Division of Arts and Humanities

What happens after ‘Once upon a time’?

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 12 Jun 2026 21:35:15 +0000

What happens after ‘Once upon a time’? Rachel Sauer Fri, 06/12/2026 - 15:35

On The Ampersand, Professor Ann Schmiesing explores the elements of a Grimm Brothers fairy tale and how these stories illuminate deeper truths about being human

Listen to The Ampersand

Ann Schmiesing came to fairy tales almost as a matter of academic necessity.

Growing up in Oregon, she loved stories—for their detail and as vehicles of discovery—but initially pursed them as a scholar through theater and drama. Then, in one of her first professorships, she and a colleague were tasked with analyzing the department curriculum for possible gaps. They discovered that the department didn’t offer a course on Germany fairy tales, so Schmiesing offered to develop one.

The brothers Grimm changed not only the course of her scholarship, but in many ways her life. In their tales, she saw not only mirrors of her personal experiences, but of human experience. Fairy tales, she discovered, could hold truths that transcend time and culture.

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Ann Schmiesing is author of The Brothers Grimm: A Biography, published in 2024 to wide acclaim and reviewed in publications from The New Yorker to The Times of London.

Now, Schmiesing is nationally and internationally recognized for her fairy tale scholarship. Her book The Brothers Grimm: A Biography, published in 2024, was recognized by The New Yorker as one of the best books of the year.

A professor of German literature in the �Ͼ�Ʒ�� Department of Germanic and Slavic Languages and Literatures and the senior vice chancellor for strategic initiatives, Schmiesing recently joined host Erika Randall, �Ͼ�Ʒ�� dean and vice provost of undergraduate education and professor of dance, on "The Ampersand,” a College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall and guests explore stories about ANDing as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

ANN SCHMIESING: I started out writing about 18th-century German drama. I also did 19th-century drama and theater history. So, my background, my dissertation work, all that, it's not fairy tales and folklore.

I got into fairy tales because a colleague of mine, years ago, we were tasked by our department with looking at our curriculum and seeing what are the courses that other programs have that we don't have. And it was a, ‘Hey, we don't have a course on German fairy tales.’ And so, I was one of the ones who did some of the older stuff—18th, 19th century. I also happened to have two young daughters at the time, so I kind of volunteered to develop this course, never thinking that I would get into writing about fairy tales.

I think there was a part of me that was probably a little bit disdainful. I was excited to do the course, but what is there really to write about?

ERIKA RANDALL: So, you thought maybe it was lower art.

SCHMIESING: It wasn't the 18th-century drama, all of that. And then I started teaching the course, and I was blown away. Just blown away. I mean, first, just the enthusiasm of my students that they brought to the subject matter and everything that they brought, I think, coming from Disney and pop culture, then really delving into the tradition of German fairy tales and other fairy tale traditions.

The Brothers Grimm: A Biography by �Ͼ�Ʒ�� Professor Ann Schmiesing is the first English-language biography in more than five decades on Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, whose first names (and life stories) are less well-known than their usual moniker, the Brothers Grimm.

And then at the same time, incidentally, I was losing my hearing.

RANDALL: In the moment of working on it.

SCHMIESING: That's right. So, I was going deaf. And one day I was prepping for a class, and I was going to be teaching this tale in which there is this wicked stepmother who hears all these noises that others can't hear. And it's kind of describing her descent into madness, if you will. But for me, I was losing my hearing, and I was having all of these bouts of tinnitus, roaring noises in my ears, all of that.

And so for me, reading that passage, it really resonated. Then I started paging through, in that moment, paging through the collection, realizing there's tale after tale after tale that depicts characters with disabilities, with deformities, with disease. And there's been so little written about this. So, that really became the impetus for my book on disability in the Grimms' fairy tales.

RANDALL: I did not know that. Did it feel at all like you were being cast in the role? You were a mother. You were a woman. You were an assistant professor at the time. Were you resisting it all, too, because there's this hyper-feminization of storytelling or the bedtime tale? Did it feel lesser from a feminist perspective? Did you go in that space? And then when you started to crack it open and go, wait, this is actually the opposite, there's so much room to give trouble from a feminist lens and from a disability studies lens.

SCHMIESING: Yeah, I think there was a part of that. I mean, I was really excited to develop the course, so it wasn't something that I was thinking as, oh gosh, I have to develop this new course, or anything like that. But I think there was a part of that. And one thing that is just really important to name is so many of the canonical fairy tales that we teach, they are sexist, misogynistic, they have racist components, anti-Semitic, on and on and on. And it is really important not to sweep that under the rug, but to address that head on.

As much as fairy tales have been so normative in their own way, they've also, throughout the history of the fairy tale, they've been a space to subvert those norms. I think that's what's really powerful, too, is how you make fairy tales your own through this process of interpretation but also telling and retelling.

RANDALL: Producer Tim and I were talking before the interview today about the 150th at CU, and thinking about fairy tale and myth and how critical it is to look at our stories, and to have them be open enough that others could see themselves in them to tell their story moving forward. And I think as academics, but also as administrators who are looking at our dream for the university, the dream for academia, the dream for education, how do we put those golden keys in the hand, not knowing what doors they may open?

SCHMIESING: That's right. And I look at the 150th celebrations and, for me, I do approach this through a fairy tale folklore lens. For the Grimms, they really saw their collecting of fairy tales, of legends, of various folk texts—they saw this as a process of exhumation, of exhuming these long-buried treasures that have been forgotten and making sure that they don't die out, making sure that they're told, that they are retold. I see something similar in how we tell our story.

I mean, humans, we gravitate towards storytelling because we want to make sense of our experience. We want to make sense of this thing we call life. We want to make sense of the world around us. And often we're doing that through storytelling. What I think is important is that there's no one story.

RANDALL: There's never one story.

SCHMIESING: That's right. There's always another story. There's always another perspective. There's always another way of telling the same basic story. What I really like about the 150th celebrations is this participatory aspect, this call to tell your story. Let us know about Buffs that maybe have been forgotten. And this is everything from things we should be celebrating to things that we should have done better or could do better. I see in that, again, this same pattern that I see in fairy tales and folklore, this notion that we're never done, we're always retelling, we're always reshaping.

Click play to hear the rest of the conversation!

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On The Ampersand, Professor Ann Schmiesing explores the elements of a Grimm Brothers fairy tale and how these stories illuminate deeper truths about being human.

