For “Little Beasts: Art, Wonder, and the Natural World,” the curators at the National Gallery of Art team up with the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History to create a dazzling exhibition of 16th and 17th century prints, drawings, and paintings of plants and animals, with a particular focus on insects and other beestjes (“little beasts” in Dutch), mostly drawn from the NGA’s collection of European art.
These works of art would have been enough for a rewarding standalone show, but the team at the Natural History Museum has actually identified the specific beestjes depicted and provided specimens of many of them to accompany their artistic renderings.
This is the first collaboration between the National Gallery and the Natural History Museum, and the curatorial chemistry is phenomenal. “Little Beasts” brings to light the integral relationship between art and the blossoming study of natural science between roughly 1500 and 1700. Artistic representations of the natural world encouraged and enabled scientific inquiry.
Artists in turn were informed by recent scientific progress and empowered by new technologies to depict their subjects with greater accuracy and beauty. This same spirit of give-and-take is at work in this innovative, playfully collaborative show. In one delightful juxtaposition, real insects and a sprig of rosemary are arranged with pins onto a linen surface, perfectly replicating the arrangement in Jan van Kessel’s delicate oil study “Insects and a Sprig of Rosemary,” hanging next-door.
Another display demonstrates the niche practice of lepidochromy, a method of printmaking that transfers the scales from a real butterfly wing to paper, capturing its pattern and hues. If the show’s underlying thesis is that art and science are symbiotic, this exhibition itself is a case in point.
The first work of art you encounter upon entering “Little Beasts” is Albrecht Dürer’s small gouache study, “Tuft of Cowslips” (1526). The painting is scrupulously precise, and Dürer’s gossamer-fine touch gives the plant both a sense of lightness and leafy substantiality. A little further on is a work by Hans Hoffmann, one of Dürer’s most dedicated acolytes, whose “Red Squirrel” (1578) is rendered with such sumptuous, silky detail as to give the humble creature an almost regal character.