Download 576 Free Art Books from The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Met 1

You could pay $118 on Ama­zon for the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art’s cat­a­log The Art of Illu­mi­na­tion: The Lim­bourg Broth­ers and the Belles Heures of Jean de France, Duc de Berry. Or you could pay $0 to down­load it at Met­Pub­li­ca­tions, the site offer­ing “five decades of Met Muse­um pub­li­ca­tions on art his­to­ry avail­able to read, down­load, and/or search for free.”

If that strikes you as an obvi­ous choice, pre­pare to spend some seri­ous time brows­ing Met­Pub­li­ca­tions’ col­lec­tion of free art books and cat­a­logs.

You may remem­ber that we fea­tured the site a few years ago, back when it offered 397 whole books free for the read­ing, includ­ing Amer­i­can Impres­sion­ism and Real­ism: The Paint­ing of Mod­ern Life, 1885–1915; Leonar­do da Vin­ci: Anatom­i­cal Draw­ings from the Roy­al Library; and Wis­dom Embod­ied: Chi­nese Bud­dhist and Daoist Sculp­ture in The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of ArtBut the Met has kept adding to their dig­i­tal trove since then, and, as a result, you can now find there no few­er than 576 art cat­a­logs and oth­er books besides. Those sit along­side the 400,000 free art images the muse­um put online last year.

met museum free art books

So have a look at Met­Pub­li­ca­tions’ cur­rent col­lec­tion and you’ll find you now have unlim­it­ed access to such lush as well as artis­ti­cal­ly, cul­tur­al­ly, and his­tor­i­cal­ly var­ied vol­umes as African IvoriesChess: East and West, Past and PresentMod­ern Design in The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, 1890–1990; Vin­cent Van Gogh: The Draw­ings; French Art Deco; or even a guide to the muse­um itself (vin­tage 1972).

chess east and est

Since I haven’t yet turned to art col­lec­tion — I sup­pose you need mon­ey for that — these books don’t nec­es­sar­i­ly make me cov­et the vast sweep of art­works they depict and con­tex­tu­al­ize. But they do make me wish for some­thing even less prob­a­ble: a time machine so I could go back and see all these exhibits first­hand.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Over 250 Free Art Books From the Get­ty Muse­um

The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Puts 400,000 High-Res Images Online & Makes Them Free to Use

The Guggen­heim Puts 109 Free Mod­ern Art Books Online

Where to Find Free Art Images & Books from Great Muse­ums, and Free Books from Uni­ver­si­ty Press­es

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

An Online Gallery of Over 900,000 Wonderful Photos of Historic New York City

Grand Central

What is any major Amer­i­can city if not an indus­tri­al gallery bustling with peo­ple and machines? Some­times the images are bleak, as with the pho­to essays that often cir­cu­late of Detroit’s beau­ti­ful ruin; some­times they are defi­ant­ly hope­ful, as with those of the ris­ing of New Orleans; and some­times they are almost unfath­omably mon­u­men­tal, as with the images here of New York City, cir­ca the 20th century—or a great good bit of it, any­way.

Queensboro Bridge

You can sur­vey almost a hun­dred years of New York’s indomitable grandeur by perus­ing over 900,000 images from the New York City Munic­i­pal Archives Online Gallery.

Pho­tos like the aston­ish­ing tableaux in a sun­light-flood­ed Grand Cen­tral Ter­mi­nal at the top (tak­en some­time between 1935 and 41) and like the breath­tak­ing scale on dis­play in the 1910 expo­sure of the Queens­boro Bridge, above.

Bathers

The online gallery fea­tures large-for­mat pho­tos of the human, like the sea of bathers above; of the human-made, like the vault­ed, cav­ernous City Hall sub­way sta­tion below; and of the meld­ing of the two, like the painters pos­ing on the cables of the Brook­lyn Bridge, fur­ther down.

City Hall Station

These images come from a selec­tion of pho­tos culled from the var­i­ous gal­leries by The Atlantic. For more, see the NYC Munic­i­pal Archives site, which you can search by key­word or oth­er cri­te­ria. “Vis­i­tors,” writes the site, “are encour­aged to return fre­quent­ly as new con­tent will be added on a reg­u­lar basis. Patrons may order repro­duc­tions in the form of prints or dig­i­tal files.”