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�Ͼ�Ʒ�� co-sponsors Holocaust studies workshop in Berlin

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 01:46:05 +0000

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� co-sponsors Holocaust studies workshop in Berlin Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/08/2026 - 19:46

The two-day workshop will bring together scholars and students from around the world to assess the state of Holocaust studies in the mid-2020s

The �Ͼ�Ʒ�� is co-sponsoring an international conference assessing the state of Holocaust studies in the mid-2020s, discussing achievements, shortcomings and prospects.

Along with Technische Universitat Berlin (Technical University of Berlin) and the Barenboim–Said Akademie in Berlin, �Ͼ�Ʒ�� will help welcome students and scholars of the Holocaust from around the world to a two-day workshop Tuesday and Wednesday at the Barenboim–Said Akademie.

What: Assessing the State of Holocaust Studies in the Mid-2020s: Achievements, Shortcomings, Prospects

When: June 9-10

Where: Barenboim-Said Akademie in Berlin, Germany

Learn more

Thomas Pegelow Kaplan, professor and Louis P. Singer Endowed Chair in Jewish History in the �Ͼ�Ʒ�� Department of History, will give the workshop opening lecture, focusing on practicing Holocaust studies in times of uncertainty.

A central focus of the conference is an awareness that while Holocaust studies, over the past 50 years, had developed from a marginal field into a vibrant international discipline, the last Holocaust eyewitnesses will be passing in coming years. With this passing, conference organizers note, contemporary history is becoming history, while at the same time the field faces new challenges: from politicized debates and attacks on scholarship to the reverberations of wars and conflict, which are prompting scholars worldwide to partially reassess the Holocaust in both its historical and contemporary dimensions.

The workshop aims to bring together leading international researchers at various career stages to assess the current state of Holocaust studies critically, asking: What has been achieved? What remains unresolved? What new directions are emerging?

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� involvement in the workshop continues to build on international collaborations that saw, in Fall 2025, the creation of a tri-university graduate course on modern German-Jewish ego-documents, or autobiographical writings, team-taught by faculty across �Ͼ�Ʒ��, the Open University of Israel (OUI) and the Center for Research on Antisemitism (ZfA) at the Technical University Berlin (TU Berlin).

The course brings together students and professors from the United States, Israel and Germany to partner on collaborative research, including an intensive, eight-day in-person seminar in Berlin.

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The two-day workshop will bring together scholars and students from around the world to assess the state of Holocaust studies in the mid-2020s.

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Some still like it hot

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 13:00:00 +0000

Some still like it hot Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/01/2026 - 07:00

Cody DeBos

On what would have been her 100th birthday, Marilyn Monroe still defies the image society gave her, says �Ͼ�Ʒ�� film historian Clark Farmer

Platinum blond hair framing red lips parted just so. A white skirt flapping over the grate of a subway. Her image, the portrait of 1950s Americana, is instantly recognizable.

Marilyn Monroe, born Norma Jeane Mortenson on June 1, 1926, died at age 36. Today, a century after her birth, Marilyn Monroe remains one of the most iconic stars in American cultural history.

But how well do we actually know her? More importantly, what does it mean that we know the image so much better than the woman beneath?

Clark Farmer, a �Ͼ�Ʒ�� assistant teaching professor in the Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts, encourages students to look closer at film and the cultural machinery responsible for our favorite on-screen stories.

Clark Farmer, an assistant teaching professor in the Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts at the �Ͼ�Ʒ��, has spent his career teaching students to look closer at film and the cultural machinery responsible for our favorite on-screen stories.

On what would be Monroe 100th birthday, Farmer offers a nuanced perspective of her mythos.

A star is built

The Monroe the world knows was as much discovered as she was constructed. When Norma Jeane entered the film business in 1946, the Hollywood studio system was already adept at creating personalities for its stars.

“Studios had a vast machinery to manufacture personas for their actors, but the performers were able to contribute to the process,” Farmer says.

That was something Monroe took seriously. She collaborated with her personal makeup artist, Allan “Whitey” Snyder, to develop the signature look she debuted in Niagara.

“This is the look that people who have never seen a Monroe film still recognize. The look immortalized in Andy Warhol silkscreens,” Farmer says.

Of course, studios also controlled which roles stars were cast in, giving them an outsized say in how they were seen. From the start, Monroe was handed “dumb blonde” parts and spent years fighting to be seen as something more.

More than glamour

Hollywood had no shortage of glamorous women before Monroe arrived on set and has had no shortage since. Rita Hayworth set hearts alight and Betty Grable smiled her way onto wartime pinups.

However, when Monroe broke through in 1953, starring in Niagara, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and How to Marry a Millionaire, the cultural shock was palpable. That same December, the first issue of Playboy hit newsstands with Monroe starring in its centerfold.

“She wasn’t simply glamorous or alluring,” Farmer says. “She was sexuality personified.”

Unlike earlier Hollywood sirens who projected power and control, Monroe came across unguarded, almost innocent.

“Monroe seemed softer and more vulnerable, even to some extent damaged. Men might project on to her fantasies of an unthreatening partner who didn’t demand anything from them,” Farmer says of the way Monroe sexuality was coded.

That image only deepened her allure. After her untimely death, the idea of Monroe as a beautiful victim became a permanent part of her star persona.

During the 1950s, though, her status as the “ultimate sex symbol” was cemented in the zeitgeist. It was widely accepted during a time when cultural gender roles were incredibly narrow.

A year after her death in 1962, the publication of Betty Friedan The Feminine Mystique would help launch second-wave feminism. This was the start of an evolution in how society viewed Monroe and helped pave the way for wider appreciation of the actress, not just the image.

“I think that the true legacy of Monroe is in her performances, where you can see her as a great talent that transcends just being an image,” says �Ͼ�Ʒ�� film historian Clark Farmer. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

“I think it is a better world where a woman isn’t reduced to being just sex and nothing else, and we can instead see their sexuality as part of their complete humanity,” Farmer says.

The actress behind the archetype

While studios and many fans were content to enjoy the eye candy, Farmer is quick to point out the seriousness with which Monroe approached her craft. From 1947, she trained in Method acting, first at the Actors' Laboratory Theater and later at Lee Strasberg's Actors Studio in New York.

Her 1956 film Bus Stop, filmed under a new contract that gave her more creative control, was a turning point. Monroe took on an Ozark accent and stripped away her signature glamour to deliver a performance that garnered a positive critical reception for her acting chops rather than her looks.

However, Farmer says dramatic work wasn’t where Monroe talent was greatest. He suggests comedy was where her star shined brightest.

“Critics and audiences often underestimate how much skill goes into comic acting,” Farmer says. “In part because ‘serious’ acting is associated with dramatic roles. But playing a ‘dumb blonde’ who secretly isn’t so dumb is actually very challenging.”

