the next time you see a classical nude, take a closer look—you might just spot a tiny but significant piece of history.
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