Download Hundreds of 19th-Century Japanese Woodblock Prints by Masters of the Tradition

Goyu No. 35

We recent­ly fea­tured hun­dreds of Van Gogh’s paint­ings, sketch­es, and let­ters down­load­able from Ams­ter­dam’s Van Gogh Muse­um. But despite its name, that respect­ed insti­tu­tion has­n’t devot­ed itself entire­ly to the work of the 19th-cen­tu­ry post-impres­sion­ist painter; they’ve also got a seri­ous stock of art from rough­ly the same peri­od but the oth­er side of the world in the form of Japan­ese wood­block prints. And like their Van Gogh mate­ri­als, they’ve made them avail­able to all of us in high res­o­lu­tion files, free for the down­load­ing in their online col­lec­tions.

Yokkaichi

All of us will rec­og­nize this style of Japan­ese art, but not all of us will know its Japan­ese name: ukiyo‑e, or “pic­tures of the float­ing world” — that is, the world of scenic trav­els through strik­ing land­scapes as well as urban beau­ties, sports­men, actors, and ladies of the night that bloomed from the 17th to the 19th cen­turies.

Not only did that heady peri­od of Japan­ese his­to­ry pro­vide these wood­block prints their sub­jects, it also pro­vid­ed the tech­nol­o­gy used to pro­duce them with increas­ing col­or and com­plex­i­ty as well as a mer­chant-class audi­ence to pur­chase them as home decor.

On the Riverbank

The Van Gogh Muse­um’s selec­tions come from a time of dom­i­nance by a few still-acknowl­edged ukiyo‑e mas­ters whose names you’ll know, like Kat­sushi­ka Hoku­sai and Uta­gawa (also known as Ando) Hiroshige, the lat­ter of whose work the online col­lec­tion has 83 pieces cur­rent­ly down­load­able. One of them, Goyu from one series of illus­tra­tions of notable places and Yokkaichi: The Mie­gawa Riv­er and Nago Bay from anoth­er, appear at the top and sec­ond from the top. But the Van Gogh Muse­um has amassed even more work by Uta­gawa Kunisa­da, the most pro­lif­ic and best­selling ukiyo‑e artist of the day, whose On the River­bank, one sheet of a trip­tych, we have just above.

Crossing the Sumidawaga River

You can down­load any of the more than 500 pieces in the online col­lec­tion by these and dozens of oth­er ukiyo‑e artists (such as Toy­ohara Kunichi­ka, whose Illus­tra­tion of Cross­ing the Sum­i­da Riv­er in the Evening appears just above) by click­ing on the down arrow that appears in the low­er right when you view an indi­vid­ual image. Hav­ing just returned from a trip to Japan a cou­ple weeks ago, I can report that the coun­try has changed dra­mat­i­cal­ly and in many ways from the one Hoku­sai, Hiroshige, Kunisa­da and their col­leagues cap­tured, but still, some durable part of their aes­thet­ic essence remains. Besides, these prints must even at the time have had some­thing of the ele­giac about them, itself an endur­ing qual­i­ty of Japan­ese art. “Even in Kyoto,” as the poet Mat­suo Masho wrote two cen­turies before that, “I long for Kyoto.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hayao Miyazaki’s Beloved Char­ac­ters Reimag­ined in the Style of 19th-Cen­tu­ry Wood­block Prints

A Won­der­ful­ly Illus­trat­ed 1925 Japan­ese Edi­tion of Aesop’s Fables by Leg­endary Children’s Book Illus­tra­tor Takeo Takei

Down­load Hun­dreds of Van Gogh Paint­ings, Sketch­es & Let­ters in High Res­o­lu­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Download Hundreds of Van Gogh Paintings, Sketches & Letters in High Resolution

VG Self Portrait 1887

As a cal­low young art stu­dent in high school, I dear­ly want­ed, and tried, to see the world with the same furi­ous inten­si­ty as Vin­cent van Gogh, and to cap­ture that kind of vision on paper and can­vas. I lat­er real­ized with cha­grin as I stood in a line sev­er­al blocks long for a wild­ly pop­u­lar exhib­it (Van Gogh’s Van Goghs at the Nation­al Gallery of Art) that I was but one of mil­lions who want­ed to see the world through Van Gogh’s eyes.

