This month, the team at The Public Domain Review launched a new project aimed at artists, illustrators, designers, and creatives of all stripes. Containing 10,000+ items, the Public Domain Image Archive is a vast trove of illustrations, prints, scans, and more, all downloadable and free for use.

The database offers a functional search that allows users to sort by artist, time period, style, and theme. For those seeking maximum visual stimulus, there’s also an “Infinite View” option that collates images of all types into a navigatable grid.

Included in the collections are 19th-century drawings that turn maps into farcical figures, vivid fish renderings by Louis Renard, and satirical black-and-white cartoons from the censorship-laden Prohibition era.

Curators plan to add more entries to the database each week, so be sure to check back for updates. And, if you’d like more deep dives into copyright-free works, check out the public domain archive on Colossal.

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For ancient Egyptians, the afterlife—also called Duat, among other names—was a mystical realm overseen by the god Osiris, who personified rebirth and life after death. But entry to Duat was anything but guaranteed; when a person died, their spirit traveled across vast, challenging terrain and deposited them at the Hall of Final Judgment, where their heart was weighed against a feather from Ma’at, the goddess of justice and truth.

In preparation for the afterlife, royals, dignitaries, and the wealthy elite constructed great tombs. The most elaborate among them were painted with ornamental murals that shared one’s accomplishments, packed with artwork and riches to demonstrate each individual’s status and accompany them to Duat.

Expansive ancient necropolises complemented large cities, where society’s upper crust commissioned tombs, temples, and pyramids. For the capital of Memphis, the final resting place was typically Saqqara, which contains some of Egypt’s oldest monuments, some of which date back to the First Dynasty around 5,000 years ago.

Scholars continue to unfurl millennia-old mysteries as archaeological excavations carry on in Saqqara. And sometimes, as researchers from the Mission Archéologique Franco-Suisse de Saqqâra (MAFS) recently found out, marvelous and unexpected discoveries still emerge from the sand.

During the 2024 season, as the team excavated near a mastaba—a large-scale, rectangular, flat-roofed tomb—they discovered a number of smaller burials, including a “kiln” tomb. Also known as “oven” tombs, these burials are “made of raw bricks that are characterized by their vaulted ceiling,” says a statement from MAFS. “They are built several meters below the ground, and the only way to access them is through the burial shaft, always placed to the north of the entrance.”

Typically, kiln tombs are “fairly simple mud brick monuments, sometimes with limestone walls, and even less often decorations,” MAFS says. Today, they are also often empty as a result of looting throughout the centuries. But instead of a basic, unadorned room, the team found vibrant wall paintings commemorating a doctor who died around 4,000 years ago.

Archaeologists uncovered a stone tablet bearing the doctor’s name, Tetinebefou, near the entrance. A stele is a stone slab featuring text, imagery, or both, and in ancient Egypt, a false door stele represented a portal for the deceased’s spirit pass through into the afterlife. As researchers explored farther, the physician’s name was represented in other locations, confirming it to be his tomb.

As reported in Live Science, Tetinebefou was known as a “dean of the palace physicians,” with inscriptions referring to him also as “conjurer of the goddess Serqet,” who was associated with protection from scorpion stings. He was also prescribed the titles of “director of medicinal plants” and “chief dentist,” both of which are unusual designations in ancient Egypt. It’s unclear which pharaoh he may have served, but MAFS’s lead Egyptologist Philippe Collombert suggests Tetinebefou may have worked under Pepi II, who reigned between approximately 2246 and 2152 B.C.E.

Inside the tomb, relief carvings of urns, furniture, hieroglyphs, and garments are complemented by colorful patterns and richly textured ceiling. At some point in the past, the doctor’s tomb had indeed been looted, and only tiny fragments of objects remained. The decorations, however, mark an exceptional discovery.

A documentary slated for 2026, directed by Frédéric Wilner, will take a deeper dive into the details of this excavation. In the meantime, explore more on the MAFS website.

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In late December 2004, at the Republica de la Cromagñon nightclub in Buenos Aires, more than 4,000 fans gathered for a performance by the rock band Los Callejeros. The space was well over the club’s capacity of 1,500, while a number of routes were padlocked or blocked to prevent people from entering without paying.

When a fan shot a flare into the air—something Argentinian fans regularly do at large events—the pyrotechnic ignited the interior’s decor, comprised predominantly of highly flammable materials like styrofoam. The building erupted in a blaze that claimed 194 lives and injured nearly 1,500 more. With few available escape routes, little to no fire mitigation systems, and a packed club, pandemonium broke out at Cromagñon.

