Unveiling the True Terms of Isabella Stewart Gardner’s Will | September 18 2026, 22:26

Earlier today I wrote a post about the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and, like everyone else, I referenced her will: it says that if the trustees change the layout, the entire collection goes to Harvard. This statement is quoted in every article, every guidebook, and every podcast about the 1990 heist. Then I got curious: what else is in the actual document? I went looking — and to my surprise, I found that the will is not publicly available. Everyone refers to it, but you can’t find it: not on the museum’s website, not in archives, nor in legal databases. All I found was a fragment on Scribd, where just the pages I needed were missing.

So I just wrote a letter to the museum archive. I sent it at 3:54 pm. By 3:58 pm, I had received a response — with photos of the original: seventeen handwritten pages on lined paper with red margins, red ribbon, wax seal, and the signature “Isabella Stewart Gardner” dated May 9, 1921, plus a typewritten codicil from 1924.

The most interesting part — the famous stipulation about Harvard is actually much more specific than it is recounted. It kicks in if the trustees display something she did not own at her death, or change the “general arrangement” of items on the first, second, and third floors — “except for the kitchen and adjacent bedrooms on the first floor.” Then everything — the land, the building, paintings, statues, trinkets, furniture, books, and a $1.2 million fund — must be sold by Harvard, and not in Boston, but in Paris, with the proceeds going towards either salary increases for professors or scholarships no less than $1,200 each per year. The fourth floor and the attic are not included in this restriction — that’s where the director lived, to whom she bequeathed an apartment rent-free, $5,000 a year, a month of vacation, and up to two servants paid for by the museum.

The will does not grant free admission to everyone named Isabella — some online sources refer to the will, but no, that’s a marketing ploy. Moreover, it states precisely the opposite: the director himself should nearly personally collect admission fees, “as the greatest public good will be achieved by such a fee,” and the museum should be open only on specific days. So the twenty-five dollars for a ticket is literally her will. She also prohibited “extravagant expenditures” on maintenance, with any excess to be given every five years to two Boston hospitals, one for a free bed.

Every year on April 14th, on her birthday, trustees are required to conduct a memorial service in the chapel at the end of the Long Gallery — the museum still does this to this day. The remainder of her estate was divided between the children’s hospital, child and animal protection societies, with the animal protection society receiving money on the condition that they spend $75 a year on a free stall in memory of the horses Dolly, Pluto, and Lady Betty and $35 on a kennel in memory of the dogs Kitty Wink and Patty Boy.

Free Admission for Isabelles at the ISG Museum: A Legacy of Eccentricity and Art | September 18 2026, 17:33

Hey, if your name is Isabella, you get free admission to the ISG Art Museum in Boston (otherwise $25). Or a discount if you show up in an “Oh, you Red Sox” T-shirt. I’m at the museum right now. You won’t find this information at the ticket counter. It’s not a promotion, but a clause in the will of the founder—Isabella Stewart Gardner, who built herself a Venetian palazzo in the middle of Boston in 1903, stuffed it with Titian, Rembrandt, and Vermeer. She also walked a lion on a leash and came to the conservatory with an “Oh, you Red Sox” band around her forehead—for this very reason, fans in gear still get a discount here.

The scariest place here is the Dutch Room, where empty frames hang on the walls, but right now it’s under renovation, and instead of empty frames, there are empty rectangles made of painter’s tape. In March 1990, two people in police uniforms entered at night, tied up the guard, and in 81 minutes took out 13 works worth about 500 million dollars, including Rembrandt’s only seascape and Vermeer’s “The Concert”—the most expensive stolen painting in the world. The case is still unsolved, and the reward for information is $10 million. The frames hang empty because the will forbids changing anything in the museum: if you move one thing, the entire collection goes to Harvard for sale 😉

If you know an Isabella—tag her, she gets in free for life 😉

P.S. I requested the museum’s will, they sent me a scan, and there’s a lot of interesting stuff https://www.facebook.com/share/1DJAbebsEH/

Politeness Index: Cleaning Up Social Media and Profiting from Civility | September 15 2026, 23:34

Politeness Index: How to Clean Up Social Media from Rudeness and Profit from It

Social networks have long needed a “politeness index” for each post and comment. The idea is simple: an algorithm directly ties displays to the tone of the message. Aggressive comments are not removed, but simply shown less frequently in the feed.