In films like Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Some Like It Hot, Farmer sees an actress using irony, comedic timing and quiet intelligence to subvert the stereotypes she performing.

“Today I think we recognize the immense skill in her comic roles,” he says.

A lasting image

More than six decades after her death, Monroe image has grown only more vivid. That is no accident.

“James Dean and Marilyn Monroe are encased in the amber of film at the moment of their peak popularity. We don’t have to let a pesky thing like aging get in the way of fantasizing about them,” Farmer says. “Monroe will never be older than 36.”

Earlier Hollywood sex symbols didn’t fare as well. Many saw their stars rise and fall with their eras. Others found themselves embroiled in controversy, forever tarnishing once glamourous personas.

Monroe untimely death froze her popularity at its height, and her image would go on to inspire everyone from Madonna to a generation of filmmakers who never met her.

Still, most people, including the students in Farmer classes, know Monroe image from a distance, but have never actually watched her work.

“They are often surprised by her singing ability, her comic timing, and her obvious intelligence,” Farmer says.

On Monroe 100th, perhaps the most fitting tribute is to not just admire the icon, but to watch her films with greater appreciation for the woman smiling behind the cherry lipstick.

“I think that the true legacy of Monroe is in her performances,” Farmer says, “where you can see her as a great talent that transcends just being an image.”

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On what would have been her 100th birthday, Marilyn Monroe still defies the image society gave her, says �Ͼ�Ʒ�� film historian Clark Farmer.

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‘Every novel is an experience’

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 22 May 2026 12:30:51 +0000

‘Every novel is an experience’ Rachel Sauer Fri, 05/22/2026 - 06:30

Clay Bonnyman Evans

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Helmut Müller-Sievers’ recently published book makes the case for a new way of reading—and teaching—novels

Helmut Müller-Sievers has an idea to help reignite students’ interest in taking literature courses: Rather than teaching novels as a source of knowledge, academics should encourage young readers to pay attention to the experience of reading.

“Every experience is novel, and every novel is an experience,” says Müller-Sievers, professor of Germanic and Slavic languages and literature at the �Ͼ�Ʒ��.

“Every experience is novel, and every novel is an experience,” says �Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Helmut Müller-Sievers.

In his new book The Novel Experience (Cornell University Press, 2026), Müller-Sievers follows the lead of three thinkers with “radical” notions about experience—the third-century Mahāyāna Buddhist monk Nāgārjuna;19th-century philosopher and psychologist William James; and19th-century German philosopher and writer Friedrich Nietzsche—and draws on his own experiences of reading.

“Fewer and fewer people are taking literature courses. We foolishly try to counter this loss by emphasizing what kind of knowledge students get from reading,” he says. “Because we are so focused on knowledge, we eliminate and, in a sense, prohibit the expression of the experience of reading novels.”

What was it like to read the book?

Rather than presenting a novel as something to be interpreted and or critically examined, the idea is to encourage readers to observe and communicate what it was actually like to read the book: Why did they choose the book? How difficult was it? How long did it take? Under what conditions—place, time, surroundings—did they read the book? Were they drawn to or distanced from the different characters? Did they enjoy it? Did anything stick with them when finished? How did the protagonist experience relate to their own?

In emphasizing knowledge to the exclusion of experience, the Western academy has promoted “an atrophied, mutilated sense of what experience is,” Müller-Sievers says. “We think there is a self . . . that is predicated on a division between the experiencer and what is experienced. James, Nāgārjuna and Nietzsche are radical critics of that idea.”

“The academy is deeply uncomfortable with the idea that novels should entertain. But entertainment and being entertained are deeply human activities and might even be uniquely human,” says Helmut Müller-Sievers.

Where Western thought from time immemorial has argued that there exist stable, individual human “selves” that go through life almost as if watching a movie, distinct from their own experiences, Buddhist thought argues that separation between consciousness and experience is a delusion.

Müller-Sievers doesn’t dispute that there is knowledge to be found in literature or that it requires knowledge to understand and teach it in certain ways. But focusing almost exclusively on knowledge ignores the primary motivations most people who read novels: experience and entertainment.

“When people who are not academics read a book, they are not primarily interested in knowledge, but rather in partaking of an experience,” he says. “The academy is deeply uncomfortable with the idea that novels should entertain. But entertainment and being entertained are deeply human activities and might even be uniquely human.”

Müller-Sievers sees no contradiction in reading for both knowledge and experience and argues that sharing the experiences of reading with others increases interest and enjoyment.

“So, rather than say, ‘Hey, let learn about Thomas Mann,’ it ‘Hey, let talk about the experience of reading about an experience. We can find common language that makes it exciting,” he says.

Müller-Sievers also sees reading for experience as a “civic virtue.” Humans can never have the experiences of another in the real world, but they can by reading novels. Reading novels can help students become more aware of their singular distinctness from others and their experiences.

And at a time when artificial-intelligence continues to insinuate its way into nearly every aspect of modern life, he detects a clear, inviolable distinction between human and machine intelligence.

“Only humans can have experiences. AI can only imitate experiences by looking back. It always looks back; it has to look back,” he says. “There is no way to distinguish between human and AI knowledge. But we can distinguish between deep human experience and the retroactive intelligence of AI.”

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�Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Helmut Müller-Sievers’ recently published book makes the case for a new way of reading—and teaching—novels.

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Top photo: Bhautik Patel/Unsplash

Is it temple robbery? That depends on who is doing the taking

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 18 May 2026 19:15:43 +0000

Is it temple robbery? That depends on who is doing the taking Rachel Sauer Mon, 05/18/2026 - 13:15

Bradley Worrell

New book from �Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Isabel Köster examines temple robbery and the ancient Roman politics of moral blame

Ancient Romans often plundered temples in their wars of conquest—sometimes openly and with astonishing scale. Large statues and famous works of art were carried away from foreign lands to Rome, treasuries were emptied and sacred spaces were stripped bare.

Yet, despite how frequently these robberies occurred, Romans still expressed sharp moral outrage about it—not for the plundering itself, but for particular individuals accused of committing it for the “wrong” reasons.

That contradiction lies at the heart of Stealing from the Gods, the new book by Isabel Köster, a �Ͼ�Ʒ�� associate professor of classics whose research focus is the history, religion and literature of the Roman Republic and the early Empire. Her book, which has its origins in her PhD dissertation, examines how Roman authors thought about sacred theft, imperial power and moral character.

Isabel Köster, a �Ͼ�Ʒ�� associate professor of classics, notes that calling someone a temple robber became the ultimate character assassination in ancient Rome.

