Watch the 7 Hour Trailer for the 720 Hour Film, Ambiancé, the Longest Movie in History


There’s an old tru­ism in Hol­ly­wood that a movie shouldn’t last much longer than the endurance of the aver­age audi­ence member’s blad­der. Most fea­ture films run around an hour and a half to two hours, though sum­mer block­busters can last longer. Stu­dios gen­er­al­ly resist mak­ing long movies for the sim­ple rea­son that they can’t pack as many screen­ings per day. While some art house auteurs have made movies that extend to blad­der-bust­ing lengths – Bela Tarr’s bril­liant Satan­ta­n­go clocks in at sev­en and a half hours – the place to find tru­ly long movies is in the art world.

Chris­t­ian Marclay’s mas­ter­piece The Clock is a 24-hour mon­tage of watch­es, clocks and oth­er time­pieces from icon­ic movies synced to the actu­al time the film is run­ning. Anoth­er incred­i­bly long movie is the apt­ly named A Cure for Insom­nia, which fea­tures artist Lee Groban read­ing a real­ly long poem inter­cut with clips of porn and heavy met­al music. That movie lasts over 3 days. And if you want­ed to watch the entire­ty of Chi­nese artist Ai Wei­wei’s movie Bei­jing 2003 – which doc­u­ments every sin­gle street with­in Beijing’s inner ring – it would take you over a week.

But those films have noth­ing on Swedish artist and film­mak­er Anders Weberg, who is mak­ing Ambiancé, which is, at 720 hours, the longest movie in the his­to­ry of cin­e­ma. 720 hours. That’s 30 days. To put this into per­spec­tive, you can watch the entire spe­cial extend­ed cut of the Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy over 60 times in the time it takes for Ambiancé to unspool just once. The first trail­er came out July 4th, and it clocks in at 72 min­utes long, mak­ing it almost a fea­ture unto itself. You can see it above. If this seems lengthy – most trail­ers are three or so min­utes after all – note that Weberg promis­es that the next trail­er will last sev­en hours and 20 min­utes.

Weberg describes Ambiancé as a movie where space and time inter­twine “into a sur­re­al dream-like jour­ney beyond places and [it] is an abstract non­lin­ear nar­ra­tive sum­ma­ry of the artist’s time spent with the mov­ing image. 
A sort of mem­oir movie.” As you can see above, the movie fea­tures dense­ly lay­ered images with a haunt­ing, min­i­mal score. Weberg plans to screen the entire­ty of the movie in 2020 on every con­ti­nent simul­ta­ne­ous­ly just once before destroy­ing it. The trail­er is only going to be avail­able until July 20th, so watch it while you can.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Clock, the 24-Hour Mon­tage of Clips from Film & TV His­to­ry, Intro­duced by Alain de Bot­ton

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

Tour the World’s Street Art with Google Street Art

By far the most enjoy­able part of our recent fam­i­ly trip to Lon­don was the after­noon my young son and I spent in Shored­itch, grop­ing our way to No Brow, a comics shop I had noticed on an ear­ly morn­ing stroll with our host­ess. Our route was evi­dence that I had for­got­ten the coor­di­nates, the street name, the name of the shop… Even­tu­al­ly, I real­ized we were lost, and that is where the real fun began, as we retraced our steps using street art as bread crumbs.

Ah right, there’s  that rooftop mush­room instal­la­tion!

And there’s that Stik fig­ure

After a while, a FedEx man took pity on us, ruin­ing our fun by steer­ing us toward the prop­er address..

I’m not sure I could ever dupli­cate our trail, but I enjoy try­ing with Google Street Art. Arm­chair trav­el­ers can use it to project them­selves to the heart of ephemer­al, pos­si­bly ille­gal exhi­bi­tions all over the globe,.

Bogotá... Paris... New York’s leg­endary 5 Pointz, before the land­lord clutched and white­washed the entire thing in the dead of night. Each up close pho­to bears a high­ly infor­ma­tion­al cap­tion, much more than you’d find in the street itself. Think of it as an after-the-fact dig­i­tal muse­um. It’s appro­pri­ate, giv­en the ephemer­al nature of the work. An online pres­ence is its best shot at preser­va­tion.

Those of us with some­thing to con­tribute can add to the record with a user gallery or by tag­ging our pho­tos with #Stree­tArtist.

