23 Surreal Facts About Salvador Dalí

Reg Birkett, Keystone/Getty Images
Reg Birkett, Keystone/Getty Images

Salvador Dalí was one of the most famous painters of the 20th century. The Surrealist’s self-promotional antics and bizarre artwork made him an international celebrity early in his career, and there are still traces of him littered throughout pop culture. References to the melting clocks in his most famous painting, The Persistence of Memory, have cropped up on everything from The Simpsons to news coverage of the 2015 New England Patriots scandal Deflategate. His distinctive personal style is now so iconic that he has become a Halloween costume—one instantly recognizable by mustache alone.

The artist’s long career was full of unexpected twists, and even if you've seen his work, you probably don’t know how far-reaching his influence remains today, long after his 1989 death. Here are 23 facts you should know about him.

1. HE STARTED PAINTING EARLY.

Dalí painted one of his earliest known works, Landscape of Figueres, in 1910, when was about 6 years old. The oil-on-postcard work depicts a scene in his Catalonia hometown, and now hangs in the Salvador Dalí Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida. He also found success relatively early—he created his most iconic work, The Persistence of Memory, when he was just 27.

2. HE WAS NOT A GOOD STUDENT.

Even from a young age, Dalí bristled at the confines of traditional schooling. He was bright but easily distracted, and more interested in doodling than studying. He began his education at age 4 at a local public school in his hometown of Figueres, but only two years later, his father transferred him to a French-speaking private school, “due to that first option having failed,” as the Dalí Foundation tactfully describes it. At his secondary school, he embraced his love of public attention by throwing himself down stairs in front of his classmates and teachers, as he wrote in his autobiography The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí.

When he graduated, his father insisted that he go to the School of Fine Arts in Madrid, on the grounds that if he had to be a painter, he should at least be qualified to teach. He would be expelled from the school not once, but twice. His first expulsion in 1923 was over his role in student protests involving painter Daniel Vázquez Díaz, who students felt had been unfairly denied a professorship in the painting department. However, Dalí returned to school the next year, only to face expulsion again in 1926. He explains in his autobiography that it was because he refused to submit to an oral exam, telling them, “I am infinitely more intelligent than these three professors, and I therefore refuse to be examined by them. I know this subject much too well.” This marked the final straw for his academic career.

3. HE MADE HIMSELF HALLUCINATE.

A portrait of Salvador Dalí in midair with chairs and cats
Dalí Atomicus, Philippe Halsman, Library of Congress // Public Domain

Dalí pioneered what he called the “Paranoiac-Critical” method, designed to help him access his subconscious. He described it as a “spontaneous method of irrational knowledge, based on the critical-interpretative association of the phenomena of delirium.” One of the ways he would access this delirious state without drugs or alcohol was to stare at a fixed object and try to see something different within it—much like you might see a shape in the clouds, as the National Gallery of Victoria in Australia explains it [PDF]. Or, he would try to keep himself between sleep and wakefulness, napping with a spoon in his hand and a mixing bowl in his lap. When he fell asleep, the spoon would fall into the bowl, and he would wake up. He would continue to do this in order to keep himself in a semi-conscious, dreamlike state, according to Dalí scholar Bernard Ewell.

4. HE WAS OBSESSED WITH FREUD.

The Surrealist movement was heavily influenced by Sigmund Freud, whose work was just beginning to be translated into French for the first time when the movement emerged in Paris in 1924. Dalí began reading Freud as a young man at art school in Madrid, and the psychoanalyst’s ideas about dreams and the subconscious had a profound impact on his work. “The book presented itself to me as one of the capital discoveries of my life,” he wrote about reading Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams.