In a recent interview with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine, Köster discussed who was doing the robbing, explaining why temples were such tempting targets and why calling someone a temple robber became the ultimate character assassination in ancient Rome. Her comments have been lightly edited for style and condensed for space.

Question: How common was temple robbery? Also, who was doing the taking and where was it happening?

Köster: In military contexts, it seems to have been fairly common. However, it was usually not labeled ‘temple robbery’ unless a Roman author wanted to emphasize a character flaw. For everyday thefts—small amounts of money or objects disappearing from sanctuaries—we know very little; our sources simply aren’t interested in that kind of activity.

These weren’t small, anonymous thieves. They were generals, governors and emperors.

Most cases took place in conquered or soon‑to‑be‑conquered territories, especially in Greece and Asia Minor. The few instances we have in Rome itself are associated with periods of civil war.

Question: Why plunder temples?

Köster: In many ancient communities, sanctuaries were essentially the equivalent of banks today. They were often the most heavily fortified places in a town, with solid walls and impressive doors. They were used to store valuables that belonged to the community, such as treasuries, and also private valuables that individuals entrusted to the gods. If you didn’t want to keep something at home, one option was to bring it to a sanctuary and ask the deity to look after it.

So, if you’re conquering territory and need money quickly, temples are a very natural place to go. Especially during long, expensive campaigns far from Rome, some temple plundering was probably inevitable. That simply a reality of the economics of ancient warfare.

What interesting is how Roman sources frame this. They ask, first of all, who is doing the plundering? If it a general with an impeccable reputation who claims to be acting for the good of Rome—funding further war and later returning treasures for public display—then that considered acceptable. Nobody criticizes those cases.

But if the person involved already has a reputation for greed or moral failings and is clearly enriching himself, then the same behavior is treated as temple robbery. This distinction allows Roman authors to frame standard warfare practices as fine while isolating blame onto particular individuals.

Question: What kinds of objects were typically taken from temples?

Köster: Generally, the more spectacular, the better. We’re talking about giant statues, large amounts of coinage and especially famous works of art. In some extreme cases, particularly greedy individuals went much further—breaking decorations off doors or removing parts of statues they couldn’t transport. But in general, Roman armies had the logistics to move large items and they took advantage of that.

Despite how frequently temple robberies occurred, ancient Romans still expressed sharp moral outrage about it—not for the plundering itself, but for particular individuals accused of committing it for the “wrong” reasons.

Question: What happened to the plunder once it was taken?

Köster: Some of it was melted down on the spot to generate revenue and pay soldiers. Other objects—especially famous artworks—were selected to be transported back to Rome for triumphs and public display. How those decisions were made and how much was lost is something we simply don’t know.

Question: Was temple plundering technically illegal under Roman law?

Köster: Often, no. Roman law was quite clear on this point: If a sanctuary was not located in Roman territory and its possessions had not been formally consecrated by the Roman people, then legally speaking, taking from it was not considered a temple robbery. A sanctuary in a territory that Rome was about to conquer didn’t necessarily count as a properly sacred space from a Roman legal perspective.

That one of the reasons the moral outrage in the literary sources is so interesting. There a real disconnect between what was legally permissible and what ancient authors chose to condemn.

Question: If plundering from temples in foreign lands was typically legal, what qualified as temple robbery in Roman eyes?

Köster: That the key question, and the answer is: Who did the taking? When Roman authors decide whether something counts as temple robbery, they don’t usually start by asking what was taken or where. They ask who was responsible?

If the person plundering was seen as morally upright and claimed to be acting for the benefit of Rome—funding campaigns, returning treasures for public display—then the act was framed as acceptable.

But if the person already had a questionable reputation, then the exact same behavior became reprehensible. Calling someone a temple robber is character assassination. It a way of saying this person is greedy, impious and unfit for power.

Question: How does that distinction help Romans think about their empire more broadly?

Köster: It a very clever rhetorical move. Roman imperial conquests inevitably involved violence and the destruction of sacred spaces, but Roman authors didn’t want to portray the entire system as flawed. By framing temple robbery as the failure of a few bad individuals, they could acknowledge harm without accepting collective responsibility.

Thus, it not a problem with Roman warfare, according to this logic. It a problem with isolated people who can’t behave themselves.

Question: The Roman statesman, philosopher and lawyer Cicero plays a big role in your book. Why are his speeches about temple robbery so important?

Köster: You can’t study temple robbery without Cicero speeches against Verres, the former governor of Sicily. Temple robbery is not part of the formal charges against Verres, which focus on corruption, but Cicero devotes enormous attention to attacks on temples because he felt they strengthened his argument.

Cicero clearly felt that these stories helped his case. The logic is: If someone is capable of violating sacred spaces so badly, then of course he capable of embezzlement and corruption. Verres becomes the benchmark against which all other temple robbers are measured.

Question: You state in your book that temple robbers become almost caricatures in Roman literature. What do those caricatures look like?

Köster: They’re remarkably consistent. A temple robber is never just someone who steals from temples. They are also accused of murder, torture, illegal enslavement and all kinds of brutality.

"In Rome, accusations of temple robbery were less about protecting the gods and more about defining who belonged and who didn’t."

But what really interesting is how often these figures fail at basic ‘Roman-ness.’ They can’t give a good speech. They don’t know how to host a dinner party properly. They dress inappropriately and don’t know how to behave in elite social settings. Despite reaching the top of society, they’re portrayed as outsiders to Roman culture.

Question: Based on available historical records, how many Romans were convicted of temple robbery? Also, what punishments did they face?

Köster: We have no robust evidence for prosecutions for temple robbery—sacrilegium in Latin—during the period I study, nor do we have definitions of the crime or discussions of penalties. In later Christian sources, where sacrilegium signifies a broad range of crimes that diminish the sacred status of someone or something (e.g., blasphemy or insulting the emperor), it is a capital offense. Here it merits the most horrific penalties that the Roman world has to offer, such as throwing people to wild animals for public entertainment. But in pre-Christian Rome, at least in the sources that survive, accusations of temple robbery are not a legal charge, but supporting evidence in other cases.

Question: What roles do the gods themselves play in these Roman narratives? Do they ever punish temple robbers?

Köster: Sometimes. There are dramatic stories of divine punishment: People struck dead, afflicted with disease—even losing their hands while trying to plunder a sanctuary. But those stories are surprisingly rare.

Most of the time, temple robbers get away with it. That raised big questions for me about ancient ideas of divine justice and the reliability of gods as protectors of their own property, which will be the focus of my next major project.

