120-year-old Child from company of Parisian stuffed lay figures among figures to undergo CT scans in Cambridge
A François-Pierre Guillois skeleton from the late 18th century© Fitzwilliam Museum, CambridgeScientists and curators in Cambridge say CT scans on two 19th century mannequins, taken from some of the earliest attempts to recreate the human body, have revealed hidden damage including a fractured left knee joint during a hospital project which could help in the treatment of artificial human body parts.
Child no.98 – a “high quality” 19th century Parisian stuffed lay figure – and an 18th century, largely wood mannequin once owned by Walter Sickert, of Bath Spa University, were examined by radiologists at Addrenbrooke’s Hospital as part of a bid by the Fitzwilliam Museum to delve deeper into the truth behind four conservation stories in the current Silent Partners exhibition.
“The mannequins contain both natural materials and worked metals,” said Dr Tom Turmezei, observing an “interesting human analogue” to the findings.
“Humans are getting more and more artificial metal parts in their bodies – for example in joint replacements, clips and plates.
“When these are scanned with the CT machine it creates a starburst effect in the final image, called an artifact.
“This bright white flare-like trace obscures details in the surrounding tissue. Clinically this can be a big problem as it can make it difficult to perceive both damage to the metal part and any disease in the tissue around it, such as an abscess, blood clot or tumour.
“As we are moving towards more metallic, electronic and even robotic body parts, being able to reduce the artifact in the scan is ever more important.”
Metal Deletion Technique software was used to judge the effectiveness of the algorithm in reducing the artifact.
“Looking at these mannequins you can see the incredible drive to create a more accurate model of the human body and the developments that happened to allow this to take place,” said Dr Turmezei.
“The Bath Spa model is mostly wood. By the time Child no.98 was made they had moved to a wooden skeleton and metal joinery, padded out with horse hair and hessian.
“A great deal of effort was taken to give Child no.98 as accurate anatomy as possible.
“The body has padding inside for flank and abdominal muscles. There is padded material inside the chest to make lungs, a belly button and even glass beads under the chest ‘skin’ for nipples.”
The origins of artist’s mannequins were often overshadowed by their use as tools in creative studios. Previously unnoticed damage was found within the “internal workings” of the figures, with the Bath Spa mannequin suffering a fractured knee joint.
A 68-centimetre tall figure from the Museum of London, once owned by the 18th century sculptor Louis-François Roubiliac, was also found to possess an internal “skeleton" made of iron, bronze and brass, while a 19th century mannequin left by the artist Alan Beeton had tattered fingers and a broken nose.
“The purpose of doing these scans was art historical – to discover their material composition and construction in a non-invasive way and confirm suspicions art historians had about these objects,” said Dr Turmezei.
The story of the four mannequins will be discussed in an event, Mannequins with x-ray Vision, at the museum on October 28. Tickets £6, email education@fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk to book. Silent Partners: Artist and Mannequin from Function to Fetish is at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge until January 25 2015.
The mannequins
Lay figure, Child no. 98 (mid-19th century). Unknown maker (French). Photographed in the exhibition Silent Partners© Hamilton Kerr Institute, Fitzwilliam Museum, CambridgeChild no 98 - a mannequin hired by Millais
Child lay figures were very useful for artists, as young sitters could be prone to wriggling and especially difficult to keep still.
For his paintings Sleeping (circa 1865) and Waking (1865), John Everett Millais (1829-1896) used two of his own daughters, Carrie and Mary, as models.
Recent research has revealed that these highly affectionate portraits of his daughters most likely had another child sitter – Child no. 98, a high quality Parisian stuffed mannequin.
From the remaining records of the artists’ supplier, Charles Roberson & Co, we know that Millais hired superior ‘Parisian stuffed’ child lay figures from Roberson’s stock on at least 11 occasions from 1855 to 1895, the year before his death.
Although occasionally keeping the lay figures for periods of up to three or four months, Millais more commonly hired for the minimum period of a four weeks.