The feeling wasn’t exactly mutual at first. Freud considered the Surrealists "complete fools” and had little interest in avant garde art. But Dalí was determined to meet Freud. “My three voyages to Vienna were exactly like three drops of water which lacked the reflections to make them glitter,” the artist wrote in his autobiography. “On each of these voyages I did exactly the same things: in the morning I went to see the Vermeer in the Czernin Collection, and in the afternoon I did not go to visit Freud because I invariably learned he was out of town for reasons of health.” (Emphasis in the original.) Finally, Dalí set up an appointment to meet with the 82-year-old Freud in London in the summer of 1938. Dalí recounts that “we spoke little, but we devoured each other with our eyes.” This may have been less romantic than Dalí frames it; Freud had mouth cancer, and an artificial palate made it difficult for him to speak.

Nevertheless, Dalí showed Freud his painting Metamorphosis of Narcissus, the first painting he made entirely using his paranoiac critical method, as well as an article he wrote on paranoia. The psychoanalyst later wrote to Stefan Zweig, who arranged the meeting, that Dalí was an “undoubtedly perfect technical master” who forced him to reconsider his opinion of Surrealists.

5. THE SURREALISTS DIDN’T WANT HIM.

While Dalí is considered a Surrealist, his fellow Surrealists, many of them communists, tried to expel him from their movement early in his career over his fascist sympathies. In 1934, the “father of Surrealism,” the writer André Breton, called members of the movement to his apartment in Paris. His order against the painter read: “Dalí having been found guilty on several occasions of counterrevolutionary actions involving the glorification of Hitlerian fascism, the undersigned propose that he be excluded from surrealism as a fascist element and combated by all available means.”

Breton and his supporters were offended by Dalí’s depiction of Lenin in his 1933 work The Enigma of William Tell, as well as by the fascination he expressed for Hitler, who he later said “turned him on.” Furthermore, he had painted a swastika on the armband of the nurse in his painting The Weaning of Furniture-Nutrition, a detail his fellow Surrealists forced him to paint over.

The incident didn’t mark the end of Dalí’s dalliances with fascism. He later became a supporter of Spanish dictator Francisco Franco, meeting with the general twice at his palace in Madrid, including to personally deliver a portrait of Franco’s niece.

6. GEORGE ORWELL WAS NOT A FAN, EITHER.

When the English critic and novelist reviewed Dalí’s autobiography in 1944, he did not hold back in his assessment of this painter’s character. Dalí admits to a number of amoral acts in the book without any show of remorse, including kicking his toddler sister in the head and pushing a boy off a 15-foot-tall bridge as a child. (The book is described by the Dalí Foundation as “an account full of truths, half-truths, and ‘falsehoods,’” so these events may never have happened.) Allowing that the painter was an incredibly skilled artist, Orwell was still horrified, and wasn’t afraid to call him out. “One ought to be able to hold in one’s head simultaneously the two facts that Dali is a good draughtsman and a disgusting human being,” he wrote in the essay. Orwell, who traveled to Spain to fight with the Republicans during the Spanish Civil War, was also repulsed by the painter’s politics (or lack thereof). “When the European War approaches he has one preoccupation only: how to find a place which has good cookery and from which he can make a quick bolt if danger comes too near,” he mocked.

7. HE WORKED WITH ALFRED HITCHCOCK …

In the 1940s, Hitchcock commissioned Dalí to help him create a dream sequence for Spellbound, his 1945 thriller starring Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck. “I wanted Dalí because of the architectural sharpness of his work,” Hitchcock explained in one of the extensive interviews he gave to fellow filmmaker François Truffaut in 1962. Hitchcock hoped that Dalí could bring some of the vivid imagery of his work to the dream sequence the movie called for, but the director got a bit more Surrealism than he bargained for. As Hitchcock told Truffaut, “Dalí had some strange ideas; he wanted a statue to crack like a shell falling apart, with ants crawling all over it, and underneath, there would be Ingrid Bergman, covered by the ants! It just wasn’t possible.”

8. … AND WALT DISNEY.