Question: If readers could take one or two ideas away from your book, what would they be?

Köster: That when we encounter moral outrage in ancient sources, we should ask what that work is doing. In Rome, accusations of temple robbery were less about protecting the gods and more about defining who belonged and who didn’t. The first question to ask isn’t ‘what happened?’ It ‘who is being accused?’

At its heart, this is a book about insults. And insults tell us what a culture values.

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New book from �Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Isabel Köster examines temple robbery and the ancient Roman politics of moral blame.

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Top image: "The Triumph of Aemilius Paulus" by Carle Vernet, 1789

Happiness in literature isn’t entirely a matter of chance

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 15 May 2026 18:19:24 +0000

Happiness in literature isn’t entirely a matter of chance Rachel Sauer Fri, 05/15/2026 - 12:19

Alexandra Phelps

Which is why readers and storytellers continue turning to Jane Austen, says �Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright, considering why this enduring proto-feminist writer still holds a place in the classroom

Last week, The Other Bennet Sister debuted on BritBox, allowing U.S. viewers to enjoy the latest reworking of Jane Austen Pride & Prejudice—this time telling the story of the often-overlooked Bennet sister Mary.

The series, based on the novel by Janice Hadlow, first debuted in the United Kingdom on the BBC and arrives in what would have been Jane Austen 250th birthday year (her birthday was Dec. 16). Known for her ability to capture the beauty of the ordinary lives of everyday people, Austen wrote novels that remain relevant centuries later. In the opening lines of Mansfield Park she declares, "Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery," revealing that as a writer, she strived to depict joy and community within the lives she created in her novels.

Yet even in developing happy and uplifting plotlines, Austen didn’t refrain from commenting on the social pressures and shortcomings of her society. Two and a half centuries later, the strength of this proto-feminist icon still remains in classrooms as students discover through Austen how gender, choice, relationships and power interact with one another.

Year after year, says �Ͼ�Ʒ�� scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright, students are surprised by Jane Austen, connecting to her writing in ways they didn’t think they could.

Nicole Mansfield Wright, an associate professor of English at the �Ͼ�Ʒ��, has seen Austen power firsthand. As a scholar of late 18th- and early 19th-century British literature, she notices that students often presume Austen writing will be prim, proper and unrelatable to their own lives. Year after year, though, students are surprised by Austen, she says, connecting to her writing in ways they didn’t think they could.

On a broader level, Austen resonates with people even though our political structures are different from hers, says Wright, who received international coverage for an op-ed she wrote on Austen's political relevance today, “Alt-Right Jane Austen.” On a personal level, Wright explains that Austen “resonates because she both relatable and profound. She speaks to situations we recognize, like having a sister whom you’re really close with or not being able to suss out what a crush thinks about you. These are really relatable situations, but she takes them seriously. She not just sensationalizing it.”

When teaching Austen, Wright encourages students to look through various lenses at the elements that make her novels so complex. Although Austen published just four novels while she was alive—two more were published posthumously—her limited body of work still captures the dynamics that exist within a wide range of social classes and experiences. These experiences are what allow students to connect to her work. “She into exploring our everyday experiences and helping us think through: ‘What kind of person do I want to be in the world?’” Wright remarks.

In Wright course “Developments in the Novel,” she includes Austen Sense and Sensibility. In one scene, Elinor Dashwood, the eldest Dashwood sister, has a conversation with Colonel Brandon, a suitor of Elinor sister Marianne. Brandon mentions the sadness and loss when young people sacrifice their own ideas and originality for conformity, observing, “One is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.” Wright uses moments like this to help students understand the importance of advocating for their own ideas.

Recalling a phrase from Paulo Freire Pedagogy of the Oppressed, which she encountered when she was a college student herself, Wright says, “One thing I really find important to my pedagogical strategy is that I don't think about education as ‘banking knowledge.’ I’m not dispensing information and then students store it in a bank and don’t question it. It about giving students a toolkit to decide how they’re going to operate out in the world. To be informed so that when they come across these ideas especially in this world of misinformation, they can be knowledgeable and they can come to the table with their own ideas.”

Publishing anonymously

Although today Austen novels—Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion and Northanger Abbey—are widely read, she didn’t publish under her name during her lifetime. Wright explains that female authors were often viewed as scandalous. “If you published a novel as a female author, you had to seemingly disavow your authorship. During her lifetime, Jane Austen name was not emblazoned on the covers of her books; one novel was attributed to ‘A Lady,’ for example.” During Austen life, the literary canon was overwhelmingly male, and women who wrote instead of keeping to the domestic sphere were often seen as morally suspect.

Austen legacy exists partially because of the way she centers and distributes power to female protagonists, says Nicole Mansfield Wright. (Photo: actress Ella Bruccoleri as Mary Bennet in The Other Bennet Sister. BBC/Bad Wolf)

Today, that canon has expanded to include a broader range of writers and stories, and there are ongoing discussions about what works deserve recognition. “There this idea of scarcity; that there only a set amount of attention. If we give this attention to new authors, is it taking away from honoring the authors who have stood the test of time?” Wright asks. “I would retort something along the lines of ‘Why do we have to choose?’” Literature, she argues, continues to offer new ideas and important insights, especially for students who are learning how to engage with the world around them.

Despite Austen limited catalogue, Wright resists naming just one novel as important to read. Instead, she approaches them “in an apothecary way. There are different Austens I can prescribe based on what malady you have.” For students and those reading for pleasure, there are different novels that can speak to universal feelings, she says. “If you’re worried about not getting started in life right and it seems like everyone is moving ahead of you, [pick up] Persuasion. If you’re an awkward person and you feel like you’re an outlier from others and that you’re not valued, [read] Mansfield Park. If you just want a good laugh, [choose] Pride and Prejudice. There are definite advantages to choosing each; it hard to choose just one.”

Austen legacy exists partially because of the way she centers and distributes power to female protagonists, Wright says, adding that Austen novels importantly “sustain a dialectic—a debate—rather than settling it,” and allow characters to exist beyond categories such as good or bad. Wright explains that more broadly, “novels remind us that our individual choices cumulatively can operate for or against justice. They make us feel less helpless. I have had situations where I think back to what this character would do in this situation.”

For students and readers navigating their own uncertainties and decisions, Austen novels offer an enduring possibility—a way to see themselves in characters who, despite being written centuries ago, were also questioning their belonging, identity, and power.

