The ABC of Architects: An Animated Flipbook of Famous Architects and Their Best-Known Buildings

As a new-ish par­ent, I’ve been inun­dat­ed with alpha­bet books from well-mean­ing friends and fam­i­ly, and I am most grate­ful for them all. But I’m espe­cial­ly glad for a set that uses images from the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art to illus­trate each let­ter. My daugh­ter gets lost in the paint­ings, prints, etch­ings, etc., and you know what? So do I. It’s that rare meet­ing of adult high art and kid for­mat­ting that keeps us both engaged.

The above video, while not strict­ly for chil­dren, could cer­tain­ly work as well. A con­cept of the Argen­tine group Ombu Archi­tec­ture and graph­ic design­er Fed­eri­co Gon­za­lez, “The ABC of Archi­tects” is a vin­tage flip­book trib­ute to the last 100 years or so in inter­na­tion­al archi­tec­ture, set to a jaun­ty, gold­en-age-of-radio score by Eugene C. Rose and George Ruble (which you can down­load for free here).

With the kind of quaint globe-hop­ping (but with­out the passé racism) of a Tintin com­ic, “The ABC of Archi­tects” skips through its list of twen­ty-six revered names from almost as many countries–from Fin­ish Alvar Aal­to to Iraqi-British Zaha Hadid. There are many names I don’t know and many famil­iar favorites. I can imag­ine this appeal­ing to preschool­ers or seri­ous stu­dents, and for some of the same rea­sons. While the cre­ators express grief at hav­ing to leave out so many artists, “The ABC of Archi­tects” is noth­ing less than joy­ous and inspir­ing.

via Dooby­Brain

h/t Jim­my Askew

Relat­ed Con­tent

The His­to­ry of West­ern Archi­tec­ture: From Ancient Greece to Roco­co (A Free Online Course)

Ice Cube & Charles Eames Rev­el in L.A. Archi­tec­ture

Archi­tec­ture in Motion

Josh Jones is a writer, musi­cian, and muse­um-hop­ping father.

Hunter S. Thompson Mocks the Living in a New Short Animation

Dr. Hunter S. Thomp­son is back from the grave to mock the liv­ing in a Gonzo ani­ma­tion by Piotr Kabat. The inspi­ra­tion here is one of Thomp­son’s oft-repeat­ed quotes:

THE EDGE, there is no hon­est way to explain it because the only peo­ple who real­ly know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

Kabat chan­nels the spir­it of the orig­i­nal with an impres­sion­is­tic two-minute run from the Gold­en Gate Park down to San­ta Cruz, no hel­met required. Whether or not this sounds cool to you is like­ly to hinge on expe­ri­ence. Per­haps you went to high school with some­one who did­n’t live to cel­e­brate the wind-burned eye­ball sen­sa­tion of push­ing it to 100…

The Edge more than deliv­ers as a surf-rock-and-testos­terone-fueled lit romp, but still, it might’ve been inter­est­ing had Kabat pushed into unchart­ed ter­ri­to­ry. Per­haps have Thomp­son lose con­trol of his bike around the 80 mark, skid­ding hideous­ly on his bald head for how­ev­er many feet it’d take to turn the greyscale red, and roll cred­its on that.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thomp­son Inter­views Kei­th Richards, and Very Lit­tle Makes Sense

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters from Hunter S. Thomp­son (NSFW)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Calls Tech Sup­port, Unleash­es a Tirade Full of Fear and Loathing (NSFW)

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day saw Hunter S. Thomp­son rant­i­ng like a were­wolf loony on a pri­vate uni­ver­si­ty stage. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

 

 

The Existential Adventures of Iconoclastic Brazilian Musician Tim Maia: A Short Animated Film

Late last year, Lua­ka Bop Records released Nobody Can Live For­ev­er: The Exis­ten­tial Soul of Tim Maia, a ret­ro­spec­tive album that includes 15 tracks record­ed by Tim Maia, the great­est Brazil­ian singer of all time, accord­ing to Rolling Stone. Maia “was the Big Bang who com­plete­ly changed the scene when he arrived [in Brazil] at the turn of the ’70s,” Nel­son Mot­ta told The New York Times last fall. “He took the black Amer­i­can thing and mixed it with Brazil­ian forms like sam­ba, baião and xax­a­do, inau­gu­rat­ing a new direc­tion in Brazil­ian pop that remains pop­u­lar even today: that of urban black music.” As this short ani­mat­ed film makes clear, Maia also had an out­sized per­son­al­i­ty and appetites that brought about his ear­ly demise, but not with­out first mak­ing him a leg­end. Below we have rare footage of Tim Maia per­form­ing live in 1971:

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Maurice Sendak’s Emotional Last Interview with NPR’s Terry Gross, Animated by Christoph Niemann

In late Sep­tem­ber of 2011, Mau­rice Sendak spoke one last time with Ter­ry Gross for the NPR pro­gram Fresh Air. Osten­si­bly the inter­view was to pro­mote Sendak’s final book, Bum­ble-Ardy, but as the con­ver­sa­tion pro­gressed it was clear they just want­ed to talk.

