19th-Century Man Thought He Took First Photos Of Stars, Scientists Uncovered His ‘Trick’

He later described his childhood as one overshadowed by “emotional insecurity, poverty, religious fanaticism and neglect” — due possibly in part to the coldness his mother showed him, as he felt she resented his intellect.

When Strindberg was thirteen, his mother died. Their hot-and-cold relationship carried on into her death: he grieved her briefly, but for only three months. Later on, however, he came to long for his loss, and romanticized the idea of having a maternal presence in his life.

Strindberg was also an innovator and experimenter. His unique writing methods gave rise to the modern era of Swedish literature, and he was never content to create art the same way as his contemporaries, preferring instead to push boundaries.

His paintings in particular were noted for their expressionism and reluctance to stay within the confines of “visual reality”; while many of his peers painted true-to-life images, Strindberg, who was friends with the likes of Edvard Munch, did not.

Rather, he chose to paint only when he was feeling strongly emotional. The results were stormy landscapes, often of the ocean, clouds, or craggy hills, and were later regarded as some of the most original art produced in the 19th century.

In the 1890s, Strindberg became interested in photography “to save [his] talent as a writer.” He began taking self-portraits and photographs of his friends and children. For a while, he was content with producing formal seated portraits in the style of the time.

At first, Strindberg ventured out from lens photography into the realm of pinhole cameras and photograms. Pinhole cameras worked by allowing light to reach an emulsion directly through a tiny hole in the side of an otherwise lightproof container.

That wasn’t good enough, though. In his everlasting search for immediacy and authenticity, he deemed the pinhole cameras too fiddly and complex, requiring too much manipulation with a process that was too easy to mess up.

Strindberg was undeterred, though. When he pulled the plates out of the developer, they were covered with little sparkles and specks and blotches, which surprisingly mirrored the constellations and nebulas seen in a night sky.

He was delighted and proud. “I have worked like a devil and have traced the movements of the moon and the real appearance of the firmament on a laid-out photographic plate, independent from our misleading eye,” he wrote to a friend.

As years passed, the plates continued to develop, and the chemical stains morphed larger. It was apparent that the “nebulas” and “galaxies” seen on the plates were developer errors — or in some cases, residual fingerprints from Strindberg, whose oils had affected the emulsion.

Where are the celestographs now? They can be viewed online, along with Strindberg’s notes on their backs, through the National Library of Sweden’s Flickr archive. As far as the physical plates themselves, though, no one knows where they are — they’ve gone missing for now.

However, until the celestographs turn up again, Strindberg left plenty of other work behind to enjoy. He was a much better writer and painter than he was a photographer…but sometimes artists just have to try new things and see what happens!

Just as Strindberg’s friend, Edvard Munch, did with The Scream. A paint and pastel composition from 1893, the work is instantly recognizable, though most casual art aficionados don’t grasp the artist’s true intentions.

Edvard Munch emerged as one of the most daringly talented Expressionists the world had ever seen. The Norwegian scraped the darkest depths of his psyche and emotions for inspiration, and he had no shortage of material.

Fortunately, he escaped his father’s clutches and became a celebrated international artist. Pushing the boundaries of expression and experimentation, Munch went where no other painters dared. It was clear that his deep-rooted trauma influenced his subject matter.

One of his most celebrated works, for example, is The Sick Child. It clearly references the terminal illness of his beloved sister and the family’s struggle to cope. So is The Scream another attempt for Munch to process this tragedy?

Well, the answer isn’t so simple. For starters, The Scream wasn’t a singular work as much as it was a constantly evolving series. Munch produced four different versions of the scene, in addition to a lithograph copy — all of which started out with a different title.

Originally, he called his pieces The Scream of Nature. During a hike in 1892, the artist was struck by a blood red sunset, likely intensified by the Krakatoa eruption halfway across the world. To Munch, it seemed like an epic communication of the Earth’s pain.

Art historians also argue that Munch was inspired by a visit to a Paris museum. In his diary, he made note of a Peruvian mummy in a glass case, with its face forever twisted into an expression of horror.

The Scream became an undeniable success. Speaking volumes to both the expert and the layman, Munch’s masterpiece spread like wildfire during the 20th century. Everyone had something to say about it.

In Scream, Wes Craven modeled the mask of the killer — nicknamed Ghostface — on Munch’s iconic work. The painting was a cash cow for many artists. But such valuable artwork also attracted seedier characters.

In 1994, The Scream was stifled. When Norway turned all its attention to the 1994 Winter Olympics in Lillehammer, a group of criminals snuck inside Oslo’s National Gallery in the dead of night.

Police caught the criminals and returned the artwork weeks later, but even then, no copy of The Scream was safe. In 2006, armed men stormed into another gallery and snatched a copy off the wall. A surprising ally offered to help with the recovery.

Mars, Inc somehow decided it would be good promotion to offer a reward. Anyone who found The Scream would earn a grand prize of 2.2 million M&M candies. The company’s phones rang almost nonstop.

Astonishingly, one of the criminals contacted Mars with the information! He’d already been caught and was trying to land the candy stash as part of his plea deal. But rather than showering a thief in chocolate, the company gave the prize to Norwegian police.

With so many attempts to wrest the painting away from the proper owners, gambling dens have even placed bets on the next time that The Scream will be stolen. Many predicted another heist in 2012, as the masterpiece approached a major event.

A copy of The Scream racked up a record-setting price tag of $120 million at a Sotheby’s auction. That’s enough to make anyone scream. A few years later, the auction house witnessed an even more shocking sale.