Brooklyn Bridge

Many of the images have water­marks on them to pre­vent ille­gal use. Nonethe­less the gallery is a jaw-drop­ping col­lec­tion of pho­tos you can eas­i­ly get lost in for hours, as well as an impor­tant resource for his­to­ri­ans and schol­ars of 20th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can urban­ism. See The Atlantic’s selec­tion of images for even more daz­zling pho­tos. Or bet­ter yet, start rum­mag­ing through the New York City Munic­i­pal Archives Online Gallery right here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New York Pub­lic Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Down­load and Use

Great New Archive Lets You Hear the Sounds of New York City Dur­ing the Roar­ing 20s

Vin­tage Video: A New York City Sub­way Train Trav­els From 14th St. to 42nd Street (1905)

Design­er Mas­si­mo Vignel­li Revis­its and Defends His Icon­ic 1972 New York City Sub­way Map

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Download 100,000 Free Art Images in High-Resolution from The Getty

getty free

When I want to get a good look at the city of Los Ange­les, I go up to the Get­ty Cen­ter in the San­ta Mon­i­ca Moun­tains. I can also, of course, get a pret­ty good look at some art at the muse­um there. But if I don’t feel like mak­ing that trek up the hill — and if you don’t feel like mak­ing the trek from wher­ev­er you live — The Get­ty can give you, in some ways, an even bet­ter way to look at art online. Just vis­it the Get­ty’s Open Con­tent Pro­gram.

Japanese Ladies

See­ing as this sort of free cul­tur­al resource fits right into our wheel­house here at Open Cul­ture, we’ve tried to keep you post­ed on the archive’s devel­op­ment over the past few years. Last time we passed the word along, the Get­ty’s dig­i­tal pub­lic-domain archive of high-res­o­lu­tion images had grown to 87,000, and now it has near­ly hit the 100,000 mark (99,989, to be exact)— which sounds to us like just the time to keep you post­ed on what you can find there­in.

Rue Mosnier

In its cur­rent state (which promis­es fur­ther expan­sion still), the Get­ty’s Open Con­tent Pro­gram offers images like Aban­doned Dust Bowl Home (top image), Dorothea Lange’s vivid­ly stark evo­ca­tion of Depres­sion-era Amer­i­can des­o­la­tion, as well as oth­er pho­to­graph­ic time (and place) cap­sules, such as Kusak­abe Kim­bei’s hand-col­ored prints of life in late 19th- and ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Japan (Japan­ese Ladies pic­tured here); impres­sion­ist can­vas­es like Édouard Manet’s 1878 The Rue Mosnier with Flagsand even views of Los Ange­les itself, like Car­leton Watkins’ shot of the city’s plaza cir­ca 1880.

Plaza Los Angeles

To down­load an image for which you’ve searched, you first need to click on that image’s title. That link takes you to the image’s own page (like those we linked to in the para­graph just above), where you’ll find a down­load link. Look for the word “down­load” beneath the image, and then click that link. It’s just that sim­ple — far sim­pler, in any case, than visu­al access to such a range of art­work has ever been before. Though if you do make it to Los Ange­les, don’t hes­i­tate to make the effort to vis­it the Get­ty Cen­ter; the tram that takes you up to it makes for a pret­ty fas­ci­nat­ing cul­tur­al expe­ri­ence and view of the city in and of itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Get­ty Adds Anoth­er 77,000 Images to its Open Con­tent Archive

Down­load 35,000 Works of Art from the Nation­al Gallery, Includ­ing Mas­ter­pieces by Van Gogh, Gau­guin, Rem­brandt & More

Down­load Over 250 Free Art Books From the Get­ty Muse­um

40,000 Art­works from 250 Muse­ums, Now View­able for Free at the Redesigned Google Art Project

LA Coun­ty Muse­um Makes 20,000 Artis­tic Images Avail­able for Free Down­load

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hysterical Literature: Art & Sexuality Collide in Readings of Whitman, Emerson & Other Greats (NSFW)

With­out shame the man I like knows and avows the deli­cious­ness of his sex, 

With­out shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Thus spaketh Walt Whit­man in Leaves of Grass. 160 years after that poem’s pub­li­ca­tion, how might that most Amer­i­can of Amer­i­can Roman­tics react to the spec­ta­cle of an attrac­tive young woman plea­sur­ing her­self with his work, as an unseen hand beneath the table sur­rep­ti­tious­ly plea­sures her with the Cadil­lac of vibra­tors?

