Reclining by a wine jug and a portion of bread, a cup in one bony hand, the skeleton on a 3rd-century BCE mosaic discovered in Turkey has a simple message for its viewers: “Be cheerful, enjoy your life.”
In Famous Deaths, you experience the smells and sounds of the last four minutes of someone’s life, all while closed inside a metal mortuary drawer.
Reports last month suggested that the skull of playwright William Shakespeare was no longer in his grave.
The fact that he slept for seven years with the corpse of a woman he loved is, for filmmaker Ronni Thomas, one of the least interesting things about Count von Cosel.
PARIS — We rarely experience the oceanic sensation of our bodies as continuous and equal with all other humans.
Each year, hundreds of New Yorkers are buried in trenches dug deep in the soil of Hart Island, a sliver of forgotten land in the Long Island Sound off the eastern shore of the Bronx.
Art related to death in the United States evolved from European influences in the colonial era to a distinct language of mourning, guided by widespread grieving for public figures like the country’s presidents.
“We grieve in silence,” game maker Ryan Green says at one point in That Dragon, Cancer, an interactive experience based on the illness and eventual death of his son, Joel.
Every autumn in New York, leaves fall, grass turns brittle, and people are reminded of death.
Five heart-shaped lead boxes dating to the 16th and 17th centuries were exhumed from the basement of the Convent of the Jacobins in Rennes, France.
When you step into one of London’s iconic red telephone boxes, you’re entering the architecture of a tomb.
Death as a skeletal grim reaper was cemented as a symbol during the plagues in Europe, which stretched from the 14th to 18th centuries.