The Renaissance Brought a Cultural Shift

Around the 14th century, things began to shift. The Renaissance — an intellectual and cultural movement that most scholars agree began in Florence, Italy — brought a renewed focus on nature, humanism, and realism in art. Artists became more interested in depicting the world as it actually appeared, rather than as a symbolic landscape. 

This shift wasn’t instantaneous or universal. You could still stumble across a man-baby in a Renaissance-era painting if the artist was particularly committed to older styles. And the Renaissance itself was not a monolith; it didn’t blanket Europe uniformly or overnight. But the changes it ushered in had profound effects on artistic representation, including how babies were depicted.

One key factor was the rise of secular art. As Florence’s middle class grew in wealth and influence, more people could afford to commission portraits of their families, including their children. And understandably, they didn’t want their toddlers immortalized as frowning and balding. This demand for more personalized, relatable portraiture helped shift artistic norms. Over time, even depictions of baby Jesus became softer, rounder, and more recognizably infantile.

Renaissance idealism also played a major role in how children were depicted. Artists began studying anatomy, observing real babies, and drawing inspiration from classical sculpture. The result was a new visual vocabulary: plump cheeks, curling tufts of hair, playful expressions. These weren’t just more realistic babies — they were idealized versions, blending the best features into adorable cherubic forms.

Attitudes Toward Children Changed

Alongside these artistic developments, a subtler change was happening in how society viewed children. Although we should be cautious not to project too much onto medieval families (there’s no evidence that parents loved their children any less), the Renaissance introduced a new philosophical current. Children began to be seen less as incomplete adults and more as innocent beings, untainted by sin or worldly knowledge. As adults’ attitudes toward childhood evolved, so too did their depictions of children. Cute babies weren’t just aesthetically pleasing — they reflected deeper cultural values around family, morality, and human development.

In short, those weird medieval babies weren’t just artistic oddities. They were visual expressions of a different worldview. So next time you see a medieval baby that looks like it’s about to pay taxes, don’t laugh too hard. That little face is telling a rich story about art, belief, and how we’ve come to see the smallest among us.

The American Museum of Natural History Gem Heist

In 1964, Jack Roland Murphy — better known as “Murf the Surf” — along with his accomplices Allan Kuhn and Roger Clark, orchestrated a burglary at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. Weeks before the crime, the three well-dressed men made their way from Miami to a Manhattan penthouse, where they were living large and practicing stealing from wealthy hotel bar patrons in the process. Soon, they turned their attention to the jewels in the nearby museum. They spent time inside the building to learn the layout and plan their eventual break-in.  

On the night of October 29, the three men made their way to the museum. Murphy and Kuhn climbed a fire escape before breaking into the unlocked fourth-floor windows, while Clark served as a lookout below. Luckily for them, the gems’ display cases didn’t even have a working alarm system, enabling the thieves to easily make off with the Star of India (a 563-carat sapphire), the rare Eagle Diamond, the 100.32-carat DeLong Star Ruby, and handfuls of other precious gems totaling a modern-day value of about $3 million. The crime was hardly professional; they left a careless trail, and within days they were found and arrested, many of the gems recovered. Murphy appeared nonchalant in the press, smoking a cigar and claiming the arrest had thrown a wrench into his plans to spend the winter surfing. The public ate it up, turning them into unlikely folk heroes. Eventually, the trio served a few years each behind bars.

The Dresden Green Vault Burglary

One of the most high-profile heists in recent history was the 2019 Green Vault burglary. Located in Dresden, Germany, the museum (known locally as the Grünes Gewölbe) is known for having one of Europe’s largest collections of precious historical treasures, including jewelry, gemstones, and other artifacts that showcase the opulence of the Baroque era’s Saxon kings. In the early hours of November 25, 2019, thieves began their break-in by starting a fire nearby, which destroyed an electrical box and caused the street lights around the museum to go dark. They then broke the museum’s security panel and smashed through a window, making their way to the priceless jewelry displays; within minutes they had made off with a trove of irreplaceable items valued at about $128 million. The suspects then started another fire — this time to a car in a nearby parking garage — before jumping in their own getaway car and fleeing to Berlin.

