Deadliest colors in history

In the year 1898, the remarkable duo of Marie and Pierre Curie unveiled the discovery of radium. This substance, with its purported rejuvenating properties, found its way into toothpaste, medicinal concoctions, water supplies, and even our daily sustenance. Emitting a captivating, luminous green glow, radium also graced the realms of beauty products and jewelry. However, it took until the mid-20th century for us to realize that the perils of radium, as a radioactive element, far outweighed its visual allure. Regrettably, radium isn't the sole pigment that history has portrayed as harmless or utilitarian, only to reveal its deadly nature later on. This lamentable distinction extends to three colors and pigments we have employed for centuries to adorn ourselves and our creations: white, green, and orange.

Our narrative commences with the color white. As early as the 4th century BCE, ancient Greeks processed lead to produce the brilliant white pigment known today. The predicament lay in lead's direct absorption into the human body, disseminating into the bloodstream, soft tissues, and mineralized structures. Once ensconced in the nervous system, lead impersonates calcium, disrupting normal functions and resulting in a spectrum of afflictions, ranging from learning disabilities to hypertension. Nevertheless, the practice of employing this toxic pigment persisted across epochs and cultures. Until the 19th century, lead white remained the sole viable option for white oil or tempera paint. Artists ground blocks of lead into powder to create their paints, inadvertently releasing highly toxic dust particles. The excessive use of this pigment gave rise to what was known as "painter's colic," a term that contemporary sensibilities would equate with lead poisoning. Artists who worked with lead complained of a myriad of ailments, including tremors, despondency, coughing fits, retinal enlargement, and even blindness. However, the density, opaqueness, and warm tone of lead white proved irresistible to artists such as Vermeer and later, the Impressionists. Its radiant luminosity remained unmatched, and this pigment continued its widespread usage until its banishment in the 1970s.

As ominous as the perils of white pigment sound, they pale in comparison to the hazards posed by another, more prevalent pigment – green. In the 18th century, two synthetic greens, Scheele's Green and Paris Green, made their debut. These hues surpassed the natural pigments in vibrancy and dazzle, quickly gaining favor for use in paints, textiles, wallpapers, soaps, cake decorations, toys, confections, and clothing. These vivid green pigments were composed of a compound called cupric hydrogen arsenic. Human exposure to arsenic can impair cellular communication and function, with high arsenic levels directly linked to cancer and heart disease. Consequently, 18th-century factory workers in fabric manufacturing often fell victim to poisoning, and women wearing green dresses reportedly succumbed to arsenic absorption through their skin. Curiously, it was believed that bed bugs would avoid infesting green rooms, and there is even speculation that Napoleon may have succumbed to slow arsenic poisoning from his green wallpapered bedroom. The extreme toxicity of these green pigments remained concealed until the arsenic recipe was published in 1822. Nearly a century later, it was repurposed as an insecticide. Synthetic green paint may have been one of the most perilous colors in widespread use, although it lacked the radioactive properties of radium. However, another color did share this property – orange.

Prior to World War II, manufacturers of ceramic dinnerware routinely incorporated uranium oxide in their colored glazes. This compound yielded striking red and orange hues, which were undoubtedly appealing, if not for the radiation they emitted. It is important to note that the concept of radiation was not unveiled until the late 1800s, and our comprehension of associated cancer risks emerged much later. During World War II, the U.S. government requisitioned all uranium for bomb development, albeit relaxing these restrictions in 1959. Depleted uranium returned to ceramics and glass factories, with orange dishware produced during the subsequent decade possibly still possessing hazardous qualities on their surfaces today. Notably, vintage fiestaware has been identified as radioactive to some extent, although the levels are generally insufficient to constitute a health hazard if the items are kept on a shelf. Nevertheless, the U.S. EPA cautions against using these dishes for food consumption. While we occasionally confront issues related to synthetic food dyes, our burgeoning scientific awareness has aided us in eliminating perilous colors from our daily lives.