After wait­ing for what seemed like for­ev­er, not only could I bare­ly get a glimpse of any of the paint­ings through the scrum of tourists and gawk­ers, but I felt—in my pro­tec­tive bub­ble of Van Gogh veneration—that these peo­ple couldn’t pos­si­bly get Van Gogh the way I got Van Gogh.

VG Portrait of Theo

Well, every­body has their own ver­sion of Van Gogh, per­haps, but one I’ve out­grown is the mad, mag­i­cal genius whose men­tal ill­ness act­ed as a trag­ic but nec­es­sary con­di­tion for his tran­scen­dent­ly pas­sion­ate work. Maybe it’s age and some famil­iar­i­ty with life’s hard­ship, but I no longer roman­ti­cize Van Gogh’s suf­fer­ing. And per­haps a more real­is­tic view of what was like­ly debil­i­tat­ing bipo­lar dis­or­der has giv­en me an even greater appre­ci­a­tion for his accom­plish­ments. Dur­ing the brief 10-year peri­od that Van Gogh pur­sued his art, he was as ded­i­cat­ed as it’s pos­si­ble to be—producing near­ly 900 can­vas­es and over 1,100 works on paper, and alter­ing the way we see the world, all while expe­ri­enc­ing severe­ly crip­pling bouts of depres­sion, anx­i­ety, and self doubt; hav­ing his neigh­bors ostra­cize and evict him from his home; and spend­ing most of his final year in an insti­tu­tion.

VG Head of a Skeleton

Sad­ly, he felt him­self a medi­oc­rity at best, a fail­ure at worst. As the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art writes, “in 1890,” the final year of his life, “he mod­est­ly assessed his artis­tic lega­cy as of ‘very sec­ondary’ impor­tance.” (This despite the appre­ci­a­tion he’d begun to receive from sev­er­al gallery show­ings.) The posthu­mous recep­tion of his work—ubiquitously repro­duced and admired by count­less throngs in exhib­it after exhibit—can do noth­ing now to lift his spir­its, but sure­ly vin­di­cates his prodi­gious effort. Van Gogh’s fame has had the unfor­tu­nate side effect of crowd­ing out many stu­dents of his art from gallery exhi­bi­tions. Yet this dif­fi­cul­ty need not now pre­vent them from sur­vey­ing and see­ing up close his huge body of work in dig­i­tal archives like that of the Van Gogh Muse­um in Ams­ter­dam, the largest Van Gogh col­lec­tion in the world.

VG Letter to Theo with Willow

By enter­ing the col­lec­tion, you can see, for exam­ple, Self Por­trait with Straw Hat, at the top, from 1887, or the strik­ing­ly sim­i­lar por­trait of his broth­er and staunch sup­port­er Theo from the same year, just below it. Fur­ther down is the dark­ly humor­ous Head of a Skele­ton With a Burn­ing Cig­a­rette from 1886, and just above, see an 1882 let­ter to Theo, with a beau­ti­ful sketch of a Pol­lard Wil­low, an image he com­mit­ted to can­vas that year. Just below, see an inter­est­ing exam­ple of the very begin­nings of Van Gogh’s posthu­mous canonization—an 1891 cov­er sketch and short trib­ute arti­cle in the French satir­i­cal mag­a­zine Les hommes D’Aujourd’hui.

VG Les Hommes cover

You can search or browse the col­lec­tion, and down­load and view these images, and many hun­dreds more paint­ings, sketch­es, draw­ings, let­ters, and much more, in res­o­lu­tion high enough to zoom in to every indi­vid­ual brush­stroke and ink pen flour­ish. Miss­ing from the expe­ri­ence is the three-dimen­sion­al­i­ty of Van Gogh’s heav­i­ly tex­tur­al paint­ing, but nowhere else will you have this lev­el of acces­si­bil­i­ty to so much of his work and life.

