Soviet-Era Illustrations Of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit (1976)

Hobbit1

Until I read J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of The Rings, my favorite book grow­ing up was, by far, The Hob­bit. Grow­ing up in Rus­sia, how­ev­er, meant that instead of Tolkien’s Eng­lish ver­sion, my par­ents read me a Russ­ian trans­la­tion. To me, the trans­la­tion eas­i­ly matched the pace and won­der of Tolkien’s orig­i­nal. Look­ing back, The Hob­bit prob­a­bly made such an indeli­ble impres­sion on me because Tolkien’s tale was alto­geth­er dif­fer­ent than the Russ­ian fairy tales and children’s sto­ries that I had pre­vi­ous­ly been exposed to. There were no child­ish hijinks, no young pro­tag­o­nists, no par­ents to res­cue you when you got into trou­ble. I con­sid­ered it an epic in the truest lit­er­ary sense.

As with many Russ­ian trans­la­tions dur­ing the Cold War, the book came with a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent set of illus­tra­tions. Mine, I remem­ber regret­ting slight­ly, lacked pic­tures alto­geth­er. A friend’s edi­tion, how­ev­er, was illus­trat­ed in the typ­i­cal Russ­ian style: much more tra­di­tion­al­ly styl­ized than Tolkien’s own draw­ings, they were more angu­lar, friend­lier, almost car­toon­ish. In this post, we include a num­ber of these images from the 1976 print­ing. The cov­er, above, depicts a grin­ning Bil­bo Bag­gins hold­ing a gem. Below, Gan­dalf, an osten­si­bly harm­less soul, pays Bil­bo a vis­it.

2

Next, we have the three trolls, argu­ing about their var­i­ous eat­ing arrange­ments, with Bil­bo hid­ing to the side.

3

Here, Gol­lum, née Smeagol, pad­dles his raft in the depths of the moun­tains.

4

Final­ly, here’s Bil­bo, ful­fill­ing his role as a bur­glar in Smaug’s lair.

5

For more of the Sovi­et illus­tra­tions of The Hob­bit, head on over to Retro­naut.

For anoth­er Sovi­et take on The Hob­bit, watch this 1985 TV adap­ta­tion.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to J.R.R. Tolkien Read a Lengthy Excerpt from The Hob­bit (1952)

Down­load a Free Course on The Hob­bit by “The Tolkien Pro­fes­sor,” Corey Olsen

Dis­cov­er J.R.R. Tolkien’s Per­son­al Book Cov­er Designs for The Lord of the Rings Tril­o­gy

The Only Draw­ing from Mau­rice Sendak’s Short-Lived Attempt to Illus­trate The Hob­bit

The Only Drawing from Maurice Sendak’s Short-Lived Attempt to Illustrate The Hobbit

SendakHobbit1

I envy nobody the clear­ly tor­tur­ous task of inter­pret­ing the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, from Peter Jack­son on down. With his three Lord of the Rings films in the ear­ly 2000s, New Zealand’s cin­e­mat­ic native son actu­al­ly did an admirable job of deflect­ing much of the inevitable wrath of Tolkien’s enor­mous, high­ly detail-ori­ent­ed, eas­i­ly angered inter­na­tion­al fan base. One sens­es, how­ev­er, that he stands on slight­ly less firm ground with his new­er adap­ta­tion, and indeed expan­sion, of The Hob­bit. The nov­el, which Tolkien wrote for chil­dren in 1937 and whose suc­cess led him to go the full dis­tance with the Lord of the Rings books, now finds itself turn­ing into its own trio of film spec­ta­cles, each install­ment of which gets the strongest pos­si­ble mar­ket­ing push (up to and includ­ing Mid­dle-Earth-themed dish­es at Den­ny’s) upon its the­atri­cal release. It can seem an awful­ly grand treat­ment for a hum­ble (if endur­ing­ly adven­tur­ous) book. To grant The Hob­bit a sep­a­rate visu­al dimen­sion, then, would­n’t we want a tal­ent which, though for­mi­da­ble, tend­ed toward sub­tle­ty and under­state­ment — and, lest we for­get the nov­el­’s tar­get audi­ence, one who under­stands chil­dren?

CA.0322.tolkein-sendak.