Write a calm and diplomatic comment — you gather a normal audience. Come to be abusive and quarrel — your comment will be seen by no more than three people.

How it works in practice. Technically, it’s all possible now: neural networks easily assess the tone of text in the background. The main thing in this system is to give the user clear feedback.

For example: A commentator gets personal. The social network sends him a notification: “Your text could have been twice as noticeable if you hadn’t used foul language towards the author and hadn’t belittled that woman in the white coat.”

People receive a clear signal: audience attention depends on how the thought is formulated, not on the loudness of the scandal. Initially, this function can be tested not on everyone, but only on a portion of posts.

Why do users and businesses need this? Would platforms themselves want to spend money on moderating tone if their business is built on views and endless emotional debates? It’s a complicated question.

But a solution could be a premium “clean feed” feature. Many would happily agree to watch additional advertising or pay a small subscription fee for an ecological information space. We pay cleaners to clean our houses — paying for cleanliness in social networks is no worse. In the long run, the habit of communicating politely for likes may change people beyond the internet. Or did I fall from another planet?

Mastering the Art of Russian Paints: A Guide to Rare Pigments and Where to Buy Them | September 15 2026, 00:29

I brought the paints. It’s a rare case when something made in Russia is worth buying and bringing to the USA or Europe. So, if you have artist friends, you can bring them some, they’ll be 100% happy (but only the Master-Class brand). Moreover, even China doesn’t make decent paints that you could order cheaply from AliExpress with shipping to the USA. To be precise, there are some, but they aren’t highly valued by artists outside of China.

The most valuable here is Volkonskoite. It’s a rare mineral pigment, mined almost exclusively in one place in the world (Perm region), and in tubes, it’s essentially only made by “Nevskaya Palette”. The only option on our market — dry pigment Rublev Colours: Volkonskoite Pigment, from $26.40 for 10 grams (raw material from the same place, Yefimych in Perm region), needs to be ground into oil by oneself. In Russia, I bought it for 1200 RUB ($14).

Second is Glauconite — another natural Russian green earth paint. You can buy alternatives, but basically, only from Rublev. You need to order it, plus there are many imitations, but this is pure pigment (Rublev writes that most “green earth” paints from other manufacturers are not natural minerals, but a mix of chromium oxide and ochre).

Third — Pink Ultramarine. This pigment is rare, offered by literally two or three brands – about $17-$25 plus shipping. In Russia, I bought it for 780 RUB ($9).

Two cobalt violets (dark and light) are expensive in their own right — cobalt violets everywhere fall into the highest price group, but buying them in America is not difficult (Winsor & Newton, Gamblin, Williamsburg, etc.). The value is more in the price than in the rarity. For example, Williamsburg Cobalt Violet Deep 37 ml costs $46.01 (Michaels / Jackson’s), it’s currently $53.68 at Jerry’s with a list price of $76.69. And I bought it for 1200 RUB ($15).

Cerulean. In the USA, you can buy the same class Gamblin Cerulean Blue 37 ml, from $28.80, while I paid $15. Like cobalt blue, they’re just wonderful, absolutely standard paints, easy to find anywhere. I just bought them at the same time, it turns out cheaper that way.

All these paints are artist grade, the very top. The brand “Master-class”. In Serbia, I went into five Art Supplies stores and from the Nevskaya Palette range, they only had “Sonet” – those are the simplest ones in their line (there’s also Ladoga, between Master-Class and Sonet).

After 2022, “Nevskaya Palette” almost disappeared from American and European stores. You can carry them on a plane, but in case someone objects that you can’t bring such items onboard, it’s advisable to have an SDS with you (I have one, can send it). But they’ve survived three flights over the last week, and successfully so.

Discovering New Details in “Hedgehog in the Fog” | September 14 2026, 23:50

While walking with Yuki, I watched “Hedgehog in the Fog” again. Listen, pure discoveries. I always thought he walked with a little bundle tied to a stick. Turns out, he was just carrying the bundle in his paws, and the stick was there to poke into the fog. Did you also imagine him carrying a bundle on a stick, or was it just me?

