This is what I imagine happened to the less-famous, but still infamous Hochdorf cauldron, which was discovered in a Celtic burial mound by an amateur archaeologist in Germany in 1968.
The burial mound belonged to a Celtic chieftan, who was buried alongside the giant lion-decked cauldron when he died, sometime around 530 BCE. Owing to traces of fermented honey inside of the cauldron, we know it was filled with an ungodly amount of mead—around 100 gallons. Historians guess that getting wasted inside the burial mound was some sort of farewell ritual for their departed leader, as he was buried with no less than nine drinking horns.
There’s some speculation that a spiritual leader of some kind would lead a visioning ceremony, getting so outrageously drunk that they transcended the physical world and saw visions of their departed chieftan journeying towards the afterlife.
100 gallons of mead, split nine ways.
What a way to go.
The rim of the discovered cauldron is decorated with three lions—two of which are clearly Greek-made. Greek wares were incredibly popular during the time, so this cauldron would have been quite a prized possession, especially because the two lions are of such impressive craftsmanship.
The third… well, it was clearly not. The affectionately-named “rat lion” is Celtic-made, which means it was added sometime after the cauldron was acquired by the Celts.
It’s possible that the cauldron was unfinished when the Celts got their hands on it. It’s unclear why that would be the case, but the back of one of the lion’s head is only partially etched, suggesting that even more of the cauldron was unfinished for some reason.
Or (and this is the better story, in my opinion) the third lion existed at one point, but somehow it was broken and “restored” by a somewhat less crafty Celtic craftsman.
I love this story so much, not just because the Celtic lion is comically bad compared to the others, but also because this kind of thing happens to art all the time. People see a piece of art that’s dirty, deteriorating, or damaged, and they decide to fix it themselves.
The resulting controversy over the destruction of original art, and the comedy of the restoration becomes a new work of art itself. What is art, besides a reflection of our own humanity? And what’s more human than thinking you can do something—easy, no problem—then completely, royally screwing it up, sometimes permanently (and hilariously)?
As I said, this happens all the time, so it’s hard to cover them all in one post. So, I’d like to go through my “Greatest Hits of Botched Art Restoration,” as a treat.
In addition to the Hochdorf cauldron, there is, of course, the infamous “Potato Jesus,” which was an attempted restoration of the 1930s Spanish fresco Ecce Homo by an 81 year-old parishioner in 2012. The original fresco had significant water damage, so she rolled up her sleeves and said “Eh, how hard can it be?”
But there have been other—arguably funnier—restoration attempts throughout art history that are also worthy of mention.
This painting is entitled The Immaculate Conception of El Escorial, and it was completed by the Spanish Baroque artist Bartolomé Esteban Murillo in the 1660s. A copy of the painting exists (or did exist) that may or may not have been painted by Murillo himself.
The copy was given to a local furniture restorer, and when it returned to the owner, the face had been… altered…
Dissatisfied with the changes, the owner sent it back, only to have it returned a second time looking like this:
Art is hard, my dudes.
Next on the list is a delightfully demonic baby head, which served as a temporary replacement for the head of the baby Jesus. This head was regularly stolen from a lovely statue outside the Sainte-Anne-des-Pins Catholic Church in Sudbury, Ontario. This is the original (and the baby is already a little ghoulish, but that’s just baby J in his natural state, creepin people out):
After the head had been stolen several times, a local artist volunteered to craft a little replacement out of terra cotta clay until the statue could be repaired, or until the original head was returned (which it eventually was). This is what she came up with:
I, personally, love him—so, so much. Even the priest at the church had a special place in his heart for the terra cotta goblin, and offered to buy it from the original artist (she said no—apparently she was also too attached to the little guy).
The headless one is also delightfully terrifying, so let’s throw that in there before we move on to our final art restoration botchery:
The last on the list also comes from Spain (in case you don’t remember, both Potato Jesus and the botched Immaculate Conception were also restored in Spain). This sculpture was part of a bank façade in the city of Palencia. At one time, it depicted a smiling woman surrounded by flora and fauna, but over the years, the elements reduced her features significantly, so the owners had it… “restored”…. or something… here’s the before and after:
I’m not sure where her eyes are migrating to, or the rest of her face, for that matter. It really puts the “face” in “orifice.”
I hope you enjoyed this look into some of art history’s best botched art restorations. If you think of any that you’d add to the list, feel free to drop them in the comments.
As always, thank you for being here. I know… I know it’s so, so hard right now, for so many reasons. It’s hard, also, to remember to come up for air. Sometimes that means venturing down the rabbit hole of botched art restorations, or watching an ancient tortoise snuggle a newborn baby goat, or writing rage letters stuffed with glitter to your Congresspeople, or praying the rosary over zoom with your queer relatives, or staying up late to paint at the kitchen table. You know your heart, and you how much it can take. Treat it with care.
As for me, I’ll be here if you need anything.
All my love,
🖤Becca Lee, the Haunted Librarian🖤