After an extensive investigation, raids were carried out a year later in Berlin and the first of the suspects was apprehended. In the end, five men, all from the same prominent crime family, admitted their involvement in the heist; one even apologized and said he’d made a mistake. In early 2023, they were convicted and given prison time ranging from four years and four months to six years and three months. Despite extensive efforts to recover the stolen artifacts, many of them still remain missing.

The “Skylight Caper”

In the early morning hours of September 4, 1972, a man wearing a ski mask and spiked climbing shoes scaled a tree to get to the roof of the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. He lowered a ladder to his two awaiting accomplices, and then, using a rope, the trio rappelled into the building through an unsecured skylight. Once inside, they tied up the security guards and started their spree, stealing 18 paintings (including a rare Rembrandt landscape) and 39 other artifacts valuing $2 million in 1972 (about $15 million today). 

The men were believed to have left in haste, on foot, after accidentally tripping an alarm. (Another Rembrandt, as well as paintings by Pablo Picasso, El Greco, and more, were left behind on the floor.) Within a few days of the heist, the museum was contacted and told where to find one of the stolen items near a public pay phone. One month later, an envelope with photos of the stolen paintings and a ransom request for $500,000 arrived at the museum; it was not a successful attempt, but one of the paintings was returned in good faith. A year later, there was another ransom attempt from the supposed capers, but it amounted to nothing and the trail went cold. In the 1990s, new suspects and leads were pursued, but the case remains unsolved. 

Georgia O’Keeffe Painted From the Backseat of Her Model-A Ford

Modernist artist Georgia O’Keeffe sought to be closely connected with the scenic New Mexican landscape that was the subject of many of her works. Part of maintaining that connection meant painting outdoors, though the area was known for its unrelenting heat and plentiful bee swarms. Undeterred, O’Keeffe came up with an idea that would protect her from the elements while she painted. During her first visit to New Mexico, she had purchased a custom Model-A Ford to explore the land with. It had detachable front seats, and she would remove the passenger seat and spin the driver’s seat around to face the back. This allowed her to set up a canvas on the back seat while sitting comfortably and using the car as protection from the sun and insects.

O’Keeffe was said to be a fearless driver by her friends, and she took her vehicle throughout the state and set up her mobile art studio wherever she found inspiration. She found opportunities to connect with nature outside of the car as well, often hiking and camping in the desert terrain and bundling up during the colder months so she could continue to paint. O’Keeffe was also known to paint from inside her bedroom window overlooking the Chama River Valley, maintaining that unbreakable connection with nature. The artist’s efforts to experience the world around her paid off, as she produced some 2,000 paintings, many of which centered around local flowers and majestic southwestern landscapes.

Salvador Dalí’s Mustache Is Reportedly Still Intact

Surrealist artist Salvador Dalí was the epitome of eccentricity. His avant-garde paintings redefined the art world, and his unconventional stunts — such as keeping an ocelot as a pet — only grew his legend. Though Dalí died in 1989 at the age of 84, his most striking physical feature, his mustache, is reportedly still intact.
Few individuals wore as recognizable a mustache as Dalí. And according to Narcís Bardalet, the embalmer who tended to Dalí’s body after his death, the iconic facial hair was still in place when Bardalet exhumed the body in 2017 to collect DNA for a paternity claim. The facial hair was perfectly situated “[like clock hands at] 10 past 10, just as he liked it,” Bardalet observed. While still alive, Dalí was known to be proud of his distinctive handlebar mustache; he once claimed that he and French novelist Marcel Proust used the “same kind of pomade” for their curls. The mustache was even the subject of a book, 1954’s Dali’s Mustache: A Photographic Interview, which the artist himself co-authored with photographer Philippe Halsman. The book features their interview alongside 28 images of Dalí’s unique and seemingly immortal facial hair.

Frida Kahlo Took Up Painting After a Tragic Bus Accident

Mexican artist Frida Kahlo was on her way to becoming not a painter but a doctor when tragedy struck on September 17, 1925. During a bus ride, Kahlo was crushed in a terrifying and near-fatal accident that left her confined to a bed for many months after. No longer able to pursue her medical dreams, Kahlo turned to painting to cope with the loneliness of her recovery, discovering a new passion that saw her become one of the most celebrated painters in history.