VG Head of a Woman

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vin­cent Van Gogh’s “The Star­ry Night”: Why It’s a Great Paint­ing in 15 Min­utes

Dis­cov­er the Only Paint­ing Van Gogh Ever Sold Dur­ing His Life­time

Vin­cent Van Gogh’s Final Paint­ing: Dis­cov­er Tree Roots, the Last Cre­ative Act of the Dutch Painter (1890)

Down­load Vin­cent van Gogh’s Col­lec­tion of 500 Japan­ese Prints, Which Inspired Him to Cre­ate “the Art of the Future”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

New App Lets You Explore Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Garden of Earthly Delights” in Virtual Reality

Yes­ter­day, Col­in Mar­shall told you how you could take a Vir­tu­al Inter­ac­tive Tour Through Hierony­mus Bosch’s Mas­ter­piece “The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights,” thanks to this web­site.

Today, we dis­cov­ered that there’s also an app (designed for iPhoneiPad and Android) that lets you take a vir­tu­al real­i­ty trip through the very same paint­ing. Cre­at­ed as part of the 500th anniver­sary cel­e­bra­tion of Bosch’s life, the app–previewed in the trail­er above–lets you “ride on a fly­ing fish into a Gar­den of Eden, be tempt­ed by strange fruit and even stranger rit­u­als in the Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights. And vis­it hell and hear the devil’s music.”

The app is free. And you can explore parts of Bosch’s famous trip­tych at no cost. It will cost you a small fee–$3.99–to unlock the remain­ing part.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!



via The Cre­ator’s Project

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Hierony­mus Bosch’s Bewil­der­ing Mas­ter­piece The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

Walk Inside a Sur­re­al­ist Sal­vador Dalí Paint­ing with This 360º Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Video

Free Course: An Intro­duc­tion to the Art of the Ital­ian Renais­sance

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

Take a Virtual Tour of Hieronymus Bosch’s Bewildering Masterpiece The Garden of Earthly Delights

Bosch 1

Art his­to­ri­ans have argued about the mean­ing of The Gar­den of Earth­ly DelightsHierony­mus Bosch’s enor­mous­ly sized, lav­ish­ly detailed, and com­pelling­ly grotesque late 14th- or ear­ly 15th-cen­tu­ry triptych—more or less since the painter’s death. What does it real­ly say about the appear­ance and fall of man on Earth that it seems to depict? How seri­ous­ly or iron­i­cal­ly does it say it? Does it offer us a warn­ing against temp­ta­tion, or a cel­e­bra­tion of temp­ta­tion? Does it take a reli­gious or anti-reli­gious stance? And what’s with all those creepy ani­mals and bizarre pseu­do-sex acts? “In spite of all the inge­nious, eru­dite and in part extreme­ly use­ful research devot­ed to the task,” said schol­ar Erwin Panof­sky, “I can­not help feel­ing that the real secret of his mag­nif­i­cent night­mares and day­dreams has still to be dis­closed.”

Bosch 2

Panof­sky said that in the 1950s, by which era he summed up the accu­mu­lat­ed efforts to decode Bosch as hav­ing “bored a few holes through the door of the locked room; but some­how we do not seem to have dis­cov­ered the key.” Now you can at least try your own hand at knock­ing on the door with this “inter­ac­tive doc­u­men­tary” of The Gar­den of Ear­ly Delights, which allows you to explore the paint­ing in depth, read­ing and hear­ing what sto­ries we know of the many images night­mar­ish­ly and often hilar­i­ous­ly pre­sent­ed with­in, while you zoom far clos­er than you could while even stand­ing before the real thing at the Pra­do.

(Assum­ing you could suc­cess­ful­ly elbow your way past all the tour groups.)  “The vis­i­tor of the inter­ac­tive doc­u­men­tary will get a bet­ter under­stand­ing of what it was like to live in the Late Mid­dle Ages,” says the offi­cial descrip­tion, which also assures us we can “come back after a vis­it and pick up the book again from the shelf to fur­ther explore.”