Enter Google Street Art here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Obey the Giant: Short Film Presents the True Sto­ry of Shep­ard Fairey’s First Act of Street Art

Banksy Cre­ates a Tiny Repli­ca of The Great Sphinx Of Giza In Queens

Big Bang Big Boom: Graf­fi­ti Stop-Motion Ani­ma­tion Cre­ative­ly Depicts the Evo­lu­tion of Life

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

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

In 1963, the Pan­tone cor­po­ra­tion began pub­lish­ing a bi-year­ly col­or guide, which divides and cat­e­go­rizes every col­or under the sun. The aston­ish­ing­ly ubiq­ui­tous guide is an essen­tial tool for design­ers of every stripe, from a fash­ion guru fig­ur­ing out what col­or to high­light in her fall line to the guy in charge of cre­at­ing a col­or palette for the inte­ri­or of a new Boe­ing-787.

Twice a year, Pan­tone, along with a shad­owy cabal of col­orists from around the world, meet in a Euro­pean city and, with the secre­cy of the Vat­i­can choos­ing a new pope, they select the col­or of the sea­son.

They are the rea­son why you paint­ed your kitchen Wasabi Green a cou­ple years ago and why, whether you want to or not, you’ll be wear­ing Radi­ant Orchid next year. Slate did a great write up about the whole con­fus­ing process a while back.

Over 250 years before the Col­or-Indus­tri­al Com­plex reared its head, a mys­te­ri­ous Dutch artist also detailed every col­or in the spec­trum, only he did it all by hand. Known by the snick­er-induc­ing name of A. Boogert, the author set out to demon­strate how to mix water­col­or paint and how to manip­u­late the paint’s val­ue by adding water. Yet he approached his task with a stag­ger­ing lev­el of detail and depth; the result­ing book — Traité des couleurs ser­vant à la pein­ture à l’eau — is over 700 pages. It’s about as thor­ough a col­or guide as one could imag­ine in a world with­out col­or print­ers.

The book was large­ly for­got­ten, gath­er­ing dust at the Bib­lio­thèque Méjanes in Aix-en-Provence, France until Dutch art his­to­ri­an Erik Kwakkel, who trans­lat­ed the intro­duc­tion, post­ed selec­tions from the book on his blog. Herr Boogert appar­ent­ly intend­ed the book to be edu­ca­tion­al for aspir­ing artists. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, only a few artists at the time ever got a chance to see the one-of-a-kind book.

You can see scans of the book above. And if you want to more, click here to see them in high res­o­lu­tion.

For more intrigu­ing man­u­scripts, be sure to fol­low Erik Kwakkel’s Tum­blr here.

pre pantone

via This is Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Goethe’s The­o­ry of Col­ors: The 1810 Trea­tise That Inspired Kandin­sky & Ear­ly Abstract Paint­ing

Wass­i­ly Kandin­sky Caught in the Act of Cre­ation, 1926

When Respect­ed Authors, from Goethe to Hen­ry Miller, Try Their Hand at Paint­ing

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

Marcel Duchamp, Chess Enthusiast, Created an Art Deco Chess Set That’s Now Available via 3D Printer

What would Mar­cel Duchamp have thought of the age of 3D print­ing, had he fore­seen it? I reck­on that the inven­tor of the “ready­made” work of art — i.e., a piece found in the real world and placed into an artis­tic con­text, as he famously/infamously did with a uri­nal for 1917’s Foun­tain — would endorse it as the log­i­cal exten­sion of his own cre­ative prin­ci­ples. But man, espe­cial­ly a man like Duchamp, does not live by recon­tex­tu­al­ized plumb­ing alone: he also paint­ed, sculpt­ed, and even carved. This last prac­tice result­ed, after some time in Buenos Aires the year after Foun­tain, in his very own one-of-a-kind Art Deco chess set. But now this unique item has turned ready­made, so Boing­bo­ing reports via Kot­tke, as “freely down­load­able 3D print-files on Thin­gi­verse, where the com­mu­ni­ty is active­ly remix­ing them” into ver­sions “like this one, with self-sup­port­ing over­hangs.”

duchamp_ba_chess_set_proa

Duchamp him­self, who appears in the video at the top of the post describ­ing his pas­sion for chess, sure­ly would have enjoyed all this. After his time in Buenos Aires, he moved to Paris, then to Amer­i­ca, and, in 1923, back to Paris again, by which time he’d ded­i­cat­ed him­self almost ful­ly to the game. Chess has obsessed many of human­i­ty’s finest minds over cen­turies and cen­turies, and Duchamp seems to have shown lit­tle resis­tance to its intel­lec­tu­al and aes­thet­ic pull. Still, just as he crossed chess and art when he craft­ed his Art Deco set (pic­tured above), he did it again in 1925, when he not only com­pet­ed in the Third French Chess Cham­pi­onship (earn­ing the title of grand mas­ter as a result) but also designed its strik­ing poster below. The New York Times’ Hol­land Cot­ter, review­ing the Fran­cis M. Nau­mann Fine Arts show “Mar­cel Duchamp: The Art of Chess,” writes that Duchamp ulti­mate­ly found his two pas­sions not just rec­on­cil­able but “com­ple­men­tary, an ide­al inter­sec­tion of brain­pow­er and beau­ty. Chess was art; art was chess. Every­thing was about mak­ing the right moves.”