Four child figures are preserved in the Roberson Archive, among them no. 98, which was hired by Millais in 1866.
Charles Roberson & Co. was one of London's most successful artists’ suppliers and colourmen. The firm was founded in 1820, but by the end of the 19th century the economic boom years in British art were over, and those trading in artists' materials experienced a recession from which they never fully recovered.
Rentals and purchases of lay figures continued to decline, so that by the 1930s only a few figures lingered in the company’s stock, but were neither hired nor sold for the next half century.
At the firm’s liquidation, in 1987, a small group of lay figures remained among the ledgers, recipe books, brushes and paint: one headless adult, four children with two damaged heads between them and three-and-a half stands.
Among them was Child no. 98, over 120 years old: now a dirty, damaged survivor of Roberson's once-splendid company of Parisian stuffed lay figures.
The remaining Roberson archive of lay figures, artists’ supplies and business records was acquired by the Hamilton Kerr Institute for the conservation of easel paintings, a department of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.
Unknown maker, Lay figure once owned by Walter Sickert (probably late 18th century)© Bath Spa UniversityWalter Sickert’s (and possibly William Hogarth’s) mannequin
This wooden lay figure and came in to the possession of Walter Sickert in 1929.
Its date of manufacture is uncertain, but both its materials and mode of construction - wooden joints and ball sockets with relatively large metal bolts pinning the joints and two halved of the head - seem to suggest it is of 18th-century design.
Compelling comparison can be made with a group of life-size pattern drawings for a mannequin made by a student from the École de Dessin et Mathématique in Reims: astonishing, and possibly unique survivors that reveal the methods and mode of construction of an 18th century figure .
Sickert believed the figure was once owned by William Hogarth (1697-1764). Although there is nothing to substantiate this hypothetical provenance, Sickert would doubtless have been attracted to the idea of using a figure that belonged to so distinguished a predecessor.
The only paintings for which Sickert is known to have used the mannequin, duly wrapped in a shroud by a local undertaker for the purpose, were three versions of The Raising of Lazarus (1929-32), the subject itself inspired by the sight of the lay figure being delivered to his studio.
The mannequin’s carved head, hollow eyes and traces of red paint marking the slash of the mouth gives it a ghoulish, sepulchral appearance that understandably made it a particularly apt stand-in for its painted role.
Unknown maker, Lay figure once owned by Louis-François Roubiliac (1750–62)© Museum of London
Lay figure once belonging to sculptor Louis-François Roubiliac (1695-1762)
This figure is approximately 68cm tall. Recent X-rays and CT scans have shown that it was constructed on the basis of an internal chassis described as a ‘skeleton’ made of iron and copper, or copper alloy.
Louis-François Roubiliac was a French sculptor working in England during the early part of the 18th century. Although the maker of the mannequin’s body is unknown, the finely carved and painted wooden head is of a quality that suggests the hand of Roubliac himself.
With the addition of the appropriate miniature wig (part of the figure’s relatively extensive surviving wardrobe), the figure could be easily re-gendered, and serve to pose for either sex.
The mannequin was one of the few possessions left in Roubiliac’s studio on his death in 1762 and by 1793 it had passed into the ownership of Richard French, a close friend of Horace Walpole.
In a letter to French in October that year, John Wragg, one of the leading lay figure-makers of his day, described the figure as ‘Exceeding good work’, which was likely to have cost Roubiliac as much as he (Wragg) would then charge for a life-size one.
An indication of the materials and construction used in the fabrication of mid-18th century mannequins is provided by two illustrations in the monumental Encyclopaedie, published by Denis Diderot and d’Alembert in1763, which accompanies the text devoted to ‘Le Dessein’ by Claude-Henri Watelet.
CT scans of the Roubiliac figure, carried out by curators and conservators of the Museum of London in collaboration with radiologists at the London Eye Hospital, indicate that the mannequin appears to be closely based on the engravings featured in the Encyclopaedia.