Bosch 3

The project comes as part of a larg­er “trans­me­dia tryp­tich,” which also con­sists of the tra­di­tion­al doc­u­men­tary film Hierony­mus Bosch, Touched by the Dev­il (whose trail­er you can see below) and a “vir­tu­al real­i­ty doc­u­men­tary” called Hierony­mus Bosch, the Eyes of the Owl. I find that last title espe­cial­ly appro­pri­ate, since I’ve long enjoyed Bosch’s recur­ring owls and appre­ci­ate the abil­i­ty this high­ly zoomable Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights offers me to count them one by one. Spend some time roam­ing Bosch’s vision’s par­adise, bac­cha­nal, and damna­tion and, whether you take the guid­ed tour through them or not, you’ll find much to stare at in sheer fas­ci­na­tion — and, as often as not, dis­be­lief.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dutch Book From 1692 Doc­u­ments Every Col­or Under the Sun: A Pre-Pan­tone Guide to Col­ors

300+ Etch­ings by Rem­brandt Now Free Online, Thanks to the Mor­gan Library & Muse­um

Rijksmu­se­um Dig­i­tizes & Makes Free Online 210,000 Works of Art, Mas­ter­pieces Includ­ed!

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

Mas­ter of Light: A Close Look at the Paint­ings of Johannes Ver­meer Nar­rat­ed by Meryl Streep

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear Strung Out in Heaven, a Gorgeous Tribute to David Bowie by Amanda Palmer & Jherek Bischoff’s, Made with Help from Neil Gaiman

Strung Out in Heaven

The last four weeks have seen thou­sands of trib­utes to rock­er David Bowie.

Strung Out In Heav­en: A Bowie String Quar­tet Trib­ute by Aman­da Palmer and her The­atre is Evil col­lab­o­ra­tor, pop poly­math Jherek Bischoff, is both gor­geous and ambi­tious.

It came togeth­er quick­ly. Bischoff arranged the album’s five tracks and spent three and a half hours record­ing the strings (Ser­e­na McK­in­ney and Alyssa Park​ on vio­lin, Ben Ullery​ on vio­la, and Jacob Braun on cel­lo).

Mean­while new moth­er Palmer lined up three days worth of babysit­ting in order to dive back into the stu­dio. She also tapped some famous friends, who con­tributed in small­er ways.

The record­ing, coor­di­na­tion, guest appear­ances… and babysit­ting were financed by a stock­pile from Palmer’s 7000-some sup­port­ers on the crowd­fund­ing site Patre­on.

It doesn’t sound like a whip out.

Here’s Palmer’s hus­band, author Neil Gaiman, count­ing down to lift-off on “Space Odd­i­ty:

And writer/director John Cameron Mitchell, who record­ed the “Heroes” call and response on an iPhone in his apart­ment…

…and chan­neled Hed­wig for the Ger­man ver­sion:

Gaiman ques­tioned Palmer’s choice to lead with the title track of Bowie’s final album, but as she told New Musi­cal Express, a lot of fresh­ly mint­ed mil­len­ni­al Bowie fans among her Patre­on sup­port­ers list­ed “Black­star” as a favorite. Singer Anna Calvi duets and plays gui­tar on this stripped down ver­sion:

Each tune is matched to a Bowie-cen­tric image by a visu­al artist. On Palmer’s Patre­on blog,“Blackstar” artist, ele­men­tary school teacher, and can­cer sur­vivor Cas­san­dra Long writes about dis­cussing Bowie’s death with a room­ful of kinder­garten­ers. Palmer plans to pro­vide a sim­i­lar plat­form to the oth­er par­tic­i­pat­ing artists in the days to come.

The fin­ished prod­uct is both pro­fes­sion­al and a labor of love.

Music is the bind­ing agent of our mun­dane lives. It cements the moments in which we wash the dish­es, type the resumes, go to the funer­als, have the babies. The stronger the agent, the tougher the mem­o­ry, and Bowie was NASA-grade epoxy to a sprawl­ing span of freaked-out kids over three gen­er­a­tions. He bond­ed us to our weird selves…Bowie worked on music up to the end to give us a part­ing gift. So this is how we, as musi­cians, mourn: keep­ing Bowie con­stant­ly in our ears and brains. 