The peep­hole is much larg­er than it would’ve been in 1855. Hys­ter­i­cal Lit­er­a­ture was con­ceived as an online project in which each session’s fea­tured female par­tic­i­pant choos­es a res­o­nant text, then reads it aloud until a Hitachi Mag­ic Wand puts an end to her abil­i­ty to form coher­ent sen­tences.

Cre­ator Clay­ton Cubitt has com­plained that the orgas­mic ele­ment and the sta­tus of cer­tain celebri­ty par­tic­i­pants like come­di­an Mar­garet Cho  have pre­oc­cu­pied the press. His pref­er­ence is for view­ers to take a more holis­tic approach, view­ing the expe­ri­ence with some “mys­tery and mag­ic and ‘WTF.’”

Accord­ing­ly, let us focus upon some of the select­ed works:

Beloved by Toni Mor­ri­son

Sex­ing the Cher­ry by Jeanette Win­ter­son

The Necrophil­ia Vari­a­tions by Super­vert

Real­ly, no Anaïs Nin? I would’ve thought…

The most recent con­trib­u­tor to the series is also its old­est, 60-year-old Janet, below, who had to take leave of Whitman’s pal, Ralph Wal­do Emer­son, not once but twice in eight min­utes.

Cumu­la­tive­ly, these ses­sions make a mar­velous­ly frank primer for actors or direc­tors charged with cre­at­ing real­is­tic sex scenes. The dichoto­my of Hys­ter­i­cal Lit’s stag­ing ensures that things are fair­ly respectable above the waist, thus sat­is­fy­ing YouTube’s Com­mu­ni­ty Guide­lines.

Dar­ing female lovers of lit­er­a­ture should be advised that Cubitt seeks to include more women of col­or, old­er par­tic­i­pants, and non-Eng­lish texts. No word on who exact­ly is under that table. Drain your pent-up rivers by apply­ing here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Fan­ny Hill, the 18th-Cen­tu­ry Erot­ic Nov­el That Went to the Supreme Court in the 20th Cen­tu­ry

This is Your Brain on Sex and Reli­gion: Exper­i­ments in Neu­ro­science

An Intro­duc­tion to World Lit­er­a­ture by a Cast Of Lit­er­ary & Aca­d­e­m­ic Stars (Free Course)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

William Faulkner Resigns From His Post Office Job With a Spectacular Letter (1924)

WilliamFaulknerStamp

Work­ing a dull civ­il ser­vice job ill-suit­ed to your tal­ents does not make you a writer, but plen­ty of famous writ­ers have worked such jobs. Nathaniel Hawthorne worked at a Boston cus­tom­house for a year. His friend Her­man Melville put in con­sid­er­ably more time—19 years—as a cus­toms inspec­tor in New York, fol­low­ing in the foot­steps of his father and grand­fa­ther. Both Walt Dis­ney and Charles Bukows­ki worked at the post office, though not togeth­er (can you imag­ine?), and so, for two years, did William Faulkn­er.

After drop­ping out of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Mis­sis­sip­pi in 1920, Faulkn­er became its post­mas­ter two years lat­er, a job he found “tedious, bor­ing, and unin­spir­ing,” writes Men­tal Floss: “Most of his time as a post­mas­ter was spent play­ing cards, writ­ing poems, or drink­ing.” Eudo­ra Wel­ty char­ac­ter­ized Faulkner’s tenure as post­mas­ter with the fol­low­ing vignette:

Let us imag­ine that here and now, we’re all in the old uni­ver­si­ty post office and liv­ing in the ’20’s. We’ve come up to the stamp win­dow to buy a 2‑cent stamp, but we see nobody there. We knock and then we pound, and then we pound again and there’s not a sound back there. So we holler his name, and at last here he is. William Faulkn­er. We inter­rupt­ed him.… When he should have been putting up the mail and sell­ing stamps at the win­dow up front, he was out of sight in the back writ­ing lyric poems.