Then I thought he was wandering around shouting “horsey!” But it turns out, he only said horse sadly once, and that’s it. And actually, the horse was off to the side, and his friend, a bear cub, was calling him off-screen throughout the cartoon.

It also turned out that the hedgehog speaks with the voice of Uncle Fyodor from “Prostokvashino”.

I read also that they made the animation simply by moving cut-out characters at different distances from ordinary tracing paper.

After that, Norstein has been shooting “The Overcoat” based on Gogol since 1981. Still not finished.

Exploring the Black Box: AI’s Struggle with Novelty Creation | September 14 2026, 20:19

I’ve devised a simple illustration of where current AI still falls short.

Imagine a black box with two knobs sticking out. You move the first one — the second one moves too, but according to its own rules, like with delay, inertia, threshold, however you like. In essence, the box transforms f(t) into f'(t). The question is: what’s inside? It’s necessary not only to devise an efficient mechanism but also to fit it within the box’s dimensions.

Formally, this is almost like programming. Because one can formally describe input-output and come up with an “alphabet” for mechanical components inside. But unlike programming, there’s a lot of nonlinear aspects – the mechanisms are bulky, and one must take into account numerous factors from materials to friction, and importantly, it’s not so simple to test a prototype before creating it. But the main thing is not even this – it’s understanding the problem. The only way to find out what’s inside the box is to put forward a hypothesis and devise a knob movement in which this hypothesis and an adjacent one yield different results. A good experiment here is more important than a good answer. And models are trained on a corpus of solved problems, where mistakes have already been cleaned up, and there nothing trains the ability to choose the next question.

The point is this. It seems that the challenge for AI (we’re talking about LLM; the field is broader)— isn’t the assembly of the known, it handles that increasingly well. That is, with an “alphabet” for describing the task and laws of mechanics, AI can solve the box problem through combinations of the known, rather than through a fundamentally new component. The challenge is inventing something new. Although, to be honest, most human inventions, when analyzed, also turn out to be an assembly from far-flung pieces. Yet, consider the invention of the escapement in clocks, where all the components — a wheel and an oscillating fork, and even the very idea that the oscillating system shouldn’t be driven by a spring, but should itself regulate when the spring is allowed to release a burst of energy, reverses causality in the device, and took centuries to achieve. And the lockstitch in sewing machines. It’s pointless to copy a hand with a needle, instead, it’s necessary to pull a second thread through the loop of the first from the back, and the needle must have the eye at the tip. All this isn’t just assembly from components, it’s changing what is generally considered the task, and that’s why such things are so poorly derived by mere combination, whether by humans or models.

An inventor has feedback from reality and a cost for mistakes, so they learn to test before believing. Within one answer, a model has nothing to pay with for a wrong guess. And besides, if you replace the mechanics with particle physics, everything has to be redone because it all works differently there.

Interestingly, this is not cured by the size of the model, but by the structure of the task. Let the box respond to movements — and the task transitions from textual to experimental. Let’s see who learns to play this game first.

Beyond the Screen: How “Gone Girl” Manipulates Us Differently in Book and Film | September 09 2026, 19:56

Finished Gone Girl!

Yes, I’ve seen the movie. Yes, I knew the ending. And yet—the book is a different beast. The movie shows WHAT happened. The book shows HOW you’re being fooled: half a year of dated diary entries that you believe because the other narrator, Nick, admits he lies to the police. Flynn buys your trust in one liar at the expense of another. The camera can’t do that.

And the finale—it’s two competing manuscripts, his and hers. The one who writes better wins. Film simply can’t show this because it’s a book about books.

Read, don’t just watch, especially if you can do so in the original—it’s worthwhile. I’ve written before about bad translations. In the English version of the book, it’s very evident how the author changes the style and vocabulary in Amy’s chapters compared to Nick’s. Amy’s vocabulary is richer, sentences longer, more rare words used, the whole diary written in present tense, with exclamations and flirty remarks in parentheses. Nick, on the other hand, writes like a fired journalist (which he is)—short, past tense, “said”, “shrugged”, “poured”—that kind of protocol instead of feelings. This nuance gets smoothed over in translation, completely lost in film—there, both just talk. It’s interesting when the author metamorphoses into a hero with a narration style specific to each chapter.