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Top photo: A scene of the five Bennet sisters from The Other Bennet Sister (Photo: BBC/Bad Wolf)

Telling stories of The Garden

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 13 May 2026 22:12:42 +0000

Telling stories of The Garden Rachel Sauer Wed, 05/13/2026 - 16:12

Rachel Sauer

In recently published book The Garden, �Ͼ�Ʒ�� poet Julie Carr explores themes of time, war, Jewishness, memory, techno-biology, friendship and grief

Paradise is only ever a thought.

Julie Carr pauses for a moment, remembering what led her to The Garden. It was 2021, and there had been several shootings at or near Denver East High School—one in the building, one in front of it and one half a block away. Carr daughter was a student there at the time.

Carr had written about shootings before, attempting through poetry to understand the incomprehensible, but that wasn’t the topic she wanted to focus on this time.

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� Professor Julie Carr explores themes of time, war, Jewishness, memory, techno-biology, friendship and grief in her book The Garden.

“Of course it was terrifying and tragic and awful, but I was feeling, as many people are feeling right now, this kind of block against what to do,” explains Carr, professor of English and creative writing and chair of women and gender studies at the �Ͼ�Ʒ��. “We protested, we’d written laws . . . but everything felt like a dead end.

“In that moment, I had a friend say, ‘You’re not just having a political problem here, you’re having a spiritual crisis.’ It this question of what do we do with violence? What do we do with our feelings of paralysis?”

Those questions led her down wandering paths of mystical tradition, of memories of her uncle, of dreams of fire in the dry Colorado grass, of imaginings like fragments of broken glass. And she arrived at The Garden, her recently published book that weaves fractured narratives into reoriented themes of time, war, Jewishness, memory, techno-biology, friendship and grief.

In the end, as at the beginning, I just wanted to think about the woman smoking on the planter edge.

If she can point to a beginning, it was when she began reading the writing of 12th-century Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides. What she found in her reading was unsettling, “in this way in which the questions that we have are the questions humans have always had—questions with no answers, questions about the origins of evil, questions about what it means to be part of a community. But it was helpful to write in conversation with this central medieval thinker.”

On a parallel path to these questions with no answers was Carr longtime passion for theoretical physics, which grew during her undergraduate education studying with the philosopher and feminist physicist Karen River Barad. Carr began seeing similarities between the world of thought embedded in quantum field theory and the worlds of thought embedded in Jewish mysticism—“this sense that the world is not as it seems, that there are multiple ways of knowing,” she says.

“I’m interested in different ways of writing: a narrative mode, a more philosophical mode and a more lyrical mode, and how these different approaches can circle around some of the same concerns, the same histories, the same unanswerable questions,” says Julie Carr. (Back cover of The Garden showing artwork by Tony Robbin)

She thought of her uncle, the artist Tony Robbin, who was fascinated with the ideas of four-dimensional space and geometry, which is and isn’t a real thing, Carr explains. The fourth dimension is a mathematical concept that can be played out in the world of math and the world of computer-generated imagery, “even though when we look at the world there no fourth spatial dimension that we can see,” she says.

Since the early 19th century, mathematicians and philosophers have theorized about the fourth dimension, ideas that held equal fascination for Cubists like Picasso and other European modernist artists.

“They were interested in the idea of fourth-dimensional space for the same reason I became interested in Maimonides or River Barad was interested in quantum field theory: When you accept quantum theory or 4-D, you begin to understand that empirical reality is only one version of this universe.

“These modernist poets and painters who were interested in the fourth dimension, it gave them a sense of the possible. If you’re looking at (Guillaume) Apollinaire coming out of World War I, writing about `the beyond of this earth’ (in the poem ‘War’), or at Tony (Robbin) trying to describe fourth-dimensional geometry to me over and over when I was a child, you can sense the dynamism, which is so alive in his paintings. They just evoke an endlessness of possibility.”

Once, twice, dozens of times throughout my late-cold-war childhood, my uncle, the painter of the fourth dimension, had stood before me in the fluorescent light of his studio speaking of the universal failure to perceive things as they really were.

It quickly became clear as Carr wrote into these themes that she was writing in multiple different ways—memories of bombs falling that weren’t hers but felt like they were. Holocaust histories pressed against the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, pressed against the Gaza war. Strange images, such as a finger tracing the edge of an oxygen tent, a scholar wearing a stained red sweater, her friend the arborist asking her, as they walk toward “a tree blooming bedspread pink,” whether she ever hears ghost stories. Not all of these images could appear in one book.

“It became the idea of writing a trilogy,” Carr says, explaining how The Garden is the first of three, the second of which, Turning, will be released next year. “I’m interested in different ways of writing: a narrative mode, a more philosophical mode and a more lyrical mode, and how these different approaches can circle around some of the same concerns, the same histories, the same unanswerable questions.”

But it seemed to me then and seems to me now that the best books are the ones that are never done. Even if bound and published, even if lauded and canonized, the greatest books carry a sense of incompletion. More: a sense of having been abandoned.

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In recently published book The Garden, �Ͼ�Ʒ�� poet Julie Carr explores themes of time, war, Jewishness, memory, techno-biology, friendship and grief.

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Top image: "Lobofour" by Tony Robbin, 1982

Winning films commemorate �Ͼ�Ʒ�� at 150

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 07 May 2026 23:05:12 +0000

Winning films commemorate �Ͼ�Ʒ�� at 150 Rachel Sauer Thu, 05/07/2026 - 17:05

Student filmmakers participating in the 150 Years of �Ͼ�Ʒ�� film competition had five minutes or fewer to tell a story from the university's expansive history

This year marks the 150th anniversary of the �Ͼ�Ʒ��--a milestone that is inspiring both reflections on those first 150 years and visions of what the next 150 might bring.

To commemorate and celebrate �Ͼ�Ʒ��'s first 150 years, the Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts issued a challenge to students: Create a film that's three to five minutes long, incorporates archival material from University Colorado Publicity Collections and/or photographs from the CU Campus Building Collections and tells a story from �Ͼ�Ʒ��'s first 150 years.

The winning films by Doug Conway and Benjamin Albuisson incorporate both historical photos and videos, telling stories of a spot in Boulder, Colorado, where communities grew, where ideas flourished and where innovation with potential to change the world happened.

Winning film by Doug Conway

Winning film by Benjamin Albuisson

Honorable mention film

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Student filmmakers participating in the 150 Years of �Ͼ�Ʒ�� film competition had five minutes or fewer to tell a story from the university's expansive history.

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As a new space race takes shape, a �Ͼ�Ʒ�� class asks: Do we understand China?