 — Aman­da Palmer

The com­plete track­list is below. You can lis­ten for free, but an ante-up will help Palmer cov­er 9¢ in licens­ing fees every time one of the songs is streamed. Any left­over pro­ceeds from sales through March 5th will be donat­ed to Tufts Med­ical Cen­ter’s can­cer research wing in mem­o­ry of David Bowie.

Strung Out in Heav­en:

01 “Black­star”  fea­tur­ing Anna Calvi

02 “Space Odd­i­ty” fea­tur­ing Neil Gaiman

03 “Ash­es to Ash­es”

04 “Heroes” fea­tur­ing John Cameron Mitchell

05 Helden” fea­tur­ing  John Cameron Mitchell

06 “Life on Mars?”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie Gives Grad­u­a­tion Speech At Berklee Col­lege of Music: “Music Has Been My Door­way of Per­cep­tion” (1999)

David Bowie (RIP) Sings “Changes” in His Last Live Per­for­mance, 2006

Aman­da Palmer Ani­mates & Nar­rates Hus­band Neil Gaiman’s Uncon­scious Mus­ings

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

Walk Inside a Surrealist Salvador Dalí Painting with This 360º Virtual Reality Video


Click on the arrows to get the full 360 degree expe­ri­ence.

I felt as impressed as every­one else did when I saw my first 360-degree video, the tech­nol­o­gy that allows view­ers to “look” in any direc­tion they wish. But most of the 360-degree videos that became pop­u­lar ear­ly sim­ply demon­strat­ed the con­cept, and as much aston­ish­ment as the expe­ri­ence of the con­cept alone can gen­er­ate, even more excite­ment came from think­ing about the tech­nol­o­gy’s poten­tial. It has­n’t tak­en long for 360-degree videos to look beyond vir­tu­al real­i­ty — indeed, to look all the way to vir­tu­al sur­re­al­i­ty, as envi­sioned by per­haps the best-known sur­re­al­ist of them all, Sal­vador Dalí.

“Dreams of Dalí,” the 36o-degree video above, drops you into the world of Dalí’s 1935 can­vas Archae­o­log­i­cal Rem­i­nis­cence of Millet’s ‘Angelus,’  an homage to an ear­li­er work (Jean-François Millet’s paint­ing, “The Angelus”) which enjoyed enor­mous pop­u­lar­i­ty dur­ing Dalí’s youth. This ear­li­er work, notes the Dalí’ Muse­um, was “repro­duced on every­thing from prints and post­cards to every­day objects like teacups and inkwells. The late 19th cen­tu­ry paint­ing depicts a peas­ant cou­ple stand­ing in a field with their heads bowed in prayer. For many it was a sen­ti­men­tal work, but for Dalí’ it was trou­bling, with lay­ers of hid­den mean­ing, which he explored through day­dreams and fan­tasies.”

As the artist him­self put it, “I sur­ren­dered myself to a brief fan­ta­sy dur­ing which I imag­ined sculp­tures of the two fig­ures in Millet’s ‘Angelus’ carved out of the high­est rocks.” His for­mi­da­ble imag­i­na­tion con­vert­ed that mid-19th-cen­tu­ry image of rur­al hard­ship and piety into the moon­lit desert land­scape through which “Dreams of Dalí” flies you. Cre­at­ed for “Dis­ney and Dalí: Archi­tects of the Imag­i­na­tion,” an exhib­it at St. Peters­burg, Flori­da’s Dalí Muse­um on the friend­ship and col­lab­o­ra­tion between those two vision­ary 20th-cen­tu­ry world-cre­ators (see Des­ti­no, the short film Dalí and Dis­ney col­lab­o­rat­ed on), the video not only gives the paint­ing a third spa­tial dimen­sion, but a detailed son­ic one fea­tur­ing the god­like voice of Dalí him­self.