The beloved chil­dren’s writer and illus­tra­tor was 83 years old and in declin­ing health. He was feel­ing the loss of peo­ple close to him who had died in recent years. Inevitably, the dis­cus­sion turned to issues of mor­tal­i­ty. As the con­ver­sa­tion built to an emo­tion­al crescen­do, Sendak laid bare the qual­i­ties that made him such a great author: sin­cer­i­ty, depth of feel­ing, and an insu­per­a­ble need to con­nect with peo­ple in some ele­men­tal way.

By the time it was over there were teary-eyed peo­ple in cars all across North Amer­i­ca. One lis­ten­er, Brent Eades, left a mes­sage on the NPR Web site: “I hap­pened to be lis­ten­ing to this extra­or­di­nary inter­view while on the ear­ly-morn­ing com­mute from my small Ontario town to Ottawa. I was entire­ly absorbed in it; and the final cou­ple of min­utes left me with tears stream­ing down my face, which I’m sure non­plussed my fel­low com­muters.”

The Ger­man-born illus­tra­tor Christoph Nie­mann had a sim­i­lar expe­ri­ence. On Sun­day The New York Times Mag­a­zine post­ed this touch­ing ani­ma­tion by Nie­mann, which tells the sto­ry of how the inter­view affect­ed him. In the film, var­i­ous crea­tures from Sendak’s fer­tile imag­i­na­tion revis­it Nie­mann as he lis­tens in his car, trans­port­ing him again to some­place spe­cial.

Sendak died on May 8, 2012, less than eight months after his con­ver­sa­tion with Gross. Nie­man­n’s film encom­pass­es the last five min­utes of the talk. You can lis­ten to the entire con­ver­sa­tion at the NPR Web site.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Mind and Art of Mau­rice Sendak: A Video Sketch

An Ani­mat­ed Christ­mas Fable by Mau­rice Sendak (1977)

Mau­rice Sendak’s Sur­re­al and Con­tro­ver­sial Sto­ry, In the Night Kitchen

Richard Feynman’s Ode to a Flower: A Short Animation

A rose by any oth­er name would smell as sweet, but could­n’t one’s appre­ci­a­tion of that aro­ma get a boost from under­stand­ing the sci­ence behind its exis­tence? So the­o­ret­i­cal physi­cist Richard Feyn­man argues from beyond the grave in ‘Ode to a Flower’, a short ani­ma­tion by Fras­er David­son. Pulling from a 1981 BBC inter­view with the charis­mat­ic Nobel lau­re­ate, David­son’s sim­ple graph­ics make the case for a mul­ti­fac­eted sense of admi­ra­tion. Revers­ing the angle, are there not those of us for whom Sci­ence is a patient ether­ized upon a table, until viewed through the warm lens of a tight­ly edit­ed ani­ma­tion? Speak­ing for myself, yes.
Let us find ways for our exist­ing pas­sions to lead to new found appre­ci­a­tions and an ever-deep­en­ing sense of won­der in the new year.

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the author of Peanut, a graph­ic nov­el released ear­li­er this week. Find her @AyunHalliday

Relat­ed con­tent:

Richard Feyn­man Presents Quan­tum Elec­tro­dy­nam­ics for the Non­Sci­en­tist

Leonard Susskind, Father of String The­o­ry, Warm­ly Remem­bers His Friend, Richard Feyn­man

An Animated Christmas Fable by Maurice Sendak (1977)

Today we say mer­ry Christ­mas the Open Cul­ture way, by bring­ing in a piece of work from the late Mau­rice Sendak, the chil­dren’s author and illus­tra­tor who with every­thing he wrote and drew evad­ed the lim­i­ta­tions of that label. Though most of us remem­ber his books Where the Wild Things Are and In the Night Kitchen from child­hood, when­ev­er our child­hoods hap­pened to be, few­er of us have seen his ani­mat­ed work. Above you’ll find a bit of it rel­e­vant to this time of year: Sendak’s open­ing sequence for Sim­ple Gifts. In it we wit­ness a shoe­less waif’s meta­mor­pho­sis into a Christ­mas tree which attracts and com­forts a pair of sim­i­lar­ly dis­pos­sessed tots. The 1977 anthol­o­gy film col­lect­ed six short films, all on the theme of Christ­mas. But only this first minute and a half comes from the inim­itable mind belong­ing to the man Time called “the Picas­so of chil­dren’s books.” The video then fea­tures Sim­ple Gifts’ open­ing remarks from Colleen Dewhurst, who reflects on and draws a les­son from this brief ani­mat­ed tale: “A per­son gives noth­ing who does not give of him­self.”