Kahlo’s accident and recovery not only forced her to shift career trajectories, but also left her with deep and complex emotions that she conveyed through her art. It was a rarity at the time for female artists to be so open and expressive about their inner worlds, but Kahlo’s works defied those barriers. The trauma that she endured in the wake of the accident came through in paintings such as 1929’s “The Bus,” which captures a seemingly innocuous moment just before the fateful accident. In 1944, she painted the macabre piece “The Broken Column,” showing a leatherback brace that she wore for many years even after her initial recovery. Throughout the rest of her career, Kahlo never shied away from expressing her true self in her paintings, no matter how honest and dark the subject matter.

The Couple in “American Gothic” Aren’t Husband and Wife

Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” has become one of the most recognizable images of rural American life, and it’s easy to assume that the stern-looking pair are husband and wife. In reality, Wood intended them to represent a farmer and his adult daughter. The models were his sister, Nan, and his dentist, Byron McKeeby, chosen for their striking, angular features. By leaving their connection deliberately ambiguous, Wood created a tension that continues to shape how viewers interpret the painting.

When “American Gothic” debuted in 1930, many Iowans took offense, reading it as a bleak satire of rural life. Wood insisted he meant it as a sincere tribute to Midwestern character, but the painting’s lasting power lies in its uncertainty — a portrait that can appear either affectionate or critical, depending on who is looking.

“The Starry Night” Was Painted From Memory

When Vincent Van Gogh painted “The Starry Night” in 1889, he was living inside a psychiatric asylum in southern France, where he had voluntarily committed himself following a mental health crisis. Confined to the hospital grounds, he worked largely from memory and imagination, transforming the limited view from his barred window into one of the most recognizable skies in art history.

The quiet village in the foreground of “The Starry Night” was not visible from Van Gogh’s room and appears to be largely invented, shaped more by memory and emotion than by the actual landscape around him. The dramatic whorls of the sky, long seen as purely symbolic, have been compared by scientists to mathematical patterns found in turbulent flow — phenomena formally described decades after the painting was made. Whether intentional or instinctive, Van Gogh’s brushwork captured a natural rhythm that science would only later begin to explain.

“The Last Supper” Began Falling Apart Almost Immediately

Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” is one of the most reproduced religious images in history — yet surprisingly little of the original surface remains. It was painted on the wall of the refectory of the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, and Leonardo did not use traditional fresco, which required painting quickly on wet plaster. Instead, he experimented with a slower, experimental technique that allowed him to rework details and facial expressions. The paint failed to properly bond with the wall, and the image began deteriorating within just a few years of its completion.

What visitors see today is the result of centuries of repair and restoration layered over the fragile remains of Leonardo’s original work. Wars, humidity, pollution, and repeated retouching further compromised the surface, leaving conservators to stabilize rather than truly preserve the paint. While modern restoration efforts have carefully reconstructed missing sections, experts agree that just 20% of what is visible today reflects Leonardo’s original brushwork.

“Girl With a Pearl Earring” Isn’t Really a Portrait

Johannes Vermeer’s “Girl With a Pearl Earring” is not a traditional portrait of a specific individual, but a tronie — a Dutch Golden Age character study that emphasizes expression, costume, and lighting rather than identity. The girl’s exotic turban and luminous earring enhance the painting’s drama, turning her into an idealized, timeless figure rather than a known sitter. Tronies were popular among Dutch artists as a way to experiment with light, color, and facial expressions, and Vermeer’s work exemplifies this approach.

Even the pearl itself may not be a real gemstone. Its simplified brushwork and reflective highlights suggest it could be glass, metal, or even a painterly effect designed to catch light and draw attention to the girl’s gaze. Vermeer’s true focus was the interplay of light and shadow across the subject’s face and costume, using the earring as a visual anchor that emphasizes her expressive look.

Seurat Used Color Science To Paint “La Grande Jatte”

Georges Seurat’s “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” may look serene, but it was constructed based on scientific color theory. Influenced by scholars such as Michel Eugène Chevreul and Ogden Nicholas Rood, Seurat applied thousands of tiny dots of pure, unmixed pigment side by side, letting the viewer’s eye optically mix them at a distance. This method, called pointillism, forms the basis of neo-impressionism, a movement Seurat helped pioneer that emphasized luminous color, systematic technique, and scientific principles in painting.