If you make use of the arrows that appear in the video’s upper-left cor­ner or click and drag (or, on smart­phones, press and drag with your fin­ger) with­in the frame, you can turn the “cam­era” in any direc­tion. Pay close enough atten­tion, and you’ll spot more than a few touch­es not includ­ed in the orig­i­nal paint­ing that will nonethe­less delight fans of the Dalí sen­si­bil­i­ty, not all of which you can catch on your first flight through. But as much as the expe­ri­ence may feel like a dream — and it counts as one of the few works to real­ly mer­it the term “dream­like” — it won’t van­ish as soon as you emerge from it; you can have at it again and again, see­ing some­thing new and sur­pris­ing each time.

via The Cre­ator’s Project

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sal­vador Dalí & Walt Disney’s Des­ti­no: See the Col­lab­o­ra­tive Film, Orig­i­nal Sto­ry­boards & Ink Draw­ings

Sal­vador Dalí Goes to Hol­ly­wood & Cre­ates Wild Dream Sequences for Hitch­cock & Vin­cente Min­nel­li

Two Vin­tage Films by Sal­vador Dalí and Luis Buñuel: Un Chien Andalou and L’Age d’Or

The Seashell and the Cler­gy­man: The World’s First Sur­re­al­ist Film

Alfred Hitch­cock Recalls Work­ing with Sal­vador Dali on Spell­bound

A Soft Self-Por­trait of Sal­vador Dali, Nar­rat­ed by the Great Orson Welles

A Tour Inside Sal­vador Dalí’s Labyrinthine Span­ish Home

Sal­vador Dalí Illus­trates Don Quixote: Two Spaniards with Unique World Views

Sal­vador Dalí’s Haunt­ing 1975 Illus­tra­tions for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juli­et

Sal­vador Dalí Illus­trates Shakespeare’s Mac­beth

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Free Coloring Books from World-Class Libraries & Museums: The New York Public Library, Bodleian, Smithsonian & More

coloring book 1

In ear­ly Feb­ru­ary 2016, muse­ums and libraries world­wide took part in #Col­or­Our­Col­lec­tions–a cam­paign where they made avail­able free col­or­ing books, let­ting you col­or art­work from their col­lec­tions and then share it on Twit­ter and oth­er social media plat­forms, using the hash­tag #Col­or­Our­Col­lec­tions. Below you can find a col­lec­tion of free col­or­ing books, which you can down­load and con­tin­ue to enjoy. If you see any that we’re miss­ing, please let us know in the com­ments, and we’ll do our best to update the page.

You can find a list of oth­er par­tic­i­pants on Twit­ter. The image above comes from The Hunt­ing­ton. Hap­py col­or­ing.

H/T goes to Heather for mak­ing us aware of this project.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First Adult Col­or­ing Book: See the Sub­ver­sive­Ex­ec­u­tive Col­or­ing Book From 1961

Down­load 15,000+ Free Gold­en Age Comics from the Dig­i­tal Com­ic Muse­um

Read Mar­tin Luther King and The Mont­gomery Sto­ry: The Influ­en­tial 1957 Civ­il Rights Com­ic Book

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 23 ) |

Hear the Experimental Music of the Dada Movement: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Century Ago

dadamusic2

When we think of Dada, we think of an art movement—or anti-art movement—that embraced chance oper­a­tions, futur­ism, and exper­i­men­ta­tion and reject­ed all of the pre­vi­ous doc­trines of the for­mal art world as mori­bund and fraud­u­lent. As Dada artist and the­o­rist Tris­tan Tzara wrote in his 1918 man­i­festo, the aims of the estab­lish­ment art world had been “to make mon­ey and cajole the nice nice bour­geois.” This new breed would have none of it. In their attack on bour­geois artis­tic and polit­i­cal val­ues, artists like Tzara, Mar­cel Duchamp, Man Ray, Hans Richter, Kurt Schwit­ters and oth­ers will­ful­ly tres­passed for­mal bound­aries, using any means or medi­um they hap­pened to find of inter­est in the moment. We have Dada paint­ing, sculp­ture, typog­ra­phy, and film; Dada poet­ry, the­ater, dance, and even Dadaist pol­i­tics, so well rep­re­sent­ed by Tzara’s man­i­festo.

One medi­um we don’t often asso­ciate with Dada, how­ev­er, is music. And yet, those same artists who waged war on the estab­lish­ment with ready­made uri­nals and ram­bling man­i­festos also did so with musi­cal com­po­si­tions that were as influ­en­tial as the paint­ing, film, and poet­ry.