We near­ly had one in Mau­rice Sendak, he of Where the Wild Things Are, who in the mid-1960s cre­at­ed sam­ple art­work for The Hob­bit’s pro­posed 30th-anniver­sary deluxe illus­trat­ed edi­tion. For a vari­ety of rea­sons, from Sendak’s reluc­tance to Tolkien’s crank­i­ness to a label­ing sna­fu by the pub­lish­er to a heart attack that took Sendak out of com­mis­sion for a while, the promis­ing con­cept nev­er came to fruition. Specifics of the accounts con­flict, though you can find one from Tony DiTer­l­izzi at the Los Ange­les Times and anoth­er, propos­ing cor­rec­tions to the for­mer, at Too Many Books and Nev­er Enough. What­ev­er the ulti­mate obsta­cle, Sendak com­plet­ed just two draw­ings for the book; the only one that sur­vives appears at the top of this post, show­ing us how he envi­sioned the hob­bit hero Bil­bo Bag­gins and the wiz­ard Gan­dalf.  Just above, we have Tolkien’s own draw­ing of Bil­bo at home, prov­ing him none too shab­by an illus­tra­tor in his own right, and one who by def­i­n­i­tion gets the details right. Still, I grieve for nev­er hav­ing seen the direc­tions in which Sendak could have tak­en this bit of mate­r­i­al from the beloved Tolkien canon — and, bet­ter yet, what minor here­sies the irrev­er­ent artist could have sly­ly inflict­ed upon it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Christ­mas Fable by Mau­rice Sendak (1977)

The Mind & Art of Mau­rice Sendak: A Video Sketch

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

Down­load Eight Free Lec­tures on The Hob­bit by “The Tolkien Pro­fes­sor,” Corey Olsen

Lis­ten to J.R.R. Tolkien Read a Lengthy Excerpt from The Hob­bit (1952)

Dis­cov­er J.R.R. Tolkien’s Per­son­al Book Cov­er Designs for The Lord of the Rings Tril­o­gy

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 Tree Rings Getting Played on a Turntable and Turned into Music

There’s some­thing odd­ly sooth­ing about lis­ten­ing to music on vinyl. Regard­less of what dig­i­tal music lovers say, and irre­spec­tive of the fact that the same sound may be pro­duced dig­i­tal­ly, die-hard vinyl fans will tell you that noth­ing com­pares to the warm scratch­i­ness of a nee­dle on a record. I don’t have a horse in the race, but hav­ing grown up with a record play­er in my bed­room, I can’t help but slip into a brief rever­ie when­ev­er I hear an old Satch­mo record spin­ning on a turntable.

In an ele­gant twist on the digital/analog bat­tle, Ger­man-born Bartholomäus Traubeck has cre­at­ed Years, a “record play­er that plays slices of wood,” using a process that trans­lates the data from the tree’s year rings into music. This process is, how­ev­er, com­plete­ly dig­i­tal. Instead of using a nee­dle to pick up the sound from the record’s grooves, Traubeck used a tiny cam­era to cap­ture the image of the wood, and dig­i­tal­ly trans­formed this data into piano tones. More than mere­ly a clever con­trap­tion, how­ev­er, Years is also an intrigu­ing inter­ac­tion between the phys­i­cal and the tem­po­ral. As Traubeck notes,

 â€śOn reg­u­lar vinyl, there is this groove that rep­re­sents how­ev­er long the track is. There’s a phys­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the length of the audio track that’s imprint­ed on the record. The year rings are very sim­i­lar because it takes a very long time to actu­al­ly grow this struc­ture because it depends on which record you put on of those I made. It’s usu­al­ly 30 to 60 or 70 years in that amount of space. It was real­ly inter­est­ing for me to have this visu­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion of time and then trans­late it back into a song which it wouldn’t orig­i­nal­ly be.”

A lit­tle con­vo­lut­ed? Don’t wor­ry. Play the video above, and enjoy the eerie melody.

via Live­Science

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Vinyl Records Are Made: A Primer from 1956 (That’s Rel­e­vant in 2014)

A Song of Our Warm­ing Plan­et: Cel­list Turns 130 Years of Cli­mate Change Data into Music

Glob­al Warm­ing: A Free Course from UChica­go Explains Cli­mate Change

Har­vard Thinks Green: Big Ideas from 6 All-Star Envi­ron­ment Profs

How Cli­mate Change Is Threat­en­ing Your Dai­ly Cup of Cof­fee

 

The Strange and Wonderful Movie Posters from Ghana: The Matrix, Alien & More

the-matrix ghana

A cot­tage indus­try quick­ly sprang up in the ear­ly 80s when the first video­cas­settes made their way to the West African nation of Ghana. Armed with a TV, a VCR and a portable gen­er­a­tor, mobile cin­e­ma oper­a­tors set up shop in city neigh­bor­hoods and in rur­al berg and began to screen Hong Kong action flicks, Bol­ly­wood musi­cals, Niger­ian movies and Hol­ly­wood block­busters.