In the wake of his work with Hitchcock, Walt Disney approached Dalí in 1945 about joining Disney Studio to work on an animated film called Destino, featuring a score by Mexican composter Armando Dominguez. Dalí had drawn up 22 oil paintings and stacks of drawings, and he and legendary Disney designer John Hench created storyboards for the film. But only eight months after they started, the project was shelved for financial reasons, with only 15 seconds of demo reel completed. (Disney and Dalí remained friends despite the hiccup.) In 1999, Roy E. Disney, Walt’s nephew, decided to restart the production. Animators at Walt Disney Studios Paris painstakingly translated Dalí’s original storyboards to create a film faithful to his vision. The 6-minute short was released in 2003.

9. HE LOVED CAULIFLOWER.

In 1955, Dalí arrived at the Sorbonne in Paris for a lecture in a Rolls-Royce filled to the brim with what Time magazine called “a quaint profusion of fresh cauliflower”—around 1100 pounds worth, packed to the roof. He proceeded to explain to an audience of 2000 people that “Everything ends up in the cauliflower!” The painter told journalist Mike Wallace in a nearly nonsensical interview in 1958 that the point of the stunt was that he had discovered “the logarithmic curve of cauliflower.”

10. HE HAD AN INTENSE MARRIAGE.

Salvador Dalí and his wife Gala look up at one of his paintings.
Dalí and Gala look up at his painting The Madonna of Port Llegat, which the artist painted using Gala as the model for the Madonna.
Allan, Express/Getty Images

Dalí met his future wife, Elena Ivanovna Diakonova, who went by Gala, in 1929, while she was married to Surrealist poet Paul Eluard. (Theirs was something of an open marriage, and they both regularly had affairs.) Dalí met Eluard in Paris and invited him and several other artists to visit him at his home in Cadaqués over the summer. Eluard brought Gala and their daughter Cecile there, and Gala and Dalí fell in love and became inseparable. Gala eventually divorced Eluard, and she and Dalí married in a civil ceremony in 1934, with the approval of Eluard, who remained on good terms with Gala.

Gala became Dalí’s muse, portrait model, and business manager. He even signed his paintings with both of their names, explaining in The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí that “It is mostly with your blood, Gala, that I paint my pictures.” (Emphasis in the original.)

Dalí bought Gala a centuries-old Catalan castle in the small town of Púbol in 1969, creating a retreat for her that he would only visit if he got her written permission. "Everything celebrates the cult of Gala, even the round room, with its perfect echo that crowns the building as a whole and which is like a dome of this Galactic cathedral,” he wrote of the home in his book The Unspeakable Confessions. When Gala died in 1982, the distraught painter broke the Spanish law prohibiting the moving of corpses without official permission, putting her in the backseat of his car to drive her from their home in Port Lligat to Púbol, where she had wanted to be buried. Dalí moved there after her death to be close to her. It’s now the Gala-Dalí Castle House Museum.

11. HE APPEARED ON GAME SHOWS.

Dalí was a guest on several game shows during his lifetime. In 1957, he made an appearance on the show What’s My Line, serving as the unnamed guest whose career a panel of blindfolded guests had to identify. Despite host John Daly’s best efforts to rein in the artist, he proved to be a difficult nut to crack, since he tried to answer “yes” to every question, including “Do you have anything to do with sports, or any form of athletic endeavor?” He was ultimately identified by a final question about whether or not he had a “rather well-known” mustache.

12. HE AND MARCEL PROUST REPORTEDLY LIKED THE SAME HAIR PRODUCTS.

Dalí’s gravity-defying facial hair became a topic of conversation when the artist appeared on a 1954 episode of The Name’s the Same. Host Robert Q. Lewis called the mustache "quite beautiful” early in the show, and when panelist Gene Rayburn brought it up later—“Are you kidding with the thing?” he asked, gesturing as if twirling a mustache—Dalí answered exactly how you might expect him to. “This is the most serious part of my personality,” he said. He then went on to explain that his facial hair had some literary influence. “It’s a very simple Hungarian mustache. Mr. Marcel Proust used the same kind of pomade for his mustache.” As for the physics of the thing, it was all in the pomade, he said. He declined to discuss exactly how he got his facial hair to grow to such insane lengths.