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed con­tent:

Watch the Ani­ma­tion of Mau­rice Sendak’s Sur­re­al and Con­tro­ver­sial Sto­ry, In the Night Kitchen

The Mind & Art of Mau­rice Sendak: A Video Sketch

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Watch The Snowman, the Classic Animated Children’s Tale Introduced by David Bowie

Thir­ty years ago the British tele­vi­sion com­pa­ny Chan­nel Four pre­miered this enchant­i­ng, lyri­cal film based on the award-win­ning Ray­mond Brig­gs chil­dren’s book, The Snow­man.

The tale bears some resem­blance to the ear­li­er Amer­i­can sto­ry, “Frosty the Snow­man,” but probes deep­er into the psy­chol­o­gy of chil­dren, con­vey­ing the fear and won­der they feel in a mys­te­ri­ous world, and their long­ing for friend­ship and mag­ic. It’s more ele­gant­ly told, too, using only pic­tures and music to con­vey the sto­ry. And just as Mau­rice Sendak said “I refuse to lie to chil­dren,” Brig­gs refus­es to pro­vide a Hol­ly­wood end­ing.

The orig­i­nal ver­sion of The Snow­man includes an intro­duc­tion by Brig­gs. A lat­er ver­sion (see above) has a sim­i­lar intro­duc­tion by David Bowie, who plays the grownup boy from the sto­ry. As the intro­duc­tion ends, Bowie opens a draw­er and pulls out a scarf that was giv­en to him dur­ing his adven­ture with the snow­man, prov­ing that it was not just a dream.

In 1983, The Snow­man was nom­i­nat­ed for an Acad­e­my Award. It ranks 71st on the British Film Insti­tute’s list of the 100 great­est British tele­vi­sion pro­grams and was vot­ed num­ber four in UKTV Gold’s “Great­est TV Christ­mas Moments.” Watch­ing The Snow­man has become a hol­i­day tra­di­tion in the UK in much the same way that watch­ing A Char­lie Brown Christ­mas has in Amer­i­ca. Tonight in Britain, Chan­nel 4 will pre­miere the long-await­ed sequel, The Snow­man and the Snow­dog, set 30 years lat­er at the same house but with a dif­fer­ent boy.

Relat­ed con­tent:

David Bowie and Bing Cros­by Sing ‘The Lit­tle Drum­mer Boy’ in 1977

Watch Cabbit: A Handmade Animation by Crosshatch Artist, Soogie

Those prone to using “twee” as a pejo­ra­tive, par­tic­u­lar­ly in con­nec­tion to the films of Wes Ander­son, should lay in a sup­ply of anti­dote before view­ing the ani­mat­ed short, Cab­bit.

Its cre­ators describe the tit­u­lar char­ac­ter as “a charm­ing lit­tle ani­mal spir­it whom (sic) spends its days tea-danc­ing with kin­dred spir­its and explor­ing the won­ders of the nat­ur­al world.”

As in The Lorax, indus­try and the fool­ish humans in its thrall are major bad­dies. But where­as the apoplec­tic Lorax takes an activist stance, Cab­bit drifts along, serene in its tweeds.

As eco­log­i­cal state­ments go, it’s pret­ty mild stuff.

For this view­er, the more intrigu­ing ele­ment is the back sto­ry. In ani­ma­tion terms, Cab­bit is a throw­back, painstak­ing­ly hand drawn with Sharpie mark­ers by a most­ly house­bound Mis­soula artist, who flies under the code name Soo­gie. His crafts­man­ship caught the atten­tion of sound design­er, John Kassab, who saw punk where oth­ers saw twee. Kassab may not pilot a diri­gi­ble or squash pos­sums with his Mod­el T,  but as humans go, he’s pret­ty up on tech­nol­o­gy. With Kassab as pro­duc­er, Soo­gie waged a Kick­starter cam­paign, suc­cess­ful­ly tea danc­ing with kin­dred spir­its who under­wrote the pur­chase of high end dig­i­tal equip­ment. Kass­ab’s next goal is to ush­er the oth­er­world­ly, anthro­mor­phic Cab­bit onto the film fes­ti­val cir­cuit. Til then, it must abide entire­ly with­in the con­fines of this steam­punk world we refer to as the Inter­net.

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is Wes Ander­son­’s #1 Fan.

 

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