Dada, and its imme­di­ate suc­ces­sor, sur­re­al­ism, “exert­ed a per­va­sive influ­ence on 20th-cen­tu­ry music,” writes Matthew Green­baum at New Music Box, but “the pres­ence of Dada and sur­re­al­ism is gen­er­al­ly unrec­og­nized or for­got­ten” in dis­cus­sions of “mid-cen­tu­ry avant-garde com­posers” in New York, like Ste­fan Wolpe, Mor­ton Feld­man, and John Cage. And yet, the repet­i­tive, machine-like qual­i­ties we asso­ciate with mid-cen­tu­ry min­i­mal­ism come more or less direct­ly from the Dadaists, as does the high con­cept exper­i­men­ta­tion.

Dada artists, adds Green­baum, “paid close atten­tion to advanced and devel­op­ing tech­nol­o­gy, and the repet­i­tive beau­ty of machines was a ubiq­ui­tous image.” Works like Mar­cel Duchamp’s con­cep­tu­al musi­cal “assem­blages cun­ning­ly obscure the bound­aries of text, music, rep­re­sen­ta­tion, and nota­tion a half-cen­tu­ry before John Cage’s exper­i­ments in inde­ter­mi­na­cy.” Greenbaum’s essay makes a strong case for this lin­eage, but the most direct way to trace the steps from Duchamp, et al., to Cage is to lis­ten to the Dada artists’ exper­i­ments with music first­hand, and you can hear a selec­tion of them here, excerpt­ed from the 1985 com­pi­la­tion Dada For Now and brought to us cour­tesy of Ubuweb, who host the full album. Many of these com­po­si­tions are exper­i­ments with lan­guage, the­atri­cal per­for­mance, and text (the album is shelved in the “Spo­ken Word” cat­e­go­ry), though none of the com­posers would have drawn any lines between word and music.

At the top of the post, hear Anto­nio Russolo’s 1921 com­po­si­tion “Corale and Ser­e­na­ta,” which sounds like a rather tra­di­tion­al march, but for the omi­nous roar­ing that shad­ows the orches­tra­tion and occa­sion­al­ly breaks in to dis­rupt it entire­ly, sound­ing like the rush of tires on a high­way or work­ings of a huge, indus­tri­al machine. Next is Hugo Ball’s 1916 com­po­si­tion “Karawane,” in which a trio of vocalists—Trio Exvoco—grows loud­er and more gut­tur­al as they chant in uni­son, their only accom­pa­ni­ment what sounds like a trol­ley bell. Fur­ther down, in Tris­tan Tzara and oth­ers’ “L’amiral cherche une mai­son a louer,” also from 1916, that same trio per­forms some sort of exu­ber­ant com­e­dy, with accom­pa­ny­ing whiz-bang sound effects that one would hear in radio plays of the suc­ceed­ing decades. And just above, in Kurt Schwit­ters’ 1919 “Simul­tangedicht kaa gee dee,” Trio Exvo­co begins a chant that soon devolves into stac­ca­to vocal­iza­tions and gib­ber­ish.

A few of these pieces, like the Rus­so­lo at the top, are orig­i­nal record­ings. The rest are recon­struc­tions. All of them are strange, as is to be expect­ed, but it’s impos­si­ble to hear just how strange—and how taste­less and absurd, perhaps—they would have sound­ed to audi­ences one hun­dred years ago. As Green­baum argues, what was once rev­o­lu­tion­ary in Dada became nor­ma­tive as it was inte­grat­ed into the Amer­i­can art estab­lish­ment in the lat­er 20th cen­tu­ry. But to hear it with fresh ears is to recap­ture how Dadaist art sound­ed as rad­i­cal as it looked.

Hear more Dadaist music over at Ubu.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The ABCs of Dada Explains the Anar­chic, Irra­tional “Anti-Art” Move­ment of Dadaism

Three Essen­tial Dadaist Films: Ground­break­ing Works by Hans Richter, Man Ray & Mar­cel Duchamp

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

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

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast