Life-size Sculptures Uncovered in Pompeii Show that Ancient Women Didn’t Just Have to be Wives to Make a Difference

Lifesize sculptures of a woman and man have been discovered in a monumental tomb uncovered outside the gates on the east side of Pompeii. 

By Emily Hauser, University of Exeter

Visitors to the site of Pompeii, the ancient Roman town buried (and so preserved for thousands of years) by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD, don’t often think to look beyond the city walls. And it’s easy to understand why: there’s plenty on offer within this monumentally well-preserved town, from jewel-like wall paintings of myths and legends like Helen of Troy, to the majestic amphitheatre and sumptuously stuccoed baths.

But step outside the gates for a moment, and you’re in a very different – yet no less important – world.

For the ancient Romans, the roads and paths leading into and out of cities were crucial: not just for getting places, but as a very real kind of “memory lane”. Tombs lined these ancient byways – some simply bearing inscriptions to the memories of loved ones lost, others, more grand, accommodating space for friends and family to feast in remembrance of the dead.

Some of the tombs even address the passerby directly, as if its occupant could speak again, and pass on what they’ve learned. Take one Pompeiian example, set up by the freedman Publius Vesonius Phileros, which opens with ineffable politeness: “Stranger, wait a while if it’s no trouble, and learn what not to do.”

Going into Pompeii, and leaving it, was about being reminded of ways of living and ways of dying – as well as an invitation to tip your hat to those who trod the path before you, and to learn from their example.

Which is why the recent discovery of a monumental tomb crowned by life-size sculptures of a woman and man, just outside the gates on the east side of the town, isn’t just a fascinating find in and of itself. It’s also a reminder to stop, and to remember the people who once lived and died in this bustling Italian town.

The tomb’s main feature is a large wall, peppered with niches where cremated remains would have been placed, and surmounted by the astonishing relief sculpture of the woman and man. They’re standing side by side but not touching.

The woman is taller than the man 

and is draped in a tunic and veil. 

I rather like that she’s slightly taller than him, standing at 1.77m, while he’s 1.75m. She’s draped in a modest tunic, cloak and veil (symbols of Roman womanhood), and boasts a pronounced crescent-moon-shaped pendant at her neck called a lunula, that (through the age-old link with lunar cycles) tells a story about female fertility and birth. He, meanwhile, is dressed in the quintessentially Roman toga that instantly identifies him as a proud male citizen of Rome.

Who do the statues depict?

The status quo in archaeology, when a woman and a man are presented next to each other in tombs and burials like this, has always been to assume that she’s his wife. Yet here, there’s an unmissable clue that there’s more going on. That’s because, in her right hand, she’s holding a laurel branch – which was used by priestesses to waft the smoke of incense and herbs in religious rituals.

Priestesses, in the Roman world, held unusual levels of power for women – and it’s been suggested that this woman might have been a priestess of the goddess Ceres (Roman equivalent of Demeter).

So this high-status priestess is shown alongside a man. The inclusion of the symbols of her status (as priestess) alongside his (as a togatus, or “toga-wearing man”), shows that she’s there in her own right, as a contributing member of Pompeiian society. She might be his mother; she might even have been more important than him (which would explain why she’s taller). Without an inscription, we don’t know for sure. The point is: a woman doesn’t have to be a wife to be standing next to a man.

What’s fascinating is this isn’t unique to Pompeii. In my new book, Mythica, which looks at the women not of Rome but of Bronze age Greece, I’ve found that new discoveries in archaeology are overturning the assumptions that used to be made about a woman’s place in society, and the value of their roles, all the time.

One fascinating example is a royal burial in Late Bronze Age Mycenae: a woman and a man who’d been buried together in the royal necropolis, around 1700 years before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius decimated Pompeii. As is typical, this woman was immediately labelled, by the archaeologists who uncovered her, as the man’s wife. But then DNA analysis came into the picture.

As recently as 2008, both skeletons were sampled for DNA – and came up with the game-changing result that they were, in fact, brother and sister. She’d been buried here as a member of a royal family by birth, not by marriage, in other words. She was there on her own terms.

From golden Mycenae to the ash-blasted ruins of Pompeii: the remains from the ancient world are telling us a different story from the one we always thought. A woman didn’t have to be a wife to make a difference.

So I think it’s worth listening to the advice of our friend Publius. Let’s look at the burials of the past, and learn.

Emily Hauser, Senior Lecturer in Classics, University of Exeter

Could Trump be Leading the World into Recession?

Could the turmoil in the financial markets caused by the vicissitudes of US president Donald Trump's economic policy send the world into a recession? 

By Steve Schifferes, City St George's, University of London

Growth forecasts for the US and other advanced economies have been sharply downgraded by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) in the wake of dramatic swings in US president Donald Trump’s economic policy. But could the uncertainty and the turmoil in financial markets eventually be enough to push the world into a recession?

The IMF says that global growth has already been hit by the decline in business and consumer confidence as “major policy shifts” by the US unfold. These are leading to less spending and less investment.

It also predicts further damage from the disruption in global supply chains and inflation caused by tariff increases.

But while the IMF forecasts a sharp reduction in world economic growth in 2025 and 2026, it is not projecting a recession – for now. However, it says the chances of a global recession have risen sharply from 17% to 30%. And there is now a 40% chance of a recession in the US.

The head of the IMF, Kristalina Georgieva, has blamed the slowdown on the ongoing “reboot of the global trading system” by the US. She said this is leading to downgrades in growth estimates, while volatility in financial markets is “up” and trade policy uncertainty is “literally off the charts”.

As part of the IMF forecasts, growth projections for the world’s richest countries in 2025 have been sharply reduced. In the US it is down 0.5% to just 1.8%, while growth in the euro area is projected to be just 0.8%. Japan will be growing by even less at 0.6%. Germany – the EU’s largest economy – is projected to have no growth at all.

And for the UK, growth has been cut by 0.5%, to a very weak 1.1%, which is in line with forecasts from March. This is well below the 2% projected at the time of the last budget in the autumn. And despite the adjustments made in the UK’s spring statement, the downgrade is likely to mean more tax increases, spending cuts, or both.

Some developing countries are doing much better, with India projected to have one of the highest annual GDP growth rates at 6.2% in 2025. Meanwhile, China’s growth forecast has been cut sharply due to the effect of US tariffs. It is now projected by the IMF to be down by 1.3% to just 4%.

Other poorer developing countries will also be negatively affected, but most will continue to grow at a faster pace than major industrial nations.

What the forecast underscores is that the era of rapid globalisation, spurred by trade and integration of financial markets, seems to be coming to an end.

Its rapid spread since the 1950s, which accelerated in the 1980s, led to a huge expansion of the world economy. But it created winners and losers, both between nations and within them.

The Trump administration’s answer to this is massive tariff increases hitting countries that stand accused of “ripping off America”. The tariffs have several contradictory objectives, including raising money pay for tax cuts; acting as a bargaining chip to open foreign markets to American goods; and encouraging manufacturers to relocate to the US.

Trump has swung between these objectives, and backed down when market reaction became too fierce. These swings have destabilised trade and investment, as well as business and consumer confidence.

Tariffs do not change the fact that many countries can produce the goods Americans want, more cheaply and often more efficiently. And the looming trade war could mean US exporters are hit with retaliatory tariffs, making it even harder to sell American goods abroad.

The inflationary effect of tariffs – raising the price of imported goods – could reverse the recent successes of central banks in taming inflation. It could even force them to raise interest rates – something Trump is fiercely against.

A more immediate effect of Trump’s erratic policy-making has been turmoil in financial markets. The US stock market has fallen sharply since Trump announced his tariff plan, currently down by nearly 15% (a loss of more than US$4 trillion (£2.99 trillion) for shareholders).

This matters for the US economy, as most Americans depend on their stock market holdings to pay for their defined-contribution pensions. But even more worrying is the effect on the US Treasury bond market, which has been a safe haven in times of trouble. Foreign investors are now shunning US bonds, driving up interest rates for US government debt and unsettling financial institutions.

Added to the problem is the sharp drop in the value of the US dollar. Trump says he wants a weaker dollar, presumably to make US exports cheaper. But it also raises the price of imported goods and could fuel inflation. Ultimately, it could threaten the role of the US dollar as the world’s reserve currency.

Potentially, big swings in normally steady financial markets can presage some of the same wobbles that led to the global financial crisis of 2008. That crisis threatened the solvency of the global financial system – although we have not reached that point yet.

Winners and losers

So what is the most likely outcome of the trade war, and the loss of a single hegemonic economic power? One example is what happened when Britain lost its dominant role in manufacturing and finance after the first world war.

Attempts at rebuilding a global economic order failed, and other major countries (led by Germany and the US) reverted to autarky, stepping back from the international trading system and worsening the Depression of the 1930s.

Just as Trump is trying to do, countries reverted to competitive devaluations. Each tried to make its exports cheaper than those of its rivals, ultimately to no avail. The world was divided into rival trading blocs, and it is conceivable that the US, the EU and China could form three such blocs in future.

The last financial crisis, in 2008, was mitigated by prompt and cooperative action by central banks and governments. They injected trillions to stabilise the financial sector, but even now the damaging effects of this crisis on national growth rates is plain to see.

The IMF has made it clear that it is not just the detail of the tariffs, but erratic US economic policy, that is the main culprit for the potential recession. The rising cost of servicing US debt as investors lose confidence is also raising the cost of the large public debts of other advanced economies, including the UK. This puts more pressure on public spending.

Let’s hope that whatever the turmoil, we will not be repeating the mistakes of the past.

Steve Schifferes, Honorary Research Fellow, City Political Economy Research Centre, City St George's, University of London

How Will a New Pope be Chosen in Rome? An Expert Explains the Conclave

Pope Francis leaves the Sistine Chapel after being elected pope and shortly before appearing for the first time on the central balcony of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican in March 2013. CNS/L'Osservatore Romano

By Darius von Guttner Sporzynski

Following the death of Pope Francis, we’ll soon be seeing a new leader in the Vatican. The conclave – a strictly confidential gathering of Roman Catholic cardinals – is due to meet in a matter of weeks to elect a new earthly head.

The word conclave is derived from the Latin con (together) and clāvis (key). It means “a locked room” or “chamber”, reflecting its historical use to describe the locked gathering of cardinals to elect a pope.

Held in the Sistine Chapel, the meeting follows a centuries-old process designed to ensure secrecy and prayerful deliberation. A two-thirds majority vote will be needed to successfully elect the 267th pope.

History of the conclave

The formalised papal conclave dates back centuries. And various popes have shaped the process in response to the church’s needs.

In the 13th century, for example, Pope Gregory X introduced strict regulations to prevent unduly long elections.

Pope Gregory X brought in the rules to prevent a repeat of his own experience. The conclave that elected him in September 1271 (following the death of Pope Clement IV in 1268) lasted almost three years.

Further adjustments were made to streamline the process and emphasise secrecy, culminating in Pope John Paul II’s 1996 constitution, Universi Dominici gregis (The Lord’s whole flock). This document set the modern framework for the conclave.

In 2007 and 2013, Benedict XVI reiterated that a two-thirds majority of written votes would be required to elect a new pope. He also reaffirmed penalties for breaches of secrecy.

The secrecy surrounding the conclave ensures the casting of ballots remains confidential, and without any external interference.

The last known attempt at external interference in a papal conclave occurred in 1903 when Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria sought to prevent the election of Cardinal Mariano Rampolla. However, the assembled cardinals rejected this intervention, asserting the independence of the electoral process.

How does voting work?

The conclave formally begins between 15 and 20 days after the papal vacancy, but can start earlier if all cardinals eligible to vote have arrived. Logistical details, such as the funeral rites for the deceased pope, can also influence the overall timeline.

Historically, the exact number of votes required to elect a new pope has fluctuated. Under current rules, a minimum two-thirds majority is needed. If multiple rounds of balloting fail to yield a result, the process can continue for days, or even weeks.

After every few inconclusive rounds, cardinals pause for prayer and reflection. This process continues until one candidate receives the two-thirds majority required to win. The final candidates do not vote for themselves in the decisive round.

The ballot paper formerly used in the conclave, with ‘I elect as Supreme Pontiff’ written in Latin. Wikimedia Commons

How is voting kept secret?

The papal conclave is entirely closed to the public. Voting is conducted by secret ballot within the Sistine Chapel in the Apostolic Palace, the pope’s official residence.

During the conclave, the Sistine Chapel is sealed off from outside communication. No cameras are allowed, and there is no live broadcast.

The cardinals involved swear an oath of absolute secrecy, and face the threat of excommunication if it is violated. This ensures all discussions and voting remain strictly confidential.

The iconic white smoke, produced by burning ballots once a pope has been chosen, is the only public signal that the election has concluded.

Who can be elected?

Only cardinals who are under 80 years of age at the time of conclave’s commencement can vote. Older cardinals are free to attend preparatory meetings, but can not cast ballots.

While the total number of electors is intended to not exceed 120, the fluctuating nature of cardinal appointments, as well as age restrictions, make it difficult to predict the exact number of eligible voters at any given conclave.

Technically, any baptised Catholic man can be elected pope. In practice, however, the College of Cardinals traditionally chooses one of its own members. Electing an “outsider” is extremely rare, and has not occurred in modern times.

What makes a good candidate?

When faced with criticism from a member of the public about his weight, John XXIII (who was pope from 1958-1963) retorted the papal conclave was “not a exactly beauty contest”.

Merit, theological understanding, administrative skill and global perspective matter greatly. But there is also a collegial element – something of a “popularity” factor. It is an election, after all.

Cardinals discuss the church’s current priorities – be they evangelisation strategies, administrative reforms or pastoral concerns – before settling on the individual they believe is best suited to lead.

The cardinal electors seek someone who can unify the faithful, navigate modern challenges and maintain doctrinal continuity.

Controversies and criticisms

The conclave process has faced criticism for its strict secrecy, which can foster speculation about potential “politicking”.

Critics argue a tightly controlled environment might not reflect the broader concerns of the global church.

Some have also questioned whether age limits on voting cardinals limit the wisdom and experience found among older members.

Nonetheless, defenders maintain that secrecy encourages free and sincere deliberation, minimising external pressure and allowing cardinals to choose the best leader without fear of reprisal, or of public opinion swaying the vote.

Challenges facing the new pope

The next pope will inherit a mixed situation: a church that has grown stronger in certain areas under Francis, yet which grapples with internal divisions and external challenges.

Like other religions, the church faces secularisation, issues with financial transparency and a waning following in some parts of the globe.

One of the earliest trials faced by the new pope will be unifying the global Catholic community around a shared vision – an obstacle almost every pope has faced. Striking the right balance between doctrine and pastoral sensitivity remains crucial.

Addressing sexual abuse scandals and their aftermath will require decisive action, transparency and continued pastoral care for survivors.

Practical concerns also loom large. The new pope will have to manage the Vatican bureaucracy and interfaith relations, while maintaining the church’s stance on global crises such as migration and poverty – two issues on which Francis insisted mercy could not be optional.

The cardinal electors have a tough decision ahead of them. The Catholic community can only pray that, through their deliberations, they identify a shepherd who can guide the church through the complexities of the modern world.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Historian, Australian Catholic Universit

Pagan Loaves, Christian Bread, a Secular Treat: a Brief History of Hot Cross Buns

Ancient Greeks baked small round loaves marked with crosses to honour their gods. Early Christians made a cross to show their devotion on bread. Pagan Saxons worshipped a spring goddess called Eostre, which gave us the English word for Easter. 

By Darius von Guttner Sporzynski

Hot cross buns aren’t just a sweet snack that appear at Easter. They carry centuries of storytelling in their dough. From ancient gods to modern supermarkets, these sticky spiced buns have crossed many borders and beliefs.

Today, you can buy them in all kinds of flavours. But their story is far richer than chocolate chips and salted caramel.

Ancient beginnings

In some ancient cultures, bread was more than just food. It was a symbol of faith. Ancient Greeks baked small round loaves marked with crosses to honour their gods. According to some historians, these marks could represent the four seasons or four phases of the moon.

Jewish people have also shared special bread during holy times like Passover, and scholars have debated whether these customs influenced early Christian bread traditions.

Pagan Saxons worshipped a spring goddess named Eostre. They baked bread during springtime festivals to celebrate new life and longer days. The name “Eostre” is where we get the English word “Easter”. Over time, some of these springtime bread traditions blended with Christian customs.

From Pagan loaves to Christian buns

Early Christians started marking bread with a cross to show their devotion and ate it throughout the year.

They believed the cross kept away evil spirits and helped the dough rise. Over time, the Christian view of the bread marked with the cross shifted to focus on Jesus’ crucifixion and became associated with Easter.

Baking bread as illustrated in the 16th century Book of Hours. Getty

By the Middle Ages, many bakers only kept the cross on Good Friday bread.

According to popular tales, one 12th-century English monk made spiced buns marked with a cross on Good Friday, because that day is the “Day of the Cross”.

Monks often used spices to show the day was special. These spiced buns helped people remember the crucifixion of Christ and the spices used in his burial.

In 1592, Queen Elizabeth I restricted the sale of spiced bread and buns, perhaps because of religious tensions. England had broken away from the Catholic Church, and new Church of England officials worried that “holy” buns looked too much like Catholic superstition. Others say it was an issue of bread prices and profits. Then again maybe they were just too special for just everyday.

Under these laws, commercial bakers could only make spiced bread on Christmas, Easter and for funerals.

Good Friday and magic buns

By the 18th century, English street vendors sold “hot cross buns” on Good Friday. We even see an old rhyme about them in Poor Robin’s Almanac in 1733, which says:

Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs,
With one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns.

Soon, people believed these Good Friday buns had magical powers. Some hung them from kitchen rafters, believing they would never go mouldy. They kept them for protection against evil or illness. If someone felt sick, they crumbled part of an old hot cross bun into water, hoping it would cure them. Others placed buns in their grain stores to keep pests away.

These beliefs might sound odd today, but they were part of daily life for many.

This hand-coloured etching from 1799 shows a woman selling hot cross buns in London. The Metropolitan Museum of Art

In Victorian England, people exchanged hot cross buns with friends on Good Friday and said, “Half for you and half for me, between us two good luck shall be”.

Whatever ancient superstition the cross once warded off, today it’s the flavour roulette that keeps us coming back. Proof that tradition now serves taste, not fear.

An enduring symbol

Traditional buns contain dried fruit and spices like cinnamon and nutmeg, but many modern versions swap sultanas for chocolate chips or add flavours like salted caramel, orange – or even Vegemite and cheese. They have become a secular treat. Yet the crisscross pattern remains on top, hinting at the Christian origins.

When you smell a fresh batch of these buns, you’re sharing an experience people enjoyed centuries ago. Ancient Egyptians, Greeks, Poles, Romans, Saxons, medieval monks and 18th-century street sellers all had their versions of spiced, crossed bread. Each group gave the buns its own meaning, from honouring gods to celebrating Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection.

A woman giving hot cross buns to two children, in an illustration from 1899. British Library

Eating hot cross buns at Easter also shows how traditions change with each generation. At first, they were hard to find outside Good Friday. Now, you might see them in shops just after New Year’s. They once symbolised pagan festivals, then moved into Christian rites, survived royal bans, and sailed through waves of superstition. Yet they remain a symbol of Easter in Australia and around the world.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Historian, Australian Catholic University

Glowing Up: How Lee Broom Created the Cascade Collection with Spanish Porcelain House Lladró

At Milan Design Week, British designer Lee Broom at his installation launching a new lighting collection. 

One of the highlights of this year's Salone del Mobile in Milan, amid the vast halls of Euroluce where LEDs blink, gleam, and dazzle, was a quieter, more immersive installation that stopped visitors in their tracks. A hush emanated from a mirrored space where porcelain lanterns glowed. There, British designer Lee Broom unveiled Cascade, his latest lighting collection and his first collaboration with Spanish porcelain house Lladró, writes Antonio Visconti

The designer visited Lladro's

porcelain works in Valencia,

to oversee the creation of the 

new lights.

LEE BROOM, celebrated for his theatrical, often high-drama approach to lighting design, doesn't shy away from spectacle. His past Milan presentations have included moving installations, immersive soundtracks, and surreal, crystalline displays. Yet the new design for the Cascade lights, signal a turn toward a more contemplative, almost meditative approach.

"When Lladró asked me to collaborate on a collection, I wanted to explore how light emanates through porcelain and how I could interpret this in a way that was reminiscent of paper lanterns illuminated by candlelight," explains the designer.  

"Having explored the use of mirrors with many of my installations, for the Lladró Euroluce presentation I decided to revisit the idea of optical illusion to create a cascade of lanterns in a joyous moment of light.”

The collection is composed of three pendant shapes and a compact table lamp, all handcrafted in Lladró’s workshops in Valencia, Spain. The pieces draw inspiration from traditional paper lanterns, those humble and enduring icons of festivity, memory, and ritual, particularly in East and Southeast Asia.

"I wanted the light to evoke an emotional response and bring that sense of joy as lanterns do at commemorative events, especially when hung in clusters,” Broom said.

The lantern references are subtle, filtered through Broom’s signature lens of geometry and proportion. The forms are pared down: spherical and cylindrical volumes rendered in matte white porcelain. The glow is internal and warm, reminiscent not of modern lighting but of candlelight. 

"I wanted to explore how light emanates through porcelain and how I could interpret this in a way that was reminiscent of paper lanterns illuminated by candlelight."

Lee Broom holds the new porcelain

lamps that when strung together

 form a "cascade" of light. 

The decision to work in porcelain ~ a notoriously delicate and temperamental medium ~ was not taken lightly.  The British designer has not worked with the material before, and he found it quite different to glass and metal. Porcelain changes in the kiln and as it dries so there is element of unpredictability and imperfection.

Porcelain, particularly unglazed, also takes light differently. It absorbs, diffuses, and softens it, rather than reflecting or amplifying. For Broom, who often works with reflective materials, this posed a creative and technical challenge. 

The pieces had to emit light evenly while maintaining structural integrity. To achieve the desired effect, Lladró’s artisans used precise layering techniques and complex internal LED configurations to maintain both warmth and consistency.

Broom’s approach to product design is often inspired from his early background in fashion and theatre. His Milan installations have become something of a cult draw, each year more ambitious in scope. From his famously recreated brutalist church interior in a Milanese courtyard to a dreamlike mirrored labyrinth punctuated by celestial forms.

But Cascade avoids overt narrative. Instead, the installation with mirrored walls and ceiling conjured an infinity of floating lanterns. The effect was all enveloping and yet tranquil. Visitors paused, phones momentarily forgotten, drawn into the experience.

The ability to shift tone so deftly speaks to Broom’s confidence as a designer. Rather than repeating a signature look, he has chosen to experiment with material and mood. It is not, he insists, a pivot away from his aesthetic roots, but an expansion. Not everything has to be bold to command attention.

"For the Lladró Euroluce presentation I decided to revisit the idea of optical illusion to create a cascade of lanterns in a joyous moment.”

While the pendant lights are designed

to be modular, there is also a compact

moon-like table lamp that casts a warm

glow on its surroundings. 

Beyond its poetic presence, Cascade also reveals a strategic versatility. The pendant lights are designed to be modular, allowing users to build vertical compositions of varying lengths, a nod to the way traditional lanterns are often strung together in sequences. 

The table lamp, portable and compact, brings the same ethereal glow to smaller spaces, suggesting a range of domestic and hospitality applications.

This flexibility is intentional. While the design is rooted in craft, it is also made with contemporary living in mind. The lights are powered by low-energy LED technology, and the modular system allows for customization. 

Yet what sets the design of Cascade apart from other modular lighting systems is its emotional dimension. The lights are not just fixtures but have a certain presence. Whether in clusters or standing alone, they seem to hum with a quiet life of their own.

Lladró, founded in 1953, has been undergoing a subtle reinvention in recent years. Known for its elaborate porcelain figurines and classical style, the brand has increasingly turned toward lighting and contemporary design collaborations to broaden its relevance. Previous partnerships with designers such as Marcel Wanders hinted at this new direction, and Cascade is part of the realignment.

The designer visited the Valencia factory during the development process, observing traditional techniques, experimenting with forms, and pushing the boundaries of what porcelain could achieve.

The pendant designs allow users to build

their own vertical compositions of light. 

Indeed, much of the success the new design stems from the genuine creative exchange between designer and maker. 

Broom visited Lladró’s factory during the development process, observing traditional techniques, experimenting with forms, and pushing the boundaries of what porcelain could achieve.

As Milan Design Week drew to a close, the design press began compiling its lists of highlights: the flashiest tech, the boldest forms, the most photographed rooms. 

Yet Cascade lingered in memory for different reasons. It didn’t demand attention but rather invited reflection.

In a cultural moment oversaturated with image and immediacy, Broom's porcelain lamps feel like a pause button. A whisper rather than a headline. And in the context of Milan ~ where bigger often means better ~ that restraint might just be its boldest gesture.

 

Siena: The Rise of Painting 1300-1350 at London's National Gallery is a Remarkable Achievement

Duccio Maesta - Panels 1308-11, Christ and the Woman of Samaria. Tempera and gold on panel. Museo Thyssen Bornemisza, Madrid (133 (1971.7). © Copyright Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid

By Louise Bourdua, University of Warwick

Simone Martini, The Angel Gabriel, 

about 1326-34, Tempera on poplar.

Collection KMSKA - Flemish Community

Photograph: Hugo Maertens

I had been looking forward to the National Gallery’s exhibition Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300-1350 for several reasons. 

First, it was many years in the making. Its curator, Professor Emerita Joanna Cannon of the Courtauld Institute of Art, had been working on it for a decade or so. Duccio, one of the exhibition’s featured artists and one of the greatest Italian painters of the middle ages, had a major show in Siena in 2003. Another featured artist, Ambrogio Lorenzetti, had a smaller exhibition in the same city in 2017.

Second, the National Gallery’s late medieval Italian paintings had not been seen for two years because of the refurbishment of the Sainsbury Wing. That is, except for a select few displayed in an excellent exhibition on Saint Francis of Assisi in 2023.

Last, there was the publicity generated by the Metropolitan Museum’s iteration of this show – complete with a tantalising video tour by two of its curators.

The National Gallery’s take on the most exciting 50 years of Siena’s artistic production makes the most of its ground floor gallery rooms, enabling conversations between objects and medium.

The exhibition is a remarkable achievement: a pleasure for the eye and commendable for its ability to make medieval religious art accessible.

Britain’s love affair with Sienese painting is well documented from the late 19th century at least. But this exhibition focuses on much more than the celebrated four painters – Duccio, Simone Martini and Ambrogio Lorenzetti and his brother Pietro.

The wealth of Siena’s visual culture is represented with illuminated manuscripts; sculptures in marble, ivory, terracotta and walnut; reliquaries (containers for holy relics) and croziers (hooked staves) made from gold and enamel; and rugs and silks.

Simone Martini, The Way to Calvary. 

Tempera on poplar. Musee du Louvre, 

Département des Peintures, Paris.

 (INV 670 bis) RMN Grand Palais

Musee du Louvre/Gerard Blot

Panels with protagonists painted in bright reds, blues, pinks and greens with tiny brushstrokes using pigments mixed with egg on gilded backgrounds abound. But there are also frescoes, detached from their original mural setting, yet able to tell the story of their making and meaning.

Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s Annunciation (1344) is defined only by lines brushed on wet plaster using a red pigment (sinoper). This was a common initial step to set the composition, over which another layer of plaster would be applied again with contours painted but now filled with colour.

In another room, a beautifully modelled painted head of Jesus split into two, carved by Lando di Pietro (1338), is all that remains of a larger crucifix after bombing by allies in the second world war. It is the only known work of the sculptor. He was identified by the personal handwritten prayers concealed within the sculpture, which are displayed next to it.

The showstoppers

The curators have managed to do what could not be achieved in Siena in 2003: bring Duccio’s three triptychs into a single venue. The first two are shown just a few metres apart, to enable comparison and close viewing of all sides. Their painted backs and the geometric motifs behind their folding wings enable us to understand them as three-dimensional, portable objects.

The Crucifixion triptych, bought by Prince Albert in 1845 and lent to the exhibition by King Charles, is not too far from the pair, inviting comparison.

Duccio’s Healing of the Man Born Blind finds itself reunited with seven of its companions for the first time since 1777. This is the closest reconstruction we’ll ever get of the back predella (a box-like shelf with images that supported the main panels) of Siena cathedral’s enormous double-sided high altarpiece (known as the Maestà), which was carried in procession through the city streets in 1311.

Originally painted on a massive horizontal poplar plank, the individual episodes depicting Jesus’s ministry were sold on the art market in the 19th century and dispersed across two continents. A ninth panel which probably started the narrative has never been found, although you wouldn’t know it from this display.

Duccio, Triptych with the Crucifixion, Saint Nicolas, 

Saint Clement and the Redeemer with Angels, 1311-18,

Tempera and gold on wood. Museum of Fine Arts

Boston. Grant Walker and Charles Potter Kling

Funds (45.880). 

Nothing can distract from close viewing – you’ll want to enjoy it for as long as you can stand. This privileged view is unusual in an exhibition and possibly comes close to that enjoyed by the clergy during processions or pilgrimages in Siena cathedral. A photo montage of the reconstructed altarpiece is tiny and displayed on the wall opposite the reconstructed predella, alongside the panels originally on the front predella.

The other showstopper is Pietro Lorenzetti’s altarpiece. It’s usually on the high altar of the church of Santa Maria della Pieve in Arezzo, but has been lent by the diocese and placed on a low plinth. This allows us to imagine just how immense Duccio’s Maestà must have been.

This altarpiece represents the most popular formula created in early 14th-century Siena. These were large polyptychs of five (or seven) vertical panels usually displaying the virgin and child in the centre, surrounded by saints relevant to the locality and patrons.

The Arezzo polyptych is approximately three metres in height and width, with three registers but has lost its predella, having been dismantled and relocated several times. The type was so popular that it, and the Sienese painters who created it, were in demand throughout Tuscany and beyond.

Each of the objects displayed in this exhibition merits a long look. Since there are over 100, my last reflection will be on another extraordinary reunion: a small gilded glass icon depicting once again the virgin, child and saints above the Annunciation (1347). Its double-sided reliquary frame still contains 17 relics.

It’s conceived as a miniature altarpiece, imitating the basic shape of the larger Sienese altarpieces on display. It also uses the same materials in addition to glass that has been gilded, incised and painted in red, blue and green.

Such precious materials and meticulous craft testify to the richness of Sienese art during the first half of the 14th century.

Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300-1350 is at the National Gallery until June 22.

Louise Bourdua, Professor of Art History, University of Warwick

Trump Thinks Tariffs Can Bring Back the Glory Days of US Manufacturing. Here’s Why He’s Wrong

President Trump is mistaken if he believes that tariffs will bring a new golden age of manufacturing.

By James Scott, King's College London

The “liberation day” tariffs announced by US president Donald Trump have one thing in common – they are being applied to goods only. Trade in services between the US and its partners is not affected. This is the perfect example of Trump’s peculiar focus on trade in goods and, by extension, his nostalgic but outdated obsession with manufacturing.

The fallout from liberation day continues, with markets down around the world. The decision to apply tariffs on a country-by-country basis means that rules about where a product is deemed to come from are now of central importance.

The stakes for getting it wrong could be high. Trump has threatened that anyone seeking to avoid tariffs by shifting the supposed origin of a product to a country with lower rates could face a ten-year jail term.

The White House initially refused to specify how it came up with the tariff levels. But it appears that each country’s rate was arrived at by taking the US goods trade deficit with that country, dividing it by the value of that country’s goods exports to the US and then halving it, with 10% set as the minimum.

It has been noted that this is effectively the approach suggested by AI platforms like ChatGPT, Claude and Grok when asked how to create “an even playing field”.

Economically, Trump’s fixation on goods makes no sense. This view is not unique to the president (though he feels it unusually strongly). There is a broader fetishisation of manufacturing in many countries. One theory is that it is potentially ingrained in human thinking by pre-historic experiences of finding food, fuel and shelter dominating all other activities.

But for Trump, the thinking is likely related to a combination of nostalgia for a bygone (somewhat imagined) age of manufacturing, and concern over the loss of quality jobs that provide a solid standard of living for blue collar workers – a core part of his political base.

Nostalgia is not a sensible basis for forming economic policy. But the role emotions play in international affairs has been receiving more attention. It has been identified as an “emotional turn” (where the importance of emotion is recognised) in the discipline of international relations.

Of course, that’s not to say that the concern over jobs and the unequal effects of globalisation is misplaced. It is clear that blue-collar workers have suffered in the US (and elsewhere) for the last 40 to 50 years, with governments paying little attention to the decline.

Many blue-collar workers, like these GM car plant employees in Missouri, have paid a high price for globalisation. Jon Rehg/Shutterstock

Data on weekly earnings in the US split by educational level show that wages for those without a degree have declined or stagnated since around 1973, particularly among men. This is the cohort that disproportionately voted for Trump. Globalisation has created many benefits, not least to the United States, but these tend to be concentrated among the better educated.

All too often the service-sector jobs that have filled the gap left by declining manufacturing have been precarious. That means low wages, low security, lack of union representation and few opportunities for moving up the ladder. It is unsurprising that there has been a backlash.

Can’t turn back the clock

So will Trump’s tariffs plan address this? The great tragedy is that there is little reason to think that they will.

The loss of manufacturing jobs is partly about globalisation, which Trump is seeking to reverse. But research shows that trade and globalisation are often more of a scapegoat than a driving force, responsible for only a small chunk of job losses (typically said to be about 10%).

The main cause of manufacturing’s decline is rising productivity. Today it simply requires fewer people to make goods due to the relentless increase in automation and the associated rise in how much each worker produces.

If the whole US trade deficit were rebalanced through expanding domestic industries, this would increase the share of manufacturing employment within the US by about one percentage point, from about 8% today to 9% according to US Bureau of Labor Statistics figures. This is not going to be transformative.

The effects of tariffs are also doubled-edged. They will probably shift some manufacturing back to the US – but this could be self-defeating. More US steel production is good for workers, but the higher cost of US steel feeds through to higher prices for the products manufactured with it.

This includes the cars Trump obsesses about. Less competitive prices means lower exports and a loss of jobs. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

The 1950s were a unique time. By the end of the second world war, the US was a manufacturing powerhouse, accounting for one third of the world’s exports while taking only around a tenth of its imports.

There were few other industrialised countries at the time, and these had been flattened by the war. The US alone had avoided this, creating a world of massive demand for US exports since nowhere else had a significant manufacturing base. That was never going to last forever.

The other point about that time in history is that the economic system had been shaped by colonialism. European powers had used their position of power to prevent the rest of the world from industrialising. As those empires were dismantled and the shackles came off, those newly independent countries began their own processes of industrialisation.

As for the US today, President Trump is mistaken if he really believes that tariffs will bring a new golden age of manufacturing. The world has changed.

James Scott, Reader in International Politics, King's College London