The resulting scene feels controlled and still, despite depicting leisure in a Paris park. Figures are arranged with geometric precision and rarely interact, giving the painting a formal, almost frozen quality. Scholars interpret this composed stillness — along with the meticulous technique — as a reflection of modern urban life, social order, and the tension between observation and human isolation in late 19th‑century Paris.

“Christina’s World” Depicts Life With Disability

At first glance, Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World” may appear to show a woman resting in a sunlit field, but the story behind the image is far more compelling. The painting depicts Anna Christina Olson, a lifelong resident of Cushing, Maine, who lived with a degenerative muscular disorder that left her unable to walk by her mid‑20s. Rather than use a wheelchair or other mobility aid, Olson pulled herself across the ground using her arms.

Wyeth and his wife Betsy were close friends with Christina and her brother Alvaro, and Wyeth spent decades capturing their world in drawings, watercolors, and tempera. While Wyeth’s painting reflects Christina’s lived experience, the torso and youthful form in the painting were modeled by Betsy — a choice that has sparked some debate over authenticity and the ethics of representing another person’s body in place of the subject’s own.

Helvetica

Today, Helvetica is one of the world’s most common fonts, ubiquitous in advertising, publishing, and urban signage. It was created in 1957 by Max Miedinger and Eduard Hoffmann at the Haas Type Foundry in Basel, Switzerland. Inspired by the vintage Akzidenz-Grotesk font (released in 1898), Helvetica was envisioned as a neutral typeface that was clear, easy to read, and could be used almost anywhere, from magazine articles to the New York City subway. 

Originally, the font was named Neue Haas Grotesk — but, understandably, the type foundry decided to find a more appealing name before marketing the font internationally. The designers suggested Helvetia— the Latin name for Switzerland — which was then tweaked to Helvetica. The font became available for Linotype printing machines and later, Apple’s first Macintosh computer in 1984. From there, Helvetica’s popularity exploded, and it became arguably the most influential font of the 20th century.

Courier

Courier was designed by Howard “Bud” Kettler in 1955 for IBM, specifically for the company’s typewriters. It was made to be monospaced, meaning that every character occupies exactly the same width — a mechanical necessity in typewriters where each key strikes the paper at the same distance from the last. 

IBM made a strategic business decision not to protect Courier with copyright or design patents, and as a result it soon became a standard font used throughout the entire typewriter industry. Even when digital typography arrived and many fonts abandoned monospacing, Courier persisted. As for the font’s name, Kettler nearly called it Messenger. He then changed his mind, explaining, “A letter can be just an ordinary messenger, or it can be the courier, which radiates dignity, prestige, and stability.” 

Arial

You might not expect to find much controversy in the world of fonts, but the rise of Arial brought about a typeface hullabaloo. The seemingly innocuous font was designed in 1982 by type designers Robin Nicholas and Patricia Saunders. It was created to be metrically compatible with Helvetica, with Arial’s characters having exactly the same widths as the older, established font. This meant that documents could easily swap between Arial and Helvetica without layout changes. 

The creation of this new, suspiciously similar font was also a way to avoid licensing fees for using Helvetica. The design community was swift in its criticism of Arial, calling it a poor imitation and clone of Helvetica. Nonetheless, the font quickly grew in popularity after its inclusion in Microsoft Windows in 1992, and it is now preinstalled on virtually every computer. Still, it remains a black sheep in the typographer community: In 2001, type designer Mark Simonson called Arial “little more than a shameless impostor” that only “pretends to be different.” 

Comic Sans

Comic Sans is another font with a notorious reputation. But when type designer Vincent Connare created the font for Microsoft in 1994, he didn’t intend any harm. In fact, the typeface was originally intended for the speech bubbles of an animated cartoon dog called Rover who appeared in the short-lived Microsoft Bob software that guided users through the Windows interface. 

Connare, who quite reasonably argued that dogs don't talk in Times New Roman, created Comic Sans as a friendlier, more playful alternative, with comic book-inspired letterforms in a handwritten style. Microsoft included Comic Sans in Windows 95, and soon it was everywhere: on birthday invitations, in classrooms, in business presentations, etc. It even began appearing in what the design community considered highly inappropriate contexts, including on gravestones, commemorative benches, and funeral invitations. A backlash ensued, championed by the “Ban Comic Sans” movement of 1999. Somehow, a font designed for a cartoon dog became one of the most significant — and divisive — typefaces of the digital age.