By all accounts, she hard­ly over­states the case. As author and edi­tor Bill Peschel puts it, Faulkn­er “opened the post office on days when it suit­ed him, and closed it when it didn’t, usu­al­ly when he want­ed to go hunt­ing or over to the golf course.

He would throw away the adver­tis­ing cir­cu­lars, uni­ver­si­ty bul­letins and oth­er mail he deemed junk.” A stu­dent pub­li­ca­tion from the time pro­posed a mot­to for his ser­vice: “Nev­er put the mail up on time.”

Unsur­pris­ing­ly, the pow­ers that be even­tu­al­ly decid­ed they’d had enough. In 1924, Faulkn­er sensed the end com­ing. But rather than bow out qui­et­ly, as per­haps most peo­ple would, the future Nobel lau­re­ate com­posed a dra­mat­ic and unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly suc­cinct res­ig­na­tion let­ter to his supe­ri­ors:

As long as I live under the cap­i­tal­is­tic sys­tem, I expect to have my life influ­enced by the demands of mon­eyed peo­ple. But I will be damned if I pro­pose to be at the beck and call of every itin­er­ant scoundrel who has two cents to invest in a postage stamp.

This, sir, is my res­ig­na­tion.

The defi­ant self-aggran­dize­ment, wound­ed pride, blame-shift­ing… maybe it’s these qual­i­ties, as well as a noto­ri­ous ten­den­cy to exag­ger­ate and out­right lie (about his mil­i­tary ser­vice for exam­ple) that so qual­i­fied him for his late-life career as—in the words of Ole Miss—“States­man to the World.” Faulkner’s gift for self-fash­ion­ing might have suit­ed him well for a career in pol­i­tics, had he been so inclined. He did, after all, receive a com­mem­o­ra­tive stamp in 1987 (above) from the very insti­tu­tion he served so poor­ly.

But like Hawthorne, Bukows­ki, or any num­ber of oth­er writ­ers who’ve held down tedious day jobs, he was com­pelled to give his life to fic­tion. In a lat­er retelling of the res­ig­na­tion, Peschel claims, Faulkn­er would revise his let­ter “into a more pun­gent quo­ta­tion,” unable to resist the urge to invent: “I reck­on I’ll be at the beck and call of folks with mon­ey all my life, but thank God I won’t ever again have to be at the beck and call of every son of a bitch who’s got two cents to buy a stamp.”

via Let­ters of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of William Faulkn­er: Draw­ings from 1916–1925

Famous Writ­ers’ Report Cards: Ernest Hem­ing­way, William Faulkn­er, Nor­man Mail­er, E.E. Cum­mings & Anne Sex­ton

William Faulkn­er Out­lines on His Office Wall the Plot of His Pulitzer Prize Win­ning Nov­el, A Fable (1954)

Guide­lines for Han­dling William Faulkner’s Drink­ing Dur­ing For­eign Trips From the US State Depart­ment (1955)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Talking Heads’ First TV Appearance Was on American Bandstand, and It Was a Little Awkward (1979)

“I guess he’s…organically shy.”–Tina Wey­mouth

As Talk­ing Heads went from CBG­Bs (see some vin­tage video) to col­lege radio to a Euro­pean tour open­ing for The Ramones in 1977, the band was slow­ly mak­ing its way out of New York City pover­ty while their art school rock was seep­ing into Amer­i­can cul­ture at large. When “Take Me To the Riv­er,” their airy, ner­vous but still funky Eno-pro­duced cov­er of the Al Green song became their first Bill­board Top 30 hit, the band took a step towards nation­al recog­ni­tion.

