Painters, sculptors, and the ones who chased chickens across canvas.

What does it take for a toll collector who painted tigers in his off-hours to end up enthroned on a packing crate at a banquet thrown by Picasso?

A terrified little man taught crafts to bored teenagers in Drohobycz and wrote two of the strangest books of the twentieth century, until the SS officer next door decided he wanted a Jew of his own.

He won the 1906 Nobel Prize for proving the brain is built from separate cells. He found out by drawing them, on an ink-stained tablecloth, for fifty years.

Issued one pencil a week, he spent thirty-five years balancing the ledgers of a universe he'd crowned himself emperor of.

He kept a shoebox labeled Mouse Material; the archivist who finally opened it found the contents of a vacuum cleaner.

What happens when a man in a cardboard lobster suit accidentally starts chanting Catholic mass?

What happens when a man Stravinsky called Britain's best composer places a classified ad selling elephants he doesn't own — and names the buyers?

What kind of person gets laughed out of the British scientific establishment and leaves giggling?

She sent fourteen unsolicited watercolors to a stranger in rural Japan. That stranger was Georgia O'Keeffe, and she wrote back.

The most quintessentially Japanese artwork ever made was painted with a color Japan had banned.

She quit the throne, converted to the religion that was illegal for her to hold, and left Sweden in men's clothing — but she didn't leave empty-handed.