A François-Pierre Guillois skeleton from the late 18th century© Fitzwilliam Museum, CambridgeScientists and curators in Cambridge say CT scans on two 19th century mannequins, taken from some of the earliest attempts to recreate the human body, have revealed hidden damage including a fractured left knee joint during a hospital project which could help in the treatment of artificial human body parts.
Child no.98 – a “high quality” 19th century Parisian stuffed lay figure – and an 18th century, largely wood mannequin once owned by Walter Sickert, of Bath Spa University, were examined by radiologists at Addrenbrooke’s Hospital as part of a bid by the Fitzwilliam Museum to delve deeper into the truth behind four conservation stories in the current Silent Partners exhibition.
“The mannequins contain both natural materials and worked metals,” said Dr Tom Turmezei, observing an “interesting human analogue” to the findings.
“Humans are getting more and more artificial metal parts in their bodies – for example in joint replacements, clips and plates.
“When these are scanned with the CT machine it creates a starburst effect in the final image, called an artifact.
“This bright white flare-like trace obscures details in the surrounding tissue. Clinically this can be a big problem as it can make it difficult to perceive both damage to the metal part and any disease in the tissue around it, such as an abscess, blood clot or tumour.
“As we are moving towards more metallic, electronic and even robotic body parts, being able to reduce the artifact in the scan is ever more important.”
Metal Deletion Technique software was used to judge the effectiveness of the algorithm in reducing the artifact.
“Looking at these mannequins you can see the incredible drive to create a more accurate model of the human body and the developments that happened to allow this to take place,” said Dr Turmezei.
“The Bath Spa model is mostly wood. By the time Child no.98 was made they had moved to a wooden skeleton and metal joinery, padded out with horse hair and hessian.
“A great deal of effort was taken to give Child no.98 as accurate anatomy as possible.
“The body has padding inside for flank and abdominal muscles. There is padded material inside the chest to make lungs, a belly button and even glass beads under the chest ‘skin’ for nipples.”
The origins of artist’s mannequins were often overshadowed by their use as tools in creative studios. Previously unnoticed damage was found within the “internal workings” of the figures, with the Bath Spa mannequin suffering a fractured knee joint.
A 68-centimetre tall figure from the Museum of London, once owned by the 18th century sculptor Louis-François Roubiliac, was also found to possess an internal “skeleton" made of iron, bronze and brass, while a 19th century mannequin left by the artist Alan Beeton had tattered fingers and a broken nose.
“The purpose of doing these scans was art historical – to discover their material composition and construction in a non-invasive way and confirm suspicions art historians had about these objects,” said Dr Turmezei.
The story of the four mannequins will be discussed in an event, Mannequins with x-ray Vision, at the museum on October 28. Tickets £6, email education@fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk to book. Silent Partners: Artist and Mannequin from Function to Fetish is at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge until January 25 2015.
The mannequins
Lay figure, Child no. 98 (mid-19th century). Unknown maker (French). Photographed in the exhibition Silent Partners© Hamilton Kerr Institute, Fitzwilliam Museum, CambridgeChild no 98 - a mannequin hired by Millais
Child lay figures were very useful for artists, as young sitters could be prone to wriggling and especially difficult to keep still.
For his paintings Sleeping (circa 1865) and Waking (1865), John Everett Millais (1829-1896) used two of his own daughters, Carrie and Mary, as models.
Recent research has revealed that these highly affectionate portraits of his daughters most likely had another child sitter – Child no. 98, a high quality Parisian stuffed mannequin.
From the remaining records of the artists’ supplier, Charles Roberson & Co, we know that Millais hired superior ‘Parisian stuffed’ child lay figures from Roberson’s stock on at least 11 occasions from 1855 to 1895, the year before his death.
Although occasionally keeping the lay figures for periods of up to three or four months, Millais more commonly hired for the minimum period of a four weeks.
Four child figures are preserved in the Roberson Archive, among them no. 98, which was hired by Millais in 1866.