And that leads us to this awk­ward March 17, 1979 appear­ance of the band on ABC’s Amer­i­can Band­stand, their first on Amer­i­can TV. Long­time host Dick Clark was pret­ty square–rock crit­ic Nik Cohn described him as “a disc jock­ey who looked like an all-Amer­i­can choirboy”–but Amer­i­can Band­stand was a prime oppor­tu­ni­ty. In 1979, the New Wave and Post-Punk scenes were rag­ing at the show’s doors. Talk­ing Heads were one of the few acts that year from NYC’s cre­ative caul­dron of a music scene, apart from Blondie and Grace Jones, to make it onto Band­stand.

In the above clip, Clark apol­o­gizes for get­ting Tina Weymouth’s name wrong, then jumps in to inter­view David Byrne, who responds to Clark’s ques­tions by shut­ting them down with embar­rassed looks and mat­ter-of-fact answers. Clark then turns back to Tina for some psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic help. “Is he always this enthu­si­as­tic?” he asks. It crum­bles from there.
Wey­mouth remem­bered it slight­ly dif­fer­ent­ly in this recent (2014) inter­view in New York Mag­a­zine:

I couldn’t explain to the record-label peo­ple why David’s behav­ior could be so incred­i­bly odd. He had a freak-out on our first tele­vi­sion appear­ance, on Dick Clark, on Amer­i­can Band­stand. David sort of froze, and Dick Clark sort of whirled around, and hands the micro­phone to me. And there were oth­er things going on, too. I don’t think any per­son is one thing, or defined by a con­di­tion that they might have.

It’s not exact­ly freez­ing, but it is odd…for rock front­men. And ask­ing Byrne “Do you flog your­self into this?” tells you a bit more about Clark’s state of mind than any­thing else.

You can see the mimed per­for­mance of their hit here:

The oth­er song they per­formed on the broad­cast “Thank You for Send­ing Me an Angel” has not popped up on YouTube…yet.

Part­ing note: The oth­er guest that night on Band­stand was twee, blue-eyed dis­co act Brook­lyn Dreams with their sin­gle Make It Last.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hear the Ear­li­est Known Talk­ing Heads Record­ings (1975)

Talk­ing Heads Live in Rome, 1980: The Con­cert Film You Haven’t Seen

Jim Jarmusch’s Anti-MTV Music Videos for Talk­ing Heads, Neil Young, Tom Waits & Big Audio Dyna­mite

The Talk­ing Heads Play CBGB, the New York Club that Shaped Their Sound (1975)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

Quentin Tarantino Lists His 20 Favorite Spaghetti Westerns

Like many film fans, I grew up famil­iar with the term “Spaghet­ti west­ern,” but I’d near­ly reached adult­hood before fig­ur­ing out what, exact­ly, Amer­i­ca’s most pop­u­lar Ital­ian dish had to do with Amer­i­ca’s once-most pop­u­lar movie genre. But even if they don’t know the spe­cif­ic def­i­n­i­tion of a Spaghet­ti west­ern, those who enjoy them know a Spaghet­ti west­ern when they see one. Ser­gio Leone’s A Fist­ful of Dol­larsFor a Few Dol­lars More, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly; Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci’s Min­neso­ta Clay and Djan­go; Enzo Bar­boni’s They Call Me Trin­i­ty and Trin­i­ty Is Still My Name — if a pic­ture belongs in that com­pa­ny, nobody doubts it.

You’ll notice that all those direc­tors have Ital­ian names, and indeed, west­ern all’i­tal­iana, the Ital­ian equiv­a­lent of “Spaghet­ti west­ern,” sim­ply means “Ital­ian-style west­ern.” These Ital­ian-pro­duced tales of the law­less 19th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can west, some­times fea­tur­ing fad­ing or ris­ing Hol­ly­wood stars (as with the young Clint East­wood, who would become iden­ti­fied with Leone’s “Man with No Name”), and often shot in the Span­ish desert, rode high from the mid-1960s to the ear­ly 70s, bring­ing a fresh sen­si­bil­i­ty and vis­cer­al impact which had for the most part drained out of the home­grown vari­ety.

Trust a genre-lov­ing auteur like Quentin Taran­ti­no (and one who made his very own Djan­go a few years back) to know Spaghet­ti west­erns inside and out. While even those of us who nev­er turn down the chance to enjoy a good Spaghet­ti west­ern might strug­gle to name ten of them, Taran­ti­no can eas­i­ly run down his per­son­al top twen­ty:

  1. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Ser­gio Leone, 1966)
  2. For a Few Dol­lars More (Ser­gio Leone, 1965)
  3. Djan­go (Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci, 1966)
  4. The Mer­ce­nary (Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci, 1966)
  5. Once Upon a Time in the West (Ser­gio Leone, 1968)
  6. A Fist­ful of Dol­lars (Ser­gio Leone, 1964)
  7. Day of Anger (Toni­no Valerii, 1967)
  8. Death Rides a Horse (Giulio Petroni, 1967)
  9. Nava­jo Joe (Ser­gio Corbucci,1966)
  10. The Return of Ringo (Duc­cio Tes­sar, 1965)
  11. The Big Gun­down (Ser­gio Sol­li­ma, 1966)
  12. A Pis­tol for Ringo (Duc­cio Tes­sari, 1965)
  13. The Dirty Out­laws (Fran­co Ros­set­ti, 1967)
  14. The Great Silence (Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci, 1968)
  15. The Grand Duel (Gian­car­lo San­ti, 1972)
  16. Shoot the Liv­ing, Pray for the Dead (Giuseppe Vari, 1971)
  17. Tepepa (Giulio Petroni, 1968)
  18. The Ugly Ones (Euge­nio Mar­tin, 1966)
  19. Viva Djan­go! (Fer­di­nan­do Bal­di, 1967)
  20. Machine Gun Killers (Pao­lo Bian­chi­ni, 1968)

You can watch all the trail­ers of these Spaghet­ti west­ern mas­ter­pieces in the playlist above, cre­at­ed by The Spaghet­ti West­ern Data­base. Some may now strike you as dis­arm­ing­ly straight­for­ward about bal­ly­hoo­ing the excite­ment promised by the fea­ture they adver­tise, and you may find oth­ers sur­pris­ing­ly fun­ny and more self-aware. While I defy any­one to watch the entire playlist of trail­ers with­out want­i­ng to dive into this sur­pris­ing­ly lit­tle-explored tra­di­tion, noth­ing gets me quite as excit­ed about watch­ing a movie — old or new, sub­tle or schlocky, genre or oth­er­wise — as Taran­ti­no’s con­ta­gious cinephil­ia.

via The Spaghet­ti West­ern Data­base

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Tarantino’s Top 20 Grindhouse/Exploitation Flicks: Night of the Liv­ing Dead, Hal­loween & More

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Quentin Tarantino’s Hand­writ­ten List of the 11 “Great­est Movies”

Watch John Wayne Star in 25 Clas­sic West­erns: All Free Online

The Great Train Rob­bery: Where West­erns Began

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Animated: The Inspirational Story of Jane Goodall, and Why She Believes in Bigfoot

Now out. The sec­ond video in The Exper­i­menters, a short series of ani­ma­tions high­light­ing three “icons of sci­ence” and “what spurred their cre­ativ­i­ty.” Episode 1 brought us into “the Geo­des­ic Life” of Buck­min­ster Fuller. This new install­ment gives us an ani­mat­ed look at Jane Goodall, the pri­ma­tol­o­gist who has done such inspi­ra­tional work with chim­panzees. (Don’t miss last week’s fea­ture on her in The Times.) Draw­ing on a 2002 inter­view that aired on NPR’s Sci­ence Fri­day, this clip fea­tures Goodall recount­ing her life sto­ry — includ­ing how she got a PhD at Cam­bridge before get­ting an under­grad­u­ate degree — and it also veers into some fun ter­rain. Does Goodall believe in Big­foot? You bet she does.

The next video in The Exper­i­menters series will focus on Richard Feyn­man. Stay tuned.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free: Richard Feynman’s Physics Lec­tures from Cor­nell (1964)

Watch an Ani­mat­ed Buck­min­ster Fuller Tell Studs Terkel All About “the Geo­des­ic Life”

 

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