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 17:16:14 +0000

As a new space race takes shape, a �Ͼ�Ʒ�� class asks: Do we understand China? Rachel Sauer Wed, 04/29/2026 - 11:16

'China's Space Dream,' ASIA 4100, brings aerospace engineers, Chinese language students and international affairs majors into one room—and a visiting journalist from the South China Morning Post into the conversation

Days after Artemis II splashed down in the Pacific, returning four astronauts from the first crewed voyage beyond low Earth orbit in more than half a century, a science journalist who has spent years reporting on China's space program from inside its scientific institutions sat down with a �Ͼ�Ʒ�� classroom full of students who had been tracking the same story from the outside.

The conversation that followed put the American triumph in a wider frame. When the International Space Station was being designed in the 1990s, China had little to offer a partnership even if one had been on the table. Three decades later, the country operates its own permanently crewed space station, has returned the first-ever samples from the far side of the Moon, and is on track to bring back the first Martian soil before the United States does. The students, aerospace engineering majors sitting next to Chinese language and civilizations majors, history students alongside international affairs specialists, already knew these facts. What they wanted from Ling Xin was something harder to find out, what does this moment look like from the other side of the space race?

ASIA 4100, “China Space Dream: Long March to the Moon and Beyond,” is a course developed through the support of �Ͼ�Ʒ�� interdisciplinary Space Minor and taught by Lauren Collins, a teaching assistant professor and director of the Asian Studies program in the Center for Asian Studies. Now in its second iteration, the class will be offered again in spring 2027.

Collins designed the course around an observation that kept surfacing in her own work. US-China space competition is one of the defining dynamics of a shifting world order, but the people who understand the engineering often lack the cultural and historical context, and the people who study China often aren’t following the technical developments.

Four astronauts aboard NASA Orion spacecraft atop the SLS (Space Launch System) rocket launch on the agency Artemis II test flight, Wednesday, April 1, from Launch Complex 39B at NASA Kennedy Space Center in Florida. (Photo: NASA)

“The mix in the classroom is the whole point,” Collins said. “Aerospace and astronomy students know something about orbital mechanics and mission design. Chinese language and civilizations students know something about political culture and history. International affairs students understand geopolitics. But the interconnectedness across all of those domains is what surprises everyone, including me.”

The course weaves together Chinese culture, history, geopolitical contexts, and the race to the Moon as it unfolds in real time. Students study the origins of China space program, the role of the “space dream” in Chinese national identity, the Wolf Amendment that bars NASA from bilateral cooperation with China, the military dimensions of space technology, and the case for collaboration.

“Warfare and military applications are clearly an issue,” Collins said. “But the need to collaborate is so key, too. We’re talking about planetary challenges that affect all of us like climate monitoring, asteroid deflection, space debris, deep-space science. These issues don’t respect national borders.”

Learning from a visiting journalist

Ling Xin visit to the class came through the Conference on World Affairs classroom visit program, which pairs CWA speakers with �Ͼ�Ʒ�� courses during conference week. The 78th annual CWA, running April 13–16, featured more than 60 speakers across 50 panels at the Limelight Hotel Boulder and across campus.

For Collins, the match was ideal. Ling Xin is one of a small number of journalists working in English who can draw on firsthand access to Chinese scientific institutions, fluency in Mandarin, and formal journalism training in the United States. A former writer for the Chinese Academy of Sciences, she holds a master degree in journalism from Ohio University and has published in Science, Scientific American, Nature, and MIT Technology Review. She has reported extensively on China Chang’e lunar missions, the Tiangong space station, and the movement of Chinese scientists between US and Chinese institutions, a phenomenon known as the “reverse brain drain”.

“Having a journalist like Ling Xin in the classroom is a different experience from reading an article,” Collins said. “She can tell students what Chinese space scientists actually say when a reporter asks them about the competition with NASA”.

The timing of the visit was perfect. Artemis II had splashed down on April 10 after a successful nine-day circumlunar flight, making astronauts Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Canadian Space Agency mission specialist Jeremy Hansen the first humans to fly past the Moon since Apollo 17 in 1972. Koch became the first woman to travel beyond low Earth orbit. The mission was a triumph (and a relief) after many delays.

But even as the Artemis II crew was being celebrated, the competitive landscape was shifting beneath the surface. NASA announced in February that the first crewed lunar landing has been pushed from Artemis III to Artemis IV, now targeted for 2028. The Lunar Gateway station was cancelled. And Congress effectively killed NASA Mars Sample Return program in the FY2026 spending bill, leaving nearly 30 carefully collected sample tubes sitting in Mars Jezero Crater with no funded plan to bring them home.

"Let's Go to the Moon!" by Yuko Shimizu

Accelerating push to space

China, meanwhile, is accelerating. Its Tianwen-3 Mars sample return mission is targeted for launch in 2028, with samples expected back on Earth around 2031. If NASA doesn’t revive its own program, China will likely become the first nation to return Martian soil, a milestone with enormous scientific and symbolic weight. These debates are a key substance of class discussion.

“When you put an aerospace engineering student and a Chinese civilizations student in the same conversation about whether or not space should be treated as a global commons, you get an analysis that neither of them could produce alone,” Collins said. “Knowledge is co-created.”

The Wolf Amendment, a congressional provision renewed annually since 2011 that bars NASA from bilateral activities with Chinese space agencies, is a recurring thread in the course. The policy, which effectively excluded China from the International Space Station partnership, is widely credited with accelerating China independent development of the Tiangong station, the Long March 5 rocket family, and the full suite of crewed spaceflight technology that now positions the country as NASA primary competitor.

In 2026 alone, China plans to launch two crewed missions to Tiangong, including its first year-long stay, and host a Pakistani astronaut, the station first international crew member. The Chang’e-7 lunar probe, targeting the Moon south pole to search for water ice, is scheduled to launch later this year. A crewed lunar landing is targeted before 2030.

Collins also brings science fiction into the classroom to explore the cultural dimensions of space ambition. The global success of Liu Cixin “Three-Body Problem” trilogy has made Chinese science fiction a shared cultural reference point that crosses national and disciplinary boundaries. “Science fiction adds a layer that unites all of us,” Collins said. “These are universal concerns about what technology is doing to human civilization, especially now in the age of AI.”

The course is one of several electives offered through �Ͼ�Ʒ�� Space Minor, a campus-wide program open to students regardless of major that provides an interdisciplinary foundation in all aspects of space. The minor, part of �Ͼ�Ʒ�� Grand Challenge initiative, requires five courses: the foundational “Pathway to Space” and four electives drawn from departments across the university, ranging from aerospace engineering to music to environmental design.

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� has a singular claim on the subject. The university is the only academic institution in the world to have sent instruments to every planet in the solar system and Pluto, and the Laboratory for Atmospheric and Space Physics has been a leader in space research since 1948.

“This university has extraordinary depth in the technical side of space,” Collins said. “What the Space Minor makes possible is courses like mine that bring the human dimensions like culture, history, geopolitics, and collaboration into the same conversation. That what students will need to navigate a world where the US and China are building competing lunar bases and competing for leadership in the space economy.”

ASIA 4100, “China Space Dream: Long March to the Moon and Beyond,” will next be offered in spring 2027. The course is open to all �Ͼ�Ʒ�� students and counts toward the Space Minor.

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Top illustration: A Chinese flag added to famed photo of astronaut James Irwin on the moon. (Original photo: NASA)

Preserving the spaces that shaped O’Keeffe iconic art

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 14:00:50 +0000

Preserving the spaces that shaped O’Keeffe iconic art Rachel Sauer Tue, 04/21/2026 - 08:00

Cody DeBos

�Ͼ�Ʒ�� MFA alumna Giustina Renzoni considers how to share space and preserve history as director of historic properties at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum

In Abiquiú, New Mexico, vast mesas sprawl beneath an expansive blue sky. Among them sit the adobe walls of a home once inhabited by one of America most iconic artists. The interior is painted with light and characterized by quiet restraint reminiscent of the natural features outside.

It is here, in the home of Georgia O’Keeffe, that Giustina Renzoni helps visitors see both the artist work and the world that shaped it.

“When I first encountered Georgia O’Keeffe home in Abiquiú, what struck me immediately was that it wasn’t just her residence. It was also a remarkable example of vernacular adobe architecture with nearly 200 years of history before she purchased it,” Renzoni says.

Giustina Renzoni, �Ͼ�Ʒ�� MFA alumna, is the director of historic properties at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in New Mexico.

Now, as the director of historic properties at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Renzoni day-to-day work involves a careful balance of sharing the space with visitors while also preserving the structure and its layers of history.

A path shaped at �Ͼ�Ʒ��

Renzoni path to her current role began with a long-standing interest in the relationship between art and environment.

“I’ve always been drawn to the intersection of art, history and place,” she says. “Over time, I became especially interested in how artists’ environments shape their creative work.”

After studying art history and visual culture and gaining early experience working in museums, she pursued a Master of Fine Arts at the �Ͼ�Ʒ��.

“I chose �Ͼ�Ʒ�� because it offered a program that encouraged interdisciplinary thinking. I was interested in exploring art history alongside visual culture, often through sociohistorical frameworks,” Renzoni says.

She also calls out the collaboration required when working in a museum and recalls how her time at CU helped hone these skills.

“My time at CU helped me develop the ability to think across those disciplines and see how they all contribute to interpreting art and history for the public. That interdisciplinary mindset has been incredibly valuable in my role at the O’Keeffe Museum.”

How place helps us understand art

At the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Renzoni oversees the preservation and interpretation of the Museum historic properties—O’Keeffe home in the village of Abiquiú and another at Ghost Ranch. The Abiquiú home welcomes thousands of visitors a year, while the Ghost Ranch home is currently closed to the public, awaiting renovations and preservation work Renzoni will head. Her work bridges scholarship and public experience, ensuring the physical spaces connected to O’Keeffe life remain protected while also giving visitors a chance to experience them.

Much of her work is rooted in a simple, but powerful, idea: To understand an artist, one must understand where and how they lived.

“Seeing the places where artists lived, the landscapes they looked at every day, and the objects they surrounded themselves with can reveal dimensions of their work that aren’t always visible in a gallery setting. For me, those spaces create a kind of context that brings the artwork to life,” Renzoni says.

The Abiquiú patio, bedroom and zaguán of the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum. (Photos: Krysta Jabczenski/© Georgia O'Keeffe Museum)

Though the art may be stunning, viewers can’t see the full picture when it is hanging on a featureless white wall.

“Historic spaces show the relationship between creative work and daily life. You see what an artist chose to keep around them, how they organized their studio and how the landscape shaped their perspective,” she says.

For Renzoni, one of the most compelling ways to explore that connection is through her recent exhibition, Artful Living: O’Keeffe & Modern Design, which is currently on view at the museum welcome center in Abiquiú.

“The exhibition explores how O’Keeffe transformed her traditional adobe home in Abiquiú into a distinctly modern living environment through furniture, textiles, and design objects,” Renzoni says. “What I find fascinating is that the house itself becomes a kind of three-dimensional expression of her artistic vision.”

Balancing preservation with public access

Preserving this one-of-a-kind environment, however, comes with challenges.

“The biggest is balancing preservation with access,” Renzoni says.

Historic homes like O’Keeffe weren’t designed for a steady stream of visitors. Even small interactions can cause lasting damage.

“Things like light exposure, temperature changes and foot traffic can all affect fragile materials,” Renzoni notes.

In Abiquiú, where O’Keeffe home is built from earthen adobe, those concerns are even more pronounced. Still, ensuring public access is essential.

“The goal is to create thoughtful ways for people to experience [these spaces] without compromising their long-term preservation,” Renzoni says.

Doing so requires careful coordination across disciplines, from conservation and collections management to education and visitor engagement.

“In a gallery, the artwork is often isolated from that context. In a historic home or studio, you begin to see how art, environment and personal life were all intertwined.”

Reinterpreting O’Keeffe legacy 40 years later

Renzoni work feels especially timely in 2026, which marks the 40th anniversary of O’Keeffe death. Decades later, the artist work continues to resonate with audiences around the world.

“I think O’Keeffe resonates because her work feels both deeply personal and universal,” Renzoni says. “Her paintings of New Mexico, in particular, capture a sense of space, light and stillness that many people continue to find compelling today.”

Visiting the places where O’Keeffe lived can also reshape how people understand her work.

“Seeing those environments helps visitors understand that her work was deeply rooted in direct observation and in her relationship with the land,” Renzoni says.

Standing in Abiquiú, visitors witness how the scale of the sky, the geometry of adobe walls and the contours of the surrounding cliffs influenced an icon of American art, grounding her paintings in lived experience.

In the end, the spaces Renzoni preserves offer more than a glimpse into O’Keeffe life. They let visitors connect to O’Keeffe work on a deeper level, granting an understanding of how her work took shape that can be found nowhere else.

“In a gallery, the artwork is often isolated from that context,” Renzoni says. “In a historic home or studio, you begin to see how art, environment and personal life were all intertwined.”

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�Ͼ�Ʒ�� MFA alumna Giustina Renzoni considers how to share space and preserve history as director of historic properties at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum.

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