The fire quickly turned into one of the most devastating tragedies in Argentinian history. To mark 20 years since the disaster, a stop-motion short titled “LONA” poignantly memorializes the community’s loss. The title refers to “canvas,” like sneakers, and Malena Martinez directed and animated the film.

Focusing on pairs of shoes that dance to cheerful music, the work evokes joyful gatherings with friends to let loose and enjoy a concert. As the camaraderie continues, flowers begin to sprout from inside each sneaker, blossoming into a vibrant reminder of the lives lost in the fire.

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In the wake of World War II panic and paranoia, the U.S. government feared that Japanese Americans would commit acts of sabotage against the nation. Along with some 120,000 Japanese Americans living in the western part of the country, Ruth Asawa (1926-2013) and her family—separated from their father, who was sent to a camp in New Mexico—were uprooted in 1942 and sent to another internment camp hastily organized at the Santa Anita race track in Arcadia, California. There, Asawa and her siblings lived in two horse stalls for five months.

Since Asawa no longer had to work on the farm, she began to fill her days by drawing. “Among the detainees were animators from the Walt Disney Studios, who taught art in the grandstands of the race track,” says the artist’s estate. “In September, the Asawa family was sent by train to an incarceration camp in Rohwer, Arkansas, where Ruth continued to spend most of her free time painting and drawing.” This creative practice would shape the rest of her life.

At David Zwirner in Hong Kong, a new exhibition titled Doing Is Living celebrates Asawa’s renowned wire sculptures (previously) and intimate works on paper. The show marks the first solo presentation of her work in Greater China, focusing on the artist’s connection with the natural world.

“I study nature and a lot of these forms come from observing plants,” Asawa said in a 1995 interview. “I really look at nature, and I just do it as I see it. I draw something on paper. And then I am able to take a wire line and go into the air and define the air without stealing it from anyone.”

Asawa began developing her wire sculptures in the 1940s while a student at Black Mountain College. An experimental liberal arts school nestled in the hills of rural North Carolina, the college was a progressive program designed to shape young people into well-rounded individuals who could think critically as they proceeded into society.

The school centered democratic processes, placing the responsibility for education with the students themselves, who often weighed in on admissions and new faculty selections. Students were expected to contribute to everyday operations by working on the farm, cooking in the kitchen, and constructing school buildings and furniture as needed.

Asawa enrolled at BMC in 1946 and spent three years there. “Teachers there were practicing artists,” she said. “There was no separation between studying, performing the daily chores, and relating to many art forms.” She counted painter Josef Albers, inventor Buckminster Fuller, mathematician Max Dehn—and many others—among lifelong influences. “Through them, I came to understand the total commitment required if one must be an artist,” she added.

“For Asawa, her time at Black Mountain was so transformative because its culture gave her the right to do anything she wanted to do,” says her estate, adding:

For the first time, she was expected to have an opinion. She encountered teachers who gave her the freedom and responsibility to fail or succeed as only she could, as a unique individual. She lived among strong, creative women—Trude Guermonprez, Anni Albers, and Marguerite Wildenhain, to name a few—who lived as working artists. Black Mountain College gave her the courage to become an artist and the creed by which she would live the rest of her life.

In late 1949, after her time at the college, Asawa moved to San Francisco with Albert Lanier, whom she soon married. In the 1950s, prestigious exhibitions like the Whitney Biennial and a show at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art introduced her work to a growing audience. Asawa was also passionate about education, and she became the driving force behind the creation of the San Francisco School of the Arts.

When she began working with wire, Asawa experimented with relatively conventional basket designs before moving into biomorphic, abstract works that could be strung from the ceiling. She learned a crochet technique in Toluca, Mexico, where she visited Josef Albers in 1947 while he was on sabbatical.

Many of her works incorporate nested, membrane-like “form-within-a-form” layers in which elements appear to fold in on themselves or turn inside-out. Asawa later remarked, “What I was excited by was that I could make a shape that was inside and outside at the same time.”

Doing Is Living highlights intricate, ethereal pieces that merge elements of textile and sculpture. Delicate and airy, her compositions “range from elaborate multi-lobed compositions to small spheres and billowing conical forms that require extreme technical dexterity to achieve,” the gallery says. Highlights also include her heavier tied-wire pieces, which she began making in 1962, which showcase branch-like organic forms and biological phenomena.