Charles Roberson & Co. was one of London's most successful artists’ suppliers and colourmen. The firm was founded in 1820, but by the end of the 19th century the economic boom years in British art were over, and those trading in artists' materials experienced a recession from which they never fully recovered.
Rentals and purchases of lay figures continued to decline, so that by the 1930s only a few figures lingered in the company’s stock, but were neither hired nor sold for the next half century.
At the firm’s liquidation, in 1987, a small group of lay figures remained among the ledgers, recipe books, brushes and paint: one headless adult, four children with two damaged heads between them and three-and-a half stands.
Among them was Child no. 98, over 120 years old: now a dirty, damaged survivor of Roberson's once-splendid company of Parisian stuffed lay figures.
The remaining Roberson archive of lay figures, artists’ supplies and business records was acquired by the Hamilton Kerr Institute for the conservation of easel paintings, a department of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.
Unknown maker, Lay figure once owned by Walter Sickert (probably late 18th century)© Bath Spa UniversityWalter Sickert’s (and possibly William Hogarth’s) mannequin
This wooden lay figure and came in to the possession of Walter Sickert in 1929.
Its date of manufacture is uncertain, but both its materials and mode of construction - wooden joints and ball sockets with relatively large metal bolts pinning the joints and two halved of the head - seem to suggest it is of 18th-century design.
Compelling comparison can be made with a group of life-size pattern drawings for a mannequin made by a student from the École de Dessin et Mathématique in Reims: astonishing, and possibly unique survivors that reveal the methods and mode of construction of an 18th century figure .
Sickert believed the figure was once owned by William Hogarth (1697-1764). Although there is nothing to substantiate this hypothetical provenance, Sickert would doubtless have been attracted to the idea of using a figure that belonged to so distinguished a predecessor.
The only paintings for which Sickert is known to have used the mannequin, duly wrapped in a shroud by a local undertaker for the purpose, were three versions of The Raising of Lazarus (1929-32), the subject itself inspired by the sight of the lay figure being delivered to his studio.
The mannequin’s carved head, hollow eyes and traces of red paint marking the slash of the mouth gives it a ghoulish, sepulchral appearance that understandably made it a particularly apt stand-in for its painted role.
Unknown maker, Lay figure once owned by Louis-François Roubiliac (1750–62)© Museum of London
Lay figure once belonging to sculptor Louis-François Roubiliac (1695-1762)
This figure is approximately 68cm tall. Recent X-rays and CT scans have shown that it was constructed on the basis of an internal chassis described as a ‘skeleton’ made of iron and copper, or copper alloy.
Louis-François Roubiliac was a French sculptor working in England during the early part of the 18th century. Although the maker of the mannequin’s body is unknown, the finely carved and painted wooden head is of a quality that suggests the hand of Roubliac himself.
With the addition of the appropriate miniature wig (part of the figure’s relatively extensive surviving wardrobe), the figure could be easily re-gendered, and serve to pose for either sex.
The mannequin was one of the few possessions left in Roubiliac’s studio on his death in 1762 and by 1793 it had passed into the ownership of Richard French, a close friend of Horace Walpole.
In a letter to French in October that year, John Wragg, one of the leading lay figure-makers of his day, described the figure as ‘Exceeding good work’, which was likely to have cost Roubiliac as much as he (Wragg) would then charge for a life-size one.
An indication of the materials and construction used in the fabrication of mid-18th century mannequins is provided by two illustrations in the monumental Encyclopaedie, published by Denis Diderot and d’Alembert in1763, which accompanies the text devoted to ‘Le Dessein’ by Claude-Henri Watelet.
CT scans of the Roubiliac figure, carried out by curators and conservators of the Museum of London in collaboration with radiologists at the London Eye Hospital, indicate that the mannequin appears to be closely based on the engravings featured in the Encyclopaedia.
fonte: @edisonmariotti #edisonmariotti http://www.culture24.org.uk/history-and-heritage/archaeology/art504331-radiographers-carry-out-scans-on-body-parts-of-19th-century-museum-mannequins
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