To delve deep­er, you can explore the book, Mar­cel Duchamp: The Art of Chess by Fran­cis M. Nau­mann.

DuchampPoster

via Boing­bo­ing/Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Anémic Ciné­ma: Mar­cel Duchamp’s Whirling Avant-Garde Film (1926)

Free App Lets You Play Chess With 23-Year-Old Nor­we­gian World Cham­pi­on Mag­nus Carlsen

A Famous Chess Match from 1910 Reen­act­ed with Clay­ma­tion

Chess Rivals Bob­by Fis­ch­er and Boris Spassky Meet in the ‘Match of the Cen­tu­ry’

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

The Art of Mapping Music: Mike Hamad’s 200 Schematics of Songs by Phish, Pink Floyd & The Dead

Mike Hamad, a music writer for The Hart­ford Courant, has a deep and abid­ing love for Phish. He also has a tal­ent for draw­ing “schemat­ics” or maps that turn the expe­ri­ence of lis­ten­ing to music into some­thing visu­al. Over at his tum­blr SetlistSchemat­ics, you can find near­ly 200 schemat­ics of songs (usu­al­ly per­formed live) by The Grate­ful Dead, The Dave Matthews Band, Pink Floyd, and most­ly Phish. Accord­ing to a short pro­file in The New York Times, Hamad “has a master’s degree in music the­o­ry and a Ph.D. in musi­col­o­gy” — his dis­ser­ta­tion focused on the tonal rela­tion­ships in Franz Liszt’s songs — and, some­where along the way, he devel­oped a ten­den­cy to trans­late music into schemat­ics, a flur­ry of “arrows, descrip­tive notes, roman numer­als and wavy lines.”

phish map 3

If you’re inter­est­ed in giv­ing Hamad’s method a try, we sug­gest lin­ing up some col­or­ful pens and  big sheets of paper, and then tun­ing into these clas­sic Phish con­certs found in our archive: Phish Plays the Entire­ty of the Talk­ing Heads’ Remain in Light (1996) or Phish Plays All of The Rolling Stones’ Clas­sic Album, Exile on Main Street, Live in Con­cert.

via @NYTimes and h/t Eric

Jack Kerouac’s On the Road Turned Into an Illustrated Scroll: One Drawing for Every Page of the Novel

illustrated on the road scroll
A great deal of mythol­o­gy has built up around the life of Jack Ker­ouac, and espe­cial­ly around the expe­ri­ences that went into his best-known work, the 1957 nov­el On the Road. Even the very act of its com­po­si­tion — per­haps espe­cial­ly the act of its com­po­si­tion — has, in the imag­i­na­tions of many of Ker­ouac’s read­ers, turned into an image of the man “writ­ing the book on a long scroll of tele­type paper in three cof­fee-soaked-ben­zedrine-fueled days.” With this image in mind, illus­tra­tor Paul Rogers of Pasade­na’s Art Cen­ter Col­lege of Design cre­at­ed On the Road, the illus­trat­ed scroll, fea­tur­ing “a draw­ing for every page” of the nov­el, and depict­ing the his­tor­i­cal­ly researched “cars, bus­es, road­side archi­tec­ture, and old signs” from Ker­ouac’s Amer­i­ca of the late 1940s and ear­ly 50s, one that “looked awful­ly dif­fer­ent than it does now.” You can scroll, as it were, through this work in progress at Rogers’ site.

marylou

We’ve here includ­ed only four of the over 100 draw­ings Rogers has so far made, but these exam­ples cap­ture the nov­el­’s multi­gen­er­a­tional­ly intox­i­cat­ing mix of Amer­i­cana and pure momen­tum. You’ll also notice that, under­neath each image, Rogers excerpts a pas­sage of Ker­ouac’s. “Adding Ker­ouac’s words as cap­tions to the draw­ings makes the series feel like a jour­nal and not a care­ful­ly planned out illus­trat­ed book,” he writes, “and it seems to cap­ture some of the spir­it of Ker­ouac’s ‘this-hap­pened-then-this-then-this’ writ­ing style.”