“After having been gifted a desert plant whose branches split exponentially as they grew, Asawa quickly became frustrated by her attempts to replicate its structure in two dimensions,” the gallery says. “Instead, she utilized industrial wire as a means of mimicking the form through sculpture and, in doing so, studying its shape.” Asawa was fascinated by the permeability of the sculptures and the viewer’s ability to look through them, like seeing the sky between tree branches.

“Relentlessly experimental across a variety of mediums, Asawa moved effortlessly between abstract and figurative registers in both two and three dimensions,” the gallery says. The work in this show spans five decades and exemplifies the range of media and techniques she employed in her career.

Doing Is Living continues through February 22. Learn more about the exhibition on David Zwirner’s website, and dive further into Asawa’s work and biography on her estate’s website.

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“Surrealism is meant for me because I am a pretty realistic person but don’t like all I see,” Gertrude Abercrombie (1909-1977) once said. “So I dream that it is changed. Then I change it to the way I want it.”

Abercrombie’s stark, symbol-rich landscapes and enigmatic portraits painted in oil were influenced by the European Surrealist movement, magical realism, and her own dreams. A leading figure in Chicago art, she was also involved in the city’s jazz scene, counting musical greats like Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and Sarah Vaughan among her friends.

The artist’s mystical works “suggest a life of wistful introspection and emotional struggle,” says a statement for the forthcoming exhibition Gertrude Abercrombie: The Whole World Is a Mystery at the Carnegie Museum of Art, co-organized with Colby College Museum of Art. The show and accompanying catalog present an opportunity for visitors to experience the artist’s highly personal work in significant depth, with access to artworks held in a range of private and public collections all gathered in one place.

Born in Austin, Texas, Abercrombie grew up in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago and spent some time in her father’s hometown of Aledo, Illinois. The small town in the northwestern part of the Midwestern state eventually became a source of inspiration for her atmospheric paintings.

The artist studied the Romance languages at the University of Illinois—Urbana-Champaign and then pursued a course in commercial art at the American Academy of Art in Chicago, where she may also have briefly attended the School of the Art Institute.

In 1932, Abercrombie began her career as a professional artist, which was spurred soon after by the support of the Federal Art Project of the Works Progress Administration (FPA/WPA). The program ran from 1935 to 1943 and provided economic relief to artists and craftspeople during the Great Depression. Along with Abercrombie, a slew of notable artists participated, from Arshile Gorky and Lucile Blanch to Jackson Pollock and Diego Rivera, among many others.

The Federal Art Project set up community centers around the U.S., sustaining the careers and livelihoods of around 10,000 artisans who contributed an estimated 400,000 easel paintings, prints, murals, posters, and other works during the program’s eight-year run.

Abercrombie participated in the FAP/WPA from 1935 to 1940. Around this time, she showed her work widely, including in annual exhibitions presented by the Art Institute of Chicago and venues like Katharine Kuh Gallery, one of the city’s first commercial galleries to feature avant-garde work.

Motifs like solitary women, dead trees, forking paths, stark landscapes, doors, cats, towers, and shells recur in her work. Abercrombie remarked that the scenes were always “pretty real,” merging facets of reality and the fantastic. “Only mystery and fantasy have been added,” she said. “All foolishness has been taken out. It becomes my own dream.”

In “Demolition Doors” (1964), for example, a black feline parks in front of a series of three multi-colored panels occupying most of the frame, behind which sits a gray, mostly empty landscape that could be either indoors or outdoors. Portal-like, the doors represent choices one makes about what direction to take, what threshold to cross. The cat stands sentry, waiting on the viewer’s—and by extension, the artist’s—ultimate decision. “The whole world is a mystery,” she had said.

Abercrombie associated some of her recurring symbols with a witch’s persona—historically an identity connected predominantly to women—which she sometimes embraced in her own fashion choices. She occasionally donned a pointed velvet hat to accentuate her sharp features and tall stature. The female figure, including Abercrombie’s own likeness, is often shown traversing barren terrain, reclining in pensive quietude, or interacting with otherworldly forces.

In an interview with Studs Terkel shortly before her death, Abercrombie said that “it is always myself that I paint.” For example, in “Split Personality” (1954), a woman in a blue dress, standing inside an unadorned room, has been cut in half at the waist. Her torso and head hover over a pitcher, and she reaches out toward her legs, but the shadow on the wall to the left depicts a complete figure—the sum of two parts—as a way of suggesting that looks can be deceiving.

“With a deft hand, a concise symbolic vocabulary, and a restrained palette, she created potent images that speak to her mercurial nature and her evolving psychology as an artist,” says an exhibition statement.