13. HIS MUSTACHE HAS ITS OWN BOOK …

In 1954, Dalí published a book with photographer Philippe Halsman entirely devoted to his mustache, featuring 28 images of the iconic facial hair. Halsman and Dalí met in 1941 and collaborated for decades, creating what are still some of the most recognizable portraits of the artist, including Dalí Atomicus, featuring the artist suspended in midair along with several cats, an easel, a bucket of water, and a chair. Each page of Dali’s Mustache: A Photographic Interview presents a short question from Halsman, with answers from Dalí printed on the next page, below the photograph. The results are, as one would expect, often absurd. “Dali, what makes you tick?” one page asks, for instance. “My hairspring, of course,” Dalí answers. The photographs showed Dalí with a mustache twisted into an infinity symbol, dressed as the Mona Lisa, and using his facial hair as a paintbrush, to name a few examples.

14. … AND REMAINS INTACT TO THIS DAY.

In July 2017, Dalí’s body was exhumed as part of a paternity suit brought by a woman who claimed to be his daughter. The exhumation proved the woman wrong, but it did yield one unexpected discovery: His mustache lives on. According to the forensic experts who saw the body, his trademark waxed 'stache has remained intact since his 1989 death. “The mustache preserved its classic 10-past-10 position," Lluís Peñuelas of the Gala-Salvador Dalí Foundation told the Spanish paper El País (as translated by NPR). The doctor who embalmed Dalí in 1989 called it “a miracle.”

15. HE DID A PAINTING FOR RIKERS ISLAND.

In 1965, Dalí was scheduled to make a visit to the prison at Rikers Island to give an art lesson to inmates. But on the day the lesson was supposed to take place, sickness confined him to his New York hotel room, and he canceled. Instead, he made the prisoners a painting, a Surrealist take on the crucifixion of Jesus. The painting, unknown to the outside world, hung near a cafeteria trash can in the prison until the 1980s, when it was put away, then rehung near the prison’s entrance where the inmates couldn’t access it. That spot proved more dangerous than the ketchup-splattered wall by the trash cans—in 2003, a group of prison officers stole it, replacing it with a cheap imitation. The officers were prosecuted, but the painting was never recovered. One of the thieves pointed fingers at his conspirator, an assistant deputy warden named Benny Nuzzo, saying that Nuzzo panicked and destroyed the painting after they committed the crime.

16. HE WASN’T ABOVE COMMERCIAL WORK.

Dalí’s art doesn’t only appear in galleries and museums. He also did plenty of commercial work. (Fellow Surrealist André Breton nicknamed him “Avida Dollars,” or “eager for dollars.”) He created ads for De Beers Diamonds, S.C. Johnson & Company, Gap, and Datsun station wagons. (The Gap ad featured the tagline “Salvador Dalí wore khakis.”) Between 1938 and 1971, he created four covers for Vogue, and in 1945, one for Town & Country. In one example of his relentless self-promotion, he was even a celebrity spokesperson, shilling for brands like Alka-Seltzer and the French chocolate company Lanvin. Some of his commercial art endures today—you can still see his work in the Chupa Chups lollipop logo.

17. HE DESIGNED SWIMSUITS.

Dalí poses next to a model wearing one of his bathing suits.
Reg Lancaster, Express/Getty Images

Dalí occasionally moonlighted as a fashion designer, bringing some of his signature motifs to womenswear. He collaborated with Italian fashion designer Elsa Schiaparelli to create clothing inspired by his paintings, like a dress with drawer-like pockets inspired by The Anthropomorphic Cabinet, a shoe hat inspired by a photo Dalí took of Gala, and a lobster-print dress worn by Wallis Simpson in a Vogue photoshoot in 1937. (Dalí regularly put lobsters in his paintings, often using them to represent his fear of castration.)

He also designed a line of swimsuits for a clothing manufacturer in Wisconsin named Jack A. Winter. The creepy bathing suits (on video here) included a top that looked like a sandwich board and featured a giant pair of eyes, and a bikini that inexplicably came with an inflatable baseball catcher. The suits didn’t make it to market, but Dalí reportedly took the inflatables back to his home to use in his pool.

18. HE ALMOST ASPHYXIATED AT AN ART OPENING.

In 1936, Dalí had himself fitted for a deep diving suit in advance of the International Exhibition of Surrealism, a major London art show where his work would be displayed along with other renowned modern artists like Pablo Picasso, Man Ray, Joan Miró, Rene Magritte, and Marcel Duchamp. Dalí planned to give a lecture in the diving suit while holding a billiard cue and two wolfhounds on leashes.

No one could hear his lecture, called “Some Authentic Paranoiac Phantoms,” through the airtight suit—which a mechanic had bolted him into before the talk—and a few minutes in, he began to suffocate. He tried to gesture that he needed help removing the helmet, but the audience took it as part of his performance and laughed. As biographer Meryle Secrest recounts in her book Salvador Dali: The Surrealist Jester, “The more he gesticulated the more they laughed and it took some time, during which Dali thought he would faint dead away, before, as [Surrealist poet] David Gascoyne explained, ‘we realized he was in some distress,’” and Gascoyne rescued him from the bolted helmet with a wrench [PDF]. (As with much of the artist’s life, there's a bit of debate over the exact details of the incident—Dalí himself said Gala and the poet Edward James saved him with a hammer, neglecting to mention Gascoyne at all.)

The incident certainly fit with the outlandish public image Dalí had cultivated. “I believe the Dalinian mythology which was already so crystallized upon my return to New York owed a great deal to the violent eccentricity of this lecture in a diving suit,” the artist later wrote in The Secret Life of Salvador Dali. The event was fictionalized in Michael Chabon’s book The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, in which one of the characters rescues the artist from a similar predicament at a New York City cocktail party.

Being an exhibition full of Surrealists, Dalí’s stunt was hardly the oddest behavior on display that day. Painter Sheila Legge arrived at the show’s opening carrying a pork chop that quickly went bad in the June heat, and poet Dylan Thomas went around offering visitors teacups of boiled string.

19. HE PUBLISHED A COOKBOOK …

Dalí and Gala were known for throwing elaborate, bizarre dinner parties. At one, a fundraiser in Monterey, California in 1941, guests like Bob Hope and Alfred Hitchcock were asked to dress up as their own dreams. (Gala wore a unicorn’s head.) Dalí borrowed monkeys from the San Francisco zoo for the evening, and guests were served fish in satin shoes, followed by live frogs. The event was so lavish that, rather than raising money for refugee artists, as it was designed to, it actually lost money.

In 1973, Dalí released his own cookbook, Les Diners de Gala, a how-to guide to Surrealist cooking that featured some of Dalí’s favorite motifs, like snails, lobsters, and eggs. In keeping with the often sexual themes of his paintings, he also included recipes for an “aphrodisiac” course. The book was illustrated with photos of Dalí himself in front of banquets of food, his drawings, and some of his paintings, like his work Couple with Their Heads Full of Clouds (1936). The rare cookbook was re-released by TASCHEN in 2016. His 1977 book about wine, The Wines of Gala, was re-released by the same publisher the next year.

20. … AND A NOVEL.

Published in 1944, Hidden Faces follows a group of aristocrats living in France before and during World War II. Dalí announced it with signature flair, saying that the “new times of intellectual responsibility” had prompted him to write “a long and boring ‘true novel.” The New York Times reviewed it under the headline “It's Boring, but Is It Art?” (A paywalled version is here.) “His sofa in the shape of lips showed more ‘intellectual responsibility’ than this,” reviewer Mark Schorer wrote in his scathing column.

Upon its re-release in 1974, other readers were more impressed. A Publishers Weekly review trumpeted that it “deals brilliantly with love and lovers, war and death, passions and perversions,” while the Observer's John Melly wrote that it is “so full of visual invention, so witty, so charged with an almost Dickensian energy that it's difficult not to accept its author's own arrogant valuation of himself as a genius.”

21. SESAME STREET SPOOFED HIM.

Instantly recognizable by his trademark mustache, Dalí inspired a mustachioed Sesame Street puppet known as Salvador Dada. The Muppets have worked in a number of Dalí spoofs over the years, including in a 2015 special called The Cookie Thief, in which a few of the Muppets see a painting called The Persistence of Cookies at the Museum of Modern Cookie.

22. HE BUILT HIS OWN MUSEUM.

In the 1960s, the mayor of Figueres, Spain—Dalí’s hometown—asked the artist to donate a piece to the city’s art museum, Museu de l'Empordà. Instead, he declared he would donate an entire museum. He began refurbishing the Figueres Municipal Theatre, which was almost entirely destroyed during the Spanish Civil War, and turned it into the Salvador Dalí Theatre-Museum. The museum, with its Dalí-designed facade decorated with sculptures of giant eggs and bread rolls, officially opened in 1974, but Dalí continued to expand it up until his death.

He also lived there during the last years of his life. After his castle in Púbol was damaged by an electrical fire, he moved into an annex of the museum, the Galatea Tower (named after Gala) in 1984, largely withdrawing from public life until his death in 1989. After he died, he was buried under the theater stage.

23. HIS WORK IS INCREDIBLY VALUABLE NOW.

In February 2018, Sotheby’s put up for auction two largely unknown Salvador Dalí paintings, rediscovered within the personal collection of an Argentinean family. The artist had originally painted them for Countess de Cuevas de Vera, an aristocrat who split her time between France—where she hob-nobbed with artists like Dalí and Picasso—and Buenos Aires. They were painted in 1931 and 1932 and were passed down through the countess’s family. “These are the kind of painting that I do my job for,” Thomas Bompard of Sotheby’s told The Guardian before the works went up for auction, saying he felt “absolutely privileged to be the one to bring these gems to the market for the first time.” The two paintings sold for a combined $8 million.

Last Surviving Person of Interest in Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Heist to Be Released From Prison

Federal Bureau of Investigation, Wikimedia Commons // Public domain
Federal Bureau of Investigation, Wikimedia Commons // Public domain

Almost exactly 29 years ago, two men disguised as police officers weaseled their way into Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and started removing prized artworks from the wall. They made off with 13 famous paintings and sculptures, representing a value of more than $500 million. It remains the largest property theft in U.S. history, but no one has ever been charged in connection with the heist.

Now, as Smithsonian reports, the last living person who may have first-hand knowledge about the heist will be released from prison this Sunday after serving 54 months for an unrelated crime. Robert (Bobby) Gentile, an 82-year-old mobster who was jailed for selling a gun to a known murderer, has been questioned by authorities in the past. In 2010, the wife of the late mobster Robert (Bobby) Guarente told investigators she had seen her husband give several of the artworks in question to Gentile—a good friend of Guarente’s—eight years prior.

A 2012 raid of Gentile’s home also revealed a list of black market prices for the stolen items. Previous testimony from other mob associates—coupled with the fact that Gentile had failed a polygraph test when he was questioned about the art heist—suggest Gentile might know more about the crime than he has let on. For his part, though, Gentile says he is innocent and knows nothing about the art or the heist.

The FBI announced in 2013 that it knew who was responsible for the museum heist, but would not reveal their names because they were dead. Still, the whereabouts of the artworks—including prized paintings by Rembrandt, Manet, Vermeer, and Degas—remain unknown. The museum is offering a $10 million reward to anyone who can provide information leading to “the recovery of all 13 works in good condition," according to the museum's website. A separate $100,000 reward will be provided for the return of an eagle finial that was used by Napoleon’s Imperial Guard.

[h/t Smithsonian]

9 Colors Named After People

Alice Roosevelt—for whom Alice Blue is named—in 1902
Alice Roosevelt—for whom Alice Blue is named—in 1902
Frances Benjamin Johnston, Library of Congress/Wikimedia // Public Domain

Throughout history, a variety of famous people have lent their names to shades of brilliant blue, shocking purple, grassy green, muddy brown, and other hues. While many of these figures are artists who were known for using or developing these hues, other color eponyms come from the scientists who invented them or those who loved to wear them. Consider this list the place where the history books meet the artist’s palette.

1. Alice Blue

A pale azure blue named for Alice Roosevelt Longworth, daughter of Theodore Roosevelt, who was known for wearing gowns of the color and thus sparking a trend for it. (She was also known for smoking in public and other forms of mischief-making, leading her father to declare: “I can either run the country or I can attend to Alice, but I cannot possibly do both.”) Her ice-blue dresses inspired the song "Alice Blue Gown" by Joseph McCarthy and Harry Tierney, which premiered in the 1919 Broadway musical Irene. ("I once had a gown that was almost new / Oh, the daintiest thing, it was sweet Alice Blue / With little forget-me-nots placed here and there / When I had it on, I walked on air.")

2. Yves Klein Blue

Visitors look at 'Monochrome Blue, without title' (1960) by French artist Yves Klein
Visitors look at Monochrome Blue, without title (1960) by French artist Yves Klein
THOMAS LOHNES/AFP/Getty Images

The artist Yves Klein was interested in art as transcendence, and he’s perhaps best known for painting monochromes in a brilliant ultramarine meant to suggest the infinity of sea and sky. (As Klein once explained, "Blue has no dimensions, it is beyond dimensions.") In 1960, he registered a formula for the color—known as IKB, or International Klein Blue—with the French government; the formula relied on ultramarine pigment mixed with a synthetic resin that wouldn't dilute the color.

During his “blue period,” Klein exhibited only blue paintings and objects, releasing a thousand and one blue balloons into the sky in Paris to celebrate one show, and serving gin, Cointreau, and blue-dye cocktails at another. Don’t copy that last idea, mixologists: everyone who drank them peed blue for days.

3. Titian Red

Visitors look at a painting by Renaissance master Titian in Rome
Visitors look at a painting by Renaissance master Titian in Rome
GABRIEL BOUYS/AFP/Getty Images

A person with red hair is sometimes said to be a Titian, after the great 16th century Venetian painter who was notably fond of painting redheads. (Examples of such paintings include Bacchus and Ariadne and Noli me Tangere, now in London's National Gallery.) In the 1960s, redheaded Barbie dolls were officially known as “Titians.” More loosely, the term has come to mean any orange-red color, although people seem to love to debate exactly what shades count.

4. Scheele's Green

Svenska Familj-Journalen, Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

Arsenic-based green pigments were all the rage in the 19th century, coloring everything from hosiery to hats to children’s toys. The first such pigment on the scene was Scheele’s Green, discovered by Swedish chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele in 1775. The vibrant yellow-green hue caught on, especially after it was discovered that arsenic also produced a variety of other greens, from deep emerald to pale peridot. Although Scheele and others knew how toxic these pigments were, that didn't stop the colors from being used for clothing, candles, papers, playing cards, book-bindings, and sometimes even food. In perhaps the most famous example of its use, arsenic green wallpaper graced Napoleon’s last bathroom while he suffered through his exile on St. Helena, and some think the fumes caused by his long baths may have been what killed him.