Kerouacscroll1

You can read the scroll part-by-part on these pages: one through three, four, five, six, sev­en. Though I nev­er took quite the lifestyle inspi­ra­tion from On the Road some have, I can’t wait to see what visu­al inspi­ra­tion Rogers draws from the bit about fab­u­lous yel­low roman can­dles explod­ing like spi­ders across the stars.

souvenir folder

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jack Kerouac’s Hand-Drawn Map of the Hitch­hik­ing Trip Nar­rat­ed in On the Road

Jack Kerouac’s On The Road Turned Into Google Dri­ving Direc­tions & Pub­lished as a Free eBook

Jack Ker­ouac Lists 9 Essen­tials for Writ­ing Spon­ta­neous Prose

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Listen to Audio Arts: The 1970s Tape Cassette Arts Magazine Featuring Andy Warhol, Marcel Duchamp & Many Others

audio_arts_cassette_0

As a pod­cast­er, I’ve long since grown used to the idea of peri­od­i­cal­ly issu­ing audio con­tent. But the con­ve­nient record­ing, inter­net, and com­put­er, and mobile lis­ten­ing tech­nolo­gies that made such a medi­um pos­si­ble only real­ly con­verged in the ear­ly 2000s. How would I have gone about it had I want­ed to put out a “pod­cast,” say, 40 years ear­li­er? We have one such exam­ple in Audio Arts, a British con­tem­po­rary art “sound mag­a­zine” dis­trib­uted through the mail on audio cas­settes. “The sev­en­ties were the years of con­cep­tu­al art with text adding val­ue to the actu­al works,” co-cre­ator William Fur­long once said in an inter­view. “As an artist I was more inter­est­ed in ‘dis­cus­sion,’ the idea of lan­guage and the peo­ple that already worked in con­cep­tu­al fields in Great Britain. Soon I realised there weren’t mag­a­zines capa­ble of report­ing such mate­r­i­al inspired by con­ver­sa­tion, sounds and dis­cus­sions. The evoca­tive force of a voice is lost with the writ­ten word as it will only ever be a writ­ten voice.

Fur­long, a sculp­tor, and Bar­ry Bark­er, a gal­lerist, began pub­lish­ing Audio Arts in 1973. Its run last­ed until, aston­ish­ing­ly, 2006, by which time its archives had come to 25 vol­umes of four issues each. Its list of sub­scribers includ­ed the for­mi­da­ble Tate, such fans that they actu­al­ly acquired the mag­a­zine’s mas­ter tapes, dig­i­tized them, and made them all pub­licly avail­able on their web site. No longer must you seek out nth-gen­er­a­tion dupli­cat­ed ana­log cas­settes and dig out your Walk­man; now you can sim­ply stream on your media play­er of choice every issue from Jan­u­ary 1973, “four cas­settes with con­tri­bu­tions from Car­o­line Tis­dall, Noam Chom­sky, James Joyce and W.B. Yeats,” to Jan­u­ary 2006, which caps every­thing off with con­tri­bu­tions by Gilbert & George and Jake and Dinos Chap­man. Oth­er notable artis­tic pres­ences include Mar­cel Duchamp in Vol­ume 2, Philip Glass in Vol­ume 6, and Andy Warhol in Vol­ume 8. Help­ful­ly, Tate has also put togeth­er a sec­tion with tools to explore Audio Arts’ high­lights — some­thing more than a few mod­ern-day pod­casts could no doubt use.

via @WFMU

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andy Warhol Inter­views Alfred Hitch­cock (1974)

Lis­ten to John Cage’s 5 Hour Art Piece: Diary: How To Improve The World (You Will Only Make Mat­ters Worse) 

Library of Con­gress Releas­es Audio Archive of Inter­views with Rock ‘n’ Roll Icons

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

The Oldest Known Illustration of Circumcision (2400 B.C.E.)

What do we have here? Just the old­est known illus­tra­tion of cir­cum­ci­sion being per­formed. Actu­al­ly, it’s a col­or­ful re-cre­ation of a bas-relief (see orig­i­nal here) found in an Egypt­ian tomb built for Ankhma­bor in Sakkara, Egypt. It dates back to around 2400 B.C.E.

The ori­gins of cir­cum­ci­sion remain unclear. Accord­ing to this online essay, a stele (carv­ing on stone) from the 23rd cen­tu­ry B.C.E. sug­gests that an author named “Uha” was cir­cum­cised in a mass rit­u­al. He wrote:

“When I was cir­cum­cised, togeth­er with one hun­dred and twen­ty men, there was none there­of who hit out, there was none there­of who was hit, and there was none there­of who scratched and there was none there­of who was scratched.”

By the time you get to 4,000 B.C.E., you start to find exhumed Egypt­ian bod­ies that show signs of cir­cum­ci­sion. And then come the artis­tic depic­tions. The Sakkara depic­tion comes with the per­haps help­ful writ­ten warn­ing,“Hold him and do not allow him to faint.”

via Elif Batu­man

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

Louis Arm­strong Plays Trum­pet at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids; Dizzy Gille­spie Charms a Snake in Pak­istan

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