Georgia

Traditional serif fonts such as Times New Roman were designed for high-resolution printing. But while their fine details looked elegant in books, magazines, and newspapers, they turned blurry or jagged on low-resolution screens. So, in 1993, Matthew Carter, one of the most renowned typographers of the 20th century, designed a serif font specifically for the digital world. 

The result was Georgia. Among its chief characteristics were a larger-than-average x-height (the height of lowercase letters, excluding ascenders and descenders) and increased tracking (the space between each letter), improving clarity and readability, especially on small displays, regardless of resolution. 

The font’s elegant-sounding name has a less than elegant origin story. Apparently, Carter was deciding what to call his new font when he saw a tabloid headline that read: “Alien Heads Found in Georgia.” He thought that “Georgia” sounded like a good name for an elegant typeface, and chose it for his font. 

Calibri

In 2002, Dutch type designer Lucas de Groot was contacted by an intermediary who asked him to create a proposal for a monospace typeface and a sans serif font for an unnamed client. He sent his two proposals to the client, including sketches for his new Calibri design; the client, which turned out to be Microsoft, accepted both. The font was exactly what Microsoft was looking for: Its subtly rounded design was friendly; its clean, straightforward lines were easy to read; and it was perfectly suited to screens of all sizes. 

Calibri was released to the public in 2007 with Windows Vista, becoming the default font on Microsoft Office and immediately going global. Etymologically, Calibri could have had a very different backstory. Microsoft requested a name that started with the letter C, to which De Groot proposed “Clas” (a Scandinavian name associated with “class”) and “Curva” or “Curvae.” But the people at Microsoft pointed out that “Clas” meant “to fart” in Greek, and “Curva” meant “prostitute” in Russian. So, in the end, they settled on the inoffensive “Calibri,” which Microsoft employees said relates to “calibrating the rasterizer in the ClearType font rendering system” — whatever that might mean. 

Unidentified Edwardian Woman

One of the most potent weapons in the arsenal of the modern photo-poser is the mirror selfie. But using a mirror to take a photo of yourself is nothing new; it’s been done for well over a century. One of the most famous early selfies was taken by an unnamed Edwardian woman using a Kodak Brownie, a type of box camera first released in 1900. The photo shows the woman standing with her camera in front of a tall mirror. The mystery surrounding her identity only adds to the photo’s appeal. We are left to wonder who she is, and whether it was her who took the photos we can see on shelves to the right of the mirror. 

Harold Cazneaux

Harold Cazneaux was a pioneer of photography in Australia, capturing diverse subjects in a huge collection of images spanning the first half of the 20th century. His photos include sweeping landscapes, urban scenes, and intimate portraits, as well as self-portraits. Cazneaux could be considered something of an early adopter when it comes to selfies; his earliest self-portrait was taken in 1904 at the age of 26, and many more followed, including the selfie above, taken in 1937. These weren’t the off-the-cuff selfies we’re accustomed to today — Cazneaux’s compositions were always well considered. “The photographer,” he once wrote, “must be in accordance with all nature’s moods; he must feel the very spirit of the scene if he is to be successful.” 

Joseph Byron

If you’re reading this thinking, “Well, these examples aren’t really selfies,” then consider Joseph Byron. Byron specialized in photographing Broadway shows and other stage productions, while also documenting life in New York City. In 1909, he took some self-portraits while standing on the roof of a building on Fifth Avenue — images that very much conform to the modern notion of a selfie, with the camera held in outstretched arms. He also took a group selfie in a similar manner, featuring a handful of his dapper colleagues sporting a fine selection of old-school hats and mustaches. 

Grand Duchess Anastasia 

Anastasia was the grand duchess of Russia and the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II — the last emperor of Russia. In 1914, when she was 13, she took a handful of self-portraits using a Kodak Brownie box camera and a mirror. The photos, taken in her bedroom at Alexander Palace, were among the first-ever selfies taken by royalty, and could also represent the first teen selfies. Sadly, the images are indelibly tinged with tragedy. Anastasia was killed with other members of her family during the October Revolution of 1917, just a few years after she took the photos.