Later in life, Abercrombie’s artistic output gradually waned as ongoing health issues related to arthritis and alcoholism took a toll. She became more reclusive as she eventually required a wheelchair, before being confined to bed. A major retrospective of her work was held at the Hyde Park Art Center the year she died, and her will established the Gertrude Abercrombie Trust, which distributed her work and pieces by others in her collection to cultural institutions across the Midwest.

Gertrude Abercrombie: The Whole World Is a Mystery opens in Pittsburgh on January 18 and continues through June 1. The exhibition then travels to Colby College Museum of Art in Waterville, Maine, opening on July 12 and running through January 11, 2026. Find more on the Carnegie website.

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Behind the unassuming red brick facade of a gable-roofed flat in Birkenhead, England, sits a home like no other. The only clue passersby would have had, until recently, was a pair of hand-sculpted figurative columns that flanked the wooden front door. But to step inside this corner flat near Liverpool is to be transported into the imaginative world of Ron Gittins.

A gifted artist who also dabbled in local acting groups and music, Gittins was a complex character. He took day jobs here and there, but he was much more inclined to work for himself, on his own terms. Anecdotally, he was known for his zest for life and determination to do great things; his sister recounts that he once exclaimed to their brother, “I will not be ignored!” His creativity shone through in every facet of his life, and his home is no exception.

In a ground floor rented flat, which he let in 1986, Gittins created monumental hearths in the shapes of a lion, minotaur, and relief-adorned Roman altar. He painted bright murals inspired by ancient Greece, Rome, and Egypt, including a central hallway adorned with hieroglyphs. The columns at the front door were reminiscent of palatial stone depictions of pharaohs and deities.

Gittins turned to the era of English romantic portraiture in one room’s Georgian era-inspired murals, which feature framed paintings in a row above an ornate hearth. And in the bathroom, the walls swim with aquatic-themed images.

“Although Ron was extremely proud of his artwork, he generally refused entry to landlords, maintenance staff, and any kind of officialdom in order to protect the fantasy world he had created for himself,” says a statement from Wirral Arts & Culture Community Land Trust, which now owns and manages the property. It adds, “After all, not every property owner would allow their tenant to build an epic concrete lion fireplace in their living room.”

Gittins’ tenancy agreement permitted him to “decorate the interior of the property to his own taste and the external porch in classical style without the prior written consent of the Landlord.” He also had access to the garden, which he was able to landscape at his own expense.

Few people were granted the privilege of seeing Gittins’ creations during his lifetime, as he was protective of his art and preferred to maintain his privacy. He continued to collect unique objects and transform his home into his ultimate fantasy, his self-described “villa.” Then, following his unexpected death in 2019, its fate was suddenly uncertain.

In December 2021, artist Jan Williams—who is also Gittins’ niece—along with Chris Teasdale of The Caravan Gallery, launched a campaign to save the flat. Along with a dedicated team of volunteers comprising family, friends, and experts in arts and heritage, a last-minute purchase at auction was successful in March 2023. Since then, the team has continued caring for the installations and sifting through the artist’s eclectic collection of books, magazines, videos, clothes, furniture, and trinkets.

The Wirral Arts & Culture Community Land Trust continues to catalogue Gittins’ belongings and work to preserve this unique environment for years to come. Learn more and take a virtual tour on the organization’s website.

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In central Florida, Ocala National Forest is dotted with more than 600 lakes and rivers. A nearby recreation hub, Silver Springs, has capitalized on the tourism potential of these glistening, clear bodies of water for decades, offering sandy riverside beaches and taking visitors on jaunts in glass-bottom boats.

Until 1968 and the passing of the Civil Rights Act, Silver Springs—similar to many other places in Florida and the South more broadly—was racially segregated and only open to white patrons. In 1949, the owners of Silver Springs opened Paradise Park a mile down the road as a destination “for colored people,” as the welcome sign read, who were prohibited from the other resort.

Paradise Park was one of three beaches in Florida open to Black visitors during this time and also offered sandy beaches, rides in glass-bottom boats, a petting zoo, a dance pavilion with a jukebox, performances, games, and a softball field. It remained in operation until 1969, shortly after desegregation, and became a subject of fascination for photographer Bruce Mozert (1916-2015), who documented happenings at both recreation areas.

For artist Stephen Towns, Mozert’s images and the history of Paradise Park provide the foundation for Private Paradise: A Figurative Exploration of Black Rest and Recreation, now on view at the Rockwell Museum. Through paintings and quilted compositions, the artist explores how certain parks could be places of refuge and leisure for Black Americans during the Jim Crow era.

“Black people had to set up their own spaces in order to find recreation and to find peace,” Towns says in a video accompanying the exhibition. “This show is a way of illuminating that. It gives people a sort of way into history that’s not as scary as it can be in other forms.”

Towns’ paintings portray groups of children swimming, sunbathing, and playing on the sandy shoreline. His fabric compositions are imagined scenes of respite and togetherness, which come across as disarming and candid.

“Motown in Motion,” for example, depicts a group of young people gathered on the beach, and “I Will Follow You My Dear” trails two women swimming underwater—another nod to Mozert’s work as a pioneer in underwater photography.

The figures in Towns’ paintings are more posed, drawn directly from Bruce Mozert’s snapshots, depicting smiling kids at play. Towns often uses reflective materials like metal leaf that emanate light back toward the viewer, reiterating a sense of brightness. “I want people to feel that warm, reflective energy when they see the show,” he says.

Explore more on Towns’ website and Instagram, and if you’re in New York, you can see Private Paradise in Corning through January 19.

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Raised in the Alaska community of Nome, which sits on the coast of the Bering Sea, Sonya Kelliher-Combs traces her family lineage to the northernmost reaches in Utqiaġvik and the central inland city of Nulato. Now based in Anchorage, her Iñupiaq and Athabascan ancestry, cultural heritage, and relationship to the land constitute the nucleus around which her multidisciplinary work revolves.

Growing up in a rural community, Kelliher-Combs observed and learned “time-honored traditional women’s and collective labor—skin sewing, beading, and food preparation—that taught her to appreciate the intimacy of intergenerational knowledge and material histories,” says an artist statement in the foreword of the artist’s new monograph, Mark.

Published by Hirmer Verlag, the volume explores the breadth of Kelliher-Combs’s practice, from paintings, sculptures, and installations to her curatorial and community advocacy work.

Drawing on the materials and symbolism of ancestral, Indigenous knowledge, Kelliher-Combs addresses what she describes as “the ongoing struggle for self-definition and identity in the Alaskan context,” delving into history, culture, family, and long-held customs.

The works “also speak of abuse, marginalization, and the historical and contemporary struggles of Indigenous peoples in the North and worldwide,” her statement continues. In “Goodbye,” for example, 52 gloves and mittens are gathered together as if waving a collective farewell.

The poignant installation aimed to open the dialogue about the sensitive subject of suicide, the rate of which at the time Kelliher-Combs made the piece was nearly 52 Native Alaskans per 100,000—more than triple the age-adjusted rate among Americans in general. The mitts were all handmade and lent by local community members.

Through delicate, tactile sculptures and atmospheric paintings, the artist venerates ancient ancestral practices, like animal hide preparation, while exploring the way contemporary materials like plastic and fossil fuels are transforming the landscape. She often incorporates maps, thread, beads, hair, and fabric.

Kelliher-Combs also combines organic and synthetic materials, merging the traditional with the new; the local with the imported. She describes how she pushes “beyond the binary divisions of Western and Indigenous cultures, self and other, and man and nature, to examine the interrelationships and interdependence of these concepts.”

See more of the artist’s work on her website, and find your copy of Mark on Bookshop.

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Between 1869 and the 1960s in the U.S., thousands of Indigenous children attended at least 523 boarding schools, supported by the government and church groups that were fueled by the grim motto, “Kill the Indian, Save the Man.”

Children were sent hundreds, if not thousands, of miles from their families and tribal communities, suffering horrific abuse, and in many cases, dying as a result. Federal agents often abducted minors, who were sent to school and punished severely if they spoke their Native languages. By 1926, nearly 83 percent of Indigenous school-age children were enrolled.

The National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition explains that the purpose of the schools was “expressly intended to implement cultural genocide through the removal and reprogramming of American Indian and Alaska Native children to accomplish the systematic destruction of Native cultures and communities.”

In October, the U.S. government issued a formal apology for its role in the boarding schools, yet efforts will long continue to fully understand, process, and begin to heal the trauma.

For Tlingit-Unangax̂ artist Nicholas Galanin, looking to the past is fundamental to constructing a more nuanced perception of the present. His multidisciplinary practice “aims to redress the widespread misappropriation of Indigenous visual culture, the impact of colonialism, as well as collective amnesia,” says a statement from Peter Blum Gallery, which represents the artist and is currently showing Galanin’s solo exhibition, The persistence of Land claims in a climate of change.

“We can sharpen our vision of the present with cultural knowledge and memory,” Galanin says. “These works embody cultural memory and practice, reflecting persistence, sacrifice, violence, refusal, endurance, and resistance.”

Based in Sitka, Alaska, Galanin often incorporates traditional Tlingit and Unangax̂ art forms into contemporary sculptures and installations. “The Imaginary Indian (Garden),” for example, takes as its starting point a totem pole, a customarily towering representation of animals hewn from a single tree that is deeply imbued with spiritual and social significance.

In “3D Consumption Illustration,” Galanin comments on a lack of respect for the art form by cutting up a single totem figure like firewood, as if it’s disposable or merely decorative. In “Loom,” he stacks a series of ready-made children’s desks into a winged, totem pole-like tower to memorialize the children who suffered in residential schools.

Galanin’s often provocative work emphasizes the inherent power of symbols and associations. A polar bear pelt stands in for fabric in “White Flag,” a nod to a symbol for surrender, which draws attention to the increasingly stark effects of the climate crisis on the arctic and on Native peoples’ way of life.

In Miami earlier this month, masts and rigging emerged from the sand as if a Spanish galleon had been buried beneath the beach. The sails boldly asked in both English and Spanish: “What are we going to give up to burn the sails of empire?” and “What are we going to build for our collective liberation?”

The installation, titled “Seletega (run, see if people are coming/corre a ver si viene gente),” tapped into the European colonization of North America and its aim of extracting wealth, establishing cities and commerce, and expanding westward at the dire expense of Indigenous peoples.

In The persistence of Land claims in a climate of change, Galanin continues to highlight the “Indigenous cultural continuum,” says a gallery statement, defying cultural erasure and refusing the legitimacy of colonial occupation. “Galanin reflects on the distance between peace and justice by centering the enduring Indigenous protection of Land in the face of expansive extraction.”

Through photography, monotypes, and sculptural works in ceramic, bronze, and wood, the artist reflects on systems of racial oppression and disenfranchisement, Indigenous knowledge and responsibility, and the importance of collectivity and connection as we proceed into the future.

Galanin is the recipient of a slew of prestigious awards recently, including a Joan Mitchell Fellowship in 2023 and both the Guggenheim Fellowship and Don Tyson Prize this year. See more of his work on Instagram, and if you’re in New York, visit The persistence of Land claims in a climate of change until January 18.

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In 1759, Staffordshire potter and entrepreneur Josiah Wedgwood (1730-1795) founded a ceramics company that achieved global recognition and continues production today. He soared to success as a leader of industrialized pottery in Europe, tapping into a renewed 18th-century vogue for classical forms in home decor and tableware.

A meticulous studier of current trends and materials, “Wedgwood conducted thousands of experiments to perfect his unique clays and glazes,” says the Victoria and Albert Museum, which stewards more than 175,000 works of art, ceramics, manuscripts, and photographs in the V&A Wedgwood Collection.

Once he streamlined factory production, Wedgwood turned his eye to marketing and is credited with pioneering some of the retail promotions and strategies we take for granted now, like illustrated catalogues, direct mail orders, money-back guarantees, self-service, buy-one-get-one, and free delivery.

The company was known for its earthenware and stoneware, which could emulate porcelain while being cheaper to manufacture. Some of Wedgwood’s original contributions to the world of ceramics include green glaze, creamware, black basalt, and jasperware, which were in high demand and often copied by competitors. Early examples fetch thousands of dollars today.

Jasperware is considered one of the designer’s most notable contributions to ceramics. Its matte, “biscuit” finish came in a variety of colors, but most popular was a strikingly pale blue—known as Wedgwood blue—decorated with white, cameo-like reliefs.

Wedgwood created around 5,000 trial pieces in the process of perfecting creamware, and nearly 3,000 individual trials were required to innovate jasperware. Numerous trays of the samples are preserved by the V&A, illustrating Josiah’s painstaking attention to detail and his approach to protecting intellectual property.

“Each piece features a number that corresponds to an entry in an experiment book, housed in the V&A Wedgwood Collection archive,” the V&A says. “Josiah wrote his experiments in secret code because of the risk of industrial espionage.”

Many trial trays were found in Wedgwood’s Etruria factory and are now on display at the V&A as part of World of Wedgwood in Stoke-on-Trent, where Wedgwood brand pottery is still produced. Visitors can check out the creative studios, factory, a tea room, and shops, but if you can’t get there in person, you can always explore thousands of objects online.

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