5. Isabelline

José Reynaldo da Fonseca, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY 2.5

If true, this color's origin story has to be the most off-putting in history. Once used to describe the pale champagne color of certain horse coats and bird feathers, the term Isabella-colored or isabelline is said (by no less than Isaac D'Israeli's 1791 Curiosities of Literature) to come from Isabel of Austria, the devoted daughter of Philip II of Spain.

Supposedly, when Spain laid siege to the city of Ostend in 1601, Isabella vowed not to change her undergarments until the city was taken. She expected a speedy victory, but much to her dismay (and presumably that of everyone around her), the fighting continued for three years before Spain won.

The Oxford English Dictionary dismisses this origin story, noting that Isabella as a color is first noted in 1600, a year before the siege began. But linguist Michael Quinion notes that accounts in French, German, Spanish and Italian (where isabelline has a similar color meaning) refer to the earlier Queen Isabella of Castile (1451-1504) and the siege of Granada—which means the story might just be true, even if it's about a different Isabella and a different set of 7-month-old dirty underwear.

6. Fuchsia

Heinrich Füllmaurer, Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

Here's a more pleasant etymology: The vivid red-purple of fuchsia, the color, comes from fuchsia, the flower, which is in turn named for 16th-century German botanist Leonhart Fuchs. (His last name, by the way, comes from the German word for "fox.") And if you think fuchsia and magenta are the same color, you're closer than you might think: Magenta was originally an aniline dye named fuchsine, named after the fuchsia flower. The name was changed in 1859, the year it was patented, in honor of the French victory at the Battle of Magenta. That apparently helped the dye become a stunning success.

7. Vandyke Brown

Anthony van Dyck, Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

This deep, warm, transparent brown was made with a high concentration of organic matter (basically: actual dirt), and was popular with the Old Masters. It was named for the innovative Flemish painter Anthony van Dyck, who often used the color in his paintings, and who also lent his name to an early photographic printing process—which also produced a brown color, but did not actually involve dirt.

8. Perkin's Mauve

Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

Like so many scientific discoveries, the invention of synthetic dyes happened by accident. In 1856, chemistry student William Henry Perkin, then only 18, was trying to find a new way to make quinine (a popular treatment for malaria, and the ingredient that still gives tonic water its slightly bitter taste). The experiment didn't quite work as planned, but Perkin noticed some purple sludge left over in his flask after rinsing it with alcohol, and realized its potential.

His instincts were good: After Perkin patented his creation and began mass-producing it, the color swept England, becoming so popular that the magazine Punch condemned an outbreak of “the mauve measles.” The color was originally called aniline purple by Perkin, as well as Perkin's purple or Perkin’s violet. The mauve part of “Perkin’s mauve” came a few years later thanks to the French, who named it after their word for the mallow flower.

9. Hooker's Green

Thomas Herbert Maguire, Wikimedia Commons // Public Domain

The warm, grassy "Hooker's Green" is named for botanical illustrator William Hooker (1779–1832), who created a special pigment just to convey the exact green of leaves.

Bonus: Mummy Brown

A close-up of an Egyptian mummy head
A close-up of an Egyptian mummy head
iStock.com/izanbar

OK, it’s not a color named after one person, but a color named after many people—many dead people. First made in the 16th and 17th centuries, but a special favorite of the 19th century painters, this rich brown pigment was created by mixing both human and feline mummy crumbles with white pitch and myrrh. (Although we tend to think of them as protected antiquities today, people in centuries past often considered mummies just another natural resource.)

In part because of its curious components, the pigment wasn’t the most stable in the world, and it fell out of favor once its origin story became better known. According to one biography, the Pre-Raphaelite artist Edward Burne-Jones gave his tube of Mummy Brown a funeral in his garden when he discovered where it came from. The pigment was sold into the 20th century, although if you see the name “mummy brown” used today, rest assured it contains no actual corpses. Probably.

A version of this list first ran in 2016.

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