Forehead Plucking

The majority of Renaissance women were not blessed with a naturally large forehead, a fact that made forehead plucking a common practice. Women would often pluck their forehead hairs for a higher hairline; other methods included rubbing the hairline with a rough stone or burning off the hair with quicklime. 

If that seems extreme, other hair-removal methods were entirely bizarre. Around 1500, the Italian noblewoman Caterina Sforza produced a manuscript called Gli Experimenti in which she details more than 400 cosmetic, medicinal, and alchemical recipes, including one for forehead hair removal. The recipe recommends tying a cloth bathed in a mixture of egg whites and mastic gum powder to the forehead, and then leaving it overnight. After a handful of applications, bat blood and fine lead powder were applied to prevent hair growing back. 

Many other depilatory treatments such as this existed specifically targeting the top of the forehead — one of which involved rotten beef and powdered maggots. Most of these procedures would have been uncomfortable and time-consuming, and yet people, especially among the aristocracy, were very much committed to these beauty rituals. And while it’s entirely likely that Renaissance artists may have exaggerated certain foreheads out of simple flattery, their paintings documented the actual beauty standards of the time. 

An International Investigation 

Initially, staff at the Louvre didn’t realize the “Mona Lisa” had been stolen. It wasn’t uncommon for paintings to be removed for cleaning or photography, so the blank space that the portrait normally occupied was ignored for more than a day. But then, when people started to ask questions, the whole story exploded, sparking an international manhunt and unprecedented media coverage. At the time, the “Mona Lisa” wasn’t nearly as famous as it is today. But the media frenzy surrounding the theft catapulted the painting to new heights, and all of a sudden there was global public interest in Leonardo’s enigmatic masterpiece. 

French police soon began interrogating hundreds of suspects. The poet Guillaume Apollinaire was arrested and imprisoned thanks to his associations with the light-fingered Joseph Gery Pieret, a man known to have stolen small items from the Louvre before. Apollinaire then implicated none other than Pablo Picasso, who had recently bought stolen sculptures from Pieret. (We don’t know if Picasso was aware they were stolen.) At one point, the American tycoon and art lover J.P. Morgan was also suspected of commissioning the theft. All of these men were found to be innocent, and the investigation dragged on.  

For more than two years, the “Mona Lisa” sat hidden in Peruggia’s modest Paris apartment, where he would often take it out to gaze upon the masterpiece — he poetically stated, after his arrest, “I fell a victim to her smile and feasted my eyes on my treasure every evening. I fell in love with her.” Eventually, Peruggia tried to sell the painting, which led to his downfall. The potential buyers, upon seeing the genuine “Mona Lisa,” reported the thief to the authorities. On December 11, 1913, police arrested Peruggia and the “Mona Lisa” was returned to its rightful place in the Louvre. 

The Most Valuable Object Ever Stolen

Since the theft of the “Mona Lisa,” many other famous and valuable paintings have been stolen. For example, Edvard Munch’s “Scream,” worth $120 million, was stolen twice, in 1994 and 2004, and “The Concert” by Johannes Vermeer, valued at $200 million, was stolen in 1990. Of course, it’s not only paintings that get the big bucks. A $3 million violin — known as the Davidoff-Morini Stradivarius — was nabbed in 1995. And in 2003, the Saliera, a sculpture and functional salt cellar worth about $57 million, was taken from a museum in Vienna. Even Dorothy’s ruby red slippers from The Wizard of Oz were stolen, before later selling at auction for $28 million. And back in 1907, someone stole the Irish Crown Jewels — worth at least $5.5 million today —from Dublin Castle, in a case that remains unsolved.

The “Mona Lisa,” however, is in a different league. It’s hard to put a price on the famed painting, but it did receive an insurance valuation of $100 million in 1962, equivalent to about $865 million today — the highest insurance valuation ever recorded for a painting. This alone makes the “Mona Lisa” the most valuable object ever stolen, as recognized by Guinness World Records. More recently, in 2014, experts valued the painting at a whopping $2.5 billion, far eclipsing the value of any other stolen object in history. 

“Babe Ruth Bows Out” by Nat Fein

Babe Ruth's home run records and larger-than-life personality made him baseball’s first true superstar and one of its most enduring icons. On June 13, 1948, Yankee Stadium hosted a celebration to not only mark the ballpark’s 25th anniversary but also retire the Great Bambino’s iconic No. 3 jersey. At the time, Ruth hadn’t played for the New York Yankees in more than a decade; more poignantly, he was dying of terminal throat cancer. When the Sultan of Swat made his way to home plate, photographers crowded the first baseline for the perfect shot of the legend who, with a baseball bat as a makeshift cane, appeared frail. Nat Fein, however, wanted to capture Ruth’s jersey number, which was only visible from behind. Though the longtime New York Herald Tribune photographer rarely covered sports — he was filling in for a sick colleague that day — his instincts were spot-on. Fein’s photo, which powerfully captured Ruth’s vulnerability and his No. 3 jersey, won a Pulitzer Prize in 1949. Ruth passed away two months after the famous photo was taken.

“Kiss of Life” by Rocco Morabito

Sometimes capturing a moment is a matter of chance. In July 1967, Jacksonville Journal photographer Rocco Morabito was on his way to cover a train strike in Jacksonville, Florida, when an unrelated sight caught his photographic eye: electrical linemen, working up high on utility poles, their silhouettes against the sky. Not wanting to miss his deadline, he continued on to his assignment, only to loop back to the linemen for some pictures when he was done. But as he approached, he noticed a commotion. Utility lineman Randall Champion had electrocuted himself and was dangling upside down from the power pole. As Champion’s co-worker J.D. Thompson sprang into action, climbing the pole and immediately beginning mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, Morabito followed his instinct and snapped a few quick pictures before rushing to call for help. The lineman regained consciousness and Morabito hurried back to the newspaper’s office to print his photos. The mouth-to-mouth photo ran on the front page with the caption “The Kiss of Life,” and after being picked up by the Associated Press, it became an international sensation. In 1968, Morabito won a Pulitzer for the photo, and in 2024, Thompson, the man who saved his co-worker, had a Jacksonville street named after him.

“Burst of Joy” by Slava Veder

After the Paris Peace Accord was signed in early 1973, ending the United States’ war in Vietnam, American prisoners of war began to return home. On one such momentous occasion, Slava Veder of the Associated Press was on the tarmac at Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, California. On March 17, when Lieutenant Colonel Robert Stirm returned home after being imprisoned in North Vietnam for almost six years, his 15-year-old daughter charged toward him, arms outstretched and face ecstatic; Stirm’s other children and wife followed closely behind her. The image, however joyful, was bittersweet: Just days before the reunion, Stirm had received a letter from his wife stating her intention to end their marriage. Still, “Burst of Joy” became one of the most recognizable images of the Vietnam War era, and in 1974, Veder’s picture-perfect moment won a Pulitzer Prize. 

“Coretta Scott King” by Moneta Sleet Jr.

Photographer Moneta Sleet Jr. had a close relationship with Martin Luther King Jr. and his family. Sleet spent years covering the Civil Rights Movement at Ebony magazine, including the 1955 Montgomery bus boycott, the 1963 March on Washington, and the pivotal 1965 events in Selma, Alabama. He also captured the day that King was laid to rest. On April 9, 1968, at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, Georgia, Sleet snapped a strikingly sorrowful photo of King’s widow, Coretta Scott King, and their youngest daughter, Bernice, just days after King was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. In 1969, the photo won a Pulitzer Prize, making Sleet the first African American male to receive the award (Gwendolyn Brooks won for her poetry in 1950). But the photograph almost didn’t happen. Initially, Sleet didn’t get accredited to cover the funeral; when Coretta Scott King heard, she threatened to ban all media coverage if Sleet wasn’t allowed in. 

“Serious Steps” by Paul Vathis

On April 22, 1961, President John F. Kennedy and former President Dwight D. Eisenhower met at Camp David in the aftermath of the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, a disastrous mission planned by Eisenhower and carried out by his successor to overthrow Cuban leader Fidel Castro. The encounter, which marked Eisenhower's last visit to the presidential retreat, was attended by several members of the press. Associated Press photographer Paul Vathis captured an image of the two presidents walking together, heads down in serious conversation. The gravity of the photo matched the cultural moment: The failure embarrassed the Kennedy administration while further straining U.S. relations with Cuba. The somber photo struck a nerve, and in 1962, Vathis was awarded a Pulitzer Prize for the snap — one that Kennedy’s press secretary scolded the photographer for taking after the official photo op was over.