In order to pack their mobile the­aters, pro­mot­ers hired artists to design movies posters — usu­al­ly the sole means of adver­tise­ment for a screen­ing. As with a lot of adver­tise­ments in Sub-Saha­ran Africa, the posters were hand paint­ed on large pieces of can­vas or used flour bags. The artists – many of whom seem to have only a ten­u­ous grasp on per­spec­tive and human anato­my — were often­times com­mis­sioned to design a poster with­out hav­ing seen the movie or even real­ly know­ing what a giv­en movie star looks like.

catwoman ghana

The result­ing work is gar­ish, lurid and won­der­ful­ly strange. In an age when the posters com­ing out of Hol­ly­wood are bland and for­get­table, the rough-hewn style of these posters is a real joy — movie art with a pulse. The ver­sion of Cat­woman as adver­tised in the Ghana­ian poster above looks way more inter­est­ing than the actu­al movie.

ghana-movie-poster-spy

The gold­en age of the mobile movie the­aters start­ed to decline in the 90s when more and more peo­ple were able to buy their own equip­ment. About that same time, West­ern col­lec­tors start­ed to buy and col­lect the posters.

terminator-ghana-poster

Jeaurs Oka Afu­tu, a vet­er­an poster design­er who got his start when he was a teenag­er, reflects on his work. “Action and war works a lot … and women too: both actu­al­ly,” he said in an inter­view with CNN. “It all depends on what the audi­ence prefers.”

alien ghana

On this page, you’ll also find posters for The Matrix, The Ter­mi­na­tor, The Spy Who Love Me [sic] and Alien. Find more of these remark­able posters at Twist­ed Sifter.

via CNN

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gaze at Glob­al Movie Posters for Hitchcock’s Ver­ti­go: U.S., Japan, Italy, Poland & Beyond

See Ottoman-Style Posters of Star Wars, The God­fa­ther, Scar­face and Oth­er Clas­sic Movies

50 Film Posters From Poland: From The Empire Strikes Back to Raiders of the Lost Ark

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.

Sketches by Guillermo del Toro Take You Inside the Director’s Wildly Creative Imagination

Guiller­mo del Toro is per­haps the most visu­al­ly imag­i­na­tive direc­tor alive today. Unlike Paul Thomas Ander­son, with his infu­ri­at­ing­ly per­fect sense of visu­al bal­ance, or Alfon­so CuarĂłn, whose Oscar-sweep­ing Grav­i­ty required the inven­tion of a nov­el, hyper-real­istic film­ing method, del Toro doesn’t deal with real life. His domain is the fan­tas­ti­cal. There’s a chance you may not have liked Pan’s Labyrinth, and even the dis­tinct pos­si­bil­i­ty that you’ve for­got­ten what­ev­er it is that hap­pens in Hell­boy, (some­thing about mon­sters? Sav­ing the world?), but I’d wager that its menagerie of hell­ish demons has been seared into your mem­o­ry.

Late in 2013, del Toro released a volu­mi­nous book, enti­tled Cab­i­net of Curiosi­ties: My Note­books, Col­lec­tions, and Oth­er Obses­sions. As he explains in the video above, the 256-page hard­cov­er is a selec­tion from his note­books, where the direc­tor devel­oped many of the mon­strosi­ties we’ve seen on screen.
The Guardian Sket notes that there’s some­thing of da Vinci’s note­books in del Toro’s records:  the small, neat script, mixed in with the won­der­ful­ly detailed sketch­es, com­bine to give the impres­sion of del Toro doing his best to record the tor­rent of his imag­i­na­tion before the thoughts dis­ap­pear. In this post, we include a num­ber of these images. The first three sketch­es, includ­ing the one above, depict del Toro’s draw­ings for Pan’s Labyrinth. The fourth is a page from his work on Hell­boy, and the fifth is art for his most recent film, Pacif­ic Rim.

From Pan’s Labyrinth

From Pacif­ic Rim

For those inter­est­ed in view­ing more of del Toro’s won­der­ful­ly bizarre sketch­es, a some­what larg­er gallery is avail­able here. The com­plete Cab­i­net of Curiosi­ties: My Note­books, Col­lec­tions, and Oth­er Obses­sions is avail­able at Amazon.com.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Film­mak­ing Advice from Quentin Taran­ti­no and Sam Rai­mi 

Love­craft: Fear of the Unknown (Free Doc­u­men­tary) 

Time Out Lon­don Presents The 100 Best Hor­ror Films: Start by Watch­ing Four Hor­ror Clas­sics Free Online

“Be All You Can Be. Read”: Peter Max’s 1969 Psychedelic Poster for National Library Week

04 - Nat Lib Week 1969

In 1969, Peter Max was cre­at­ing psy­che­del­ic illus­tra­tions that cap­tured the coun­ter­cul­tur­al spir­it of the 1960s. Bright, trip­py, and thought-pro­vok­ing, Max’s art­work fused togeth­er â€śeast­ern yogi phi­los­o­phy, astron­o­my, com­ic books, stud­ies in col­or, and music.” And it cer­tain­ly found an audi­ence. By the late 60s, col­lege dorm rooms across the U.S. were plas­tered with Max’s posters. 72 cor­po­ra­tions — from Gen­er­al Elec­tric to Burling­ton Mills, a man­u­fac­tur­er of socks — licensed his art for com­mer­cial use. Mean­while, in ’69, Max appeared on The Tonight Show, The Ed Sul­li­van Show, and the cov­er of LIFE mag­a­zine (with main arti­cle titled “Peter Max: Por­trait of the artist as a very rich man”).

Even while the cor­po­rate gigs were rolling in, the Ger­man-born illus­tra­tor took on less com­mer­cial projects, like cre­at­ing this poster for Nation­al Library Week, an annu­al event orga­nized by the Amer­i­can Library Asso­ci­a­tion. Mea­sur­ing 36 x 24 inch­es, the 1969 poster, aes­thet­i­cal­ly speak­ing, is vin­tage Max. And it car­ries a mes­sage that sounds as good today as it did then: “Be All You Can Be. Read.” Now dare I steer you toward of our col­lec­tion of 500 Free eBooks? An easy way to make you, a bet­ter you.

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 Bib­liok­lept

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The Art Assignment: Learn About Art & the Creative Process in a New Web Series by John & Sarah Green

If you haven’t seen the works of John Green, whose “Crash Course” series on world his­to­ry and Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture we pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here, you’ve missed out on first-class exam­ples of the learn­ing expe­ri­ences video tech­nol­o­gy, the inter­net, and burn­ing curios­i­ty have now made pos­si­ble. (An antipa­thy to these sub­jects’ tra­di­tion­al class­room teach­ing meth­ods may also have some­thing to do with them.) PBS, how­ev­er, has not missed out, and in part­ner­ship with Green and his wife Sarah Urist Green, they’ve just come out with The Art Assign­ment, a week­ly web series that “cel­e­brates the cre­ative process” and intro­duces “today’s most inno­v­a­tive artis­tic minds.” An ambi­tious mis­sion, and one you can find out more about in the clip above. But the Greens don’t intend to put togeth­er a sim­ple primer on art. The Art Assign­ment, as Urist Green explains, has them “trav­el­ing around the coun­try, vis­it­ing artists and ask­ing them to give you an art assign­ment.”

The first episode has just become avail­able, and, in it, they pay a vis­it to the Flux Fac­to­ry in Queens, where artists Dou­glas Paul­son and Christo­pher Rob­bins tell the sto­ry of their first “col­lab­o­ra­tion,” which involved their meet­ing at high noon in a lake in the Czech Repub­lic, the exact geo­graph­i­cal mid­point between their then-homes in Copen­hagen and Ser­bia. Their assign­ment? “Find some­one. Draw a line between the two of you, meet exact­ly in the mid­dle. Once you’ve agreed on your meet­ing point, date, and time, you’re not allowed to speak to each oth­er by any means.” John then won­ders if that real­ly counts as art (“On some lev­el, to me, art is paint­ing”), which prompts Sarah to quote artist-the­o­rist Roy Ascott: â€śStop think­ing about art works as objects, and start think­ing about them as trig­gers for expe­ri­ences.” The Art Assign­ment will doubt­less put the Greens and their fol­low­ers through some inter­est­ing expe­ri­ences indeed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Crash Course on Lit­er­a­ture: Watch John Green’s Fun Intro­duc­tions to Gats­by, Catch­er in the Rye & Oth­er Clas­sics

A Crash Course in World His­to­ry

The 55 Strangest, Great­est Films Nev­er Made (Cho­sen by John Green)

Free: The Guggen­heim Puts 99 Mod­ern Art Books Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

The Postcards That Picasso Illustrated and Sent to Jean Cocteau, Apollinaire & Gertrude Stein

picasso postcard 1

Pablo Picasso’s coterie of friends and col­lab­o­ra­tors was vast and glam­orous. Fol­low­ing his move to France, Picas­so befriend­ed the flam­boy­ant Russ­ian bal­let impre­sario Serge Diaghilev, whose Bal­lets Russ­es sets he went on to design, and whose pri­ma bal­le­ri­na Picas­so went on to mar­ry. Picas­so also became friends with com­posers (such as Igor Stravin­sky) and emi­nent painters, includ­ing his Cubist broth­er-in-arms Georges Braques, and his com­pa­tri­ot, Juan Gris.

Today, we bring you a num­ber of the post­cards that Picas­so sent to his friends, many of which he per­son­al­ly illus­trat­ed, quick­ly dash­ing off a note or a pic­ture in a loose, wavy script. Above, you can view an image of Picasso’s post­card to his close friend and artist, Jean Cocteau, depict­ing the bal­cony at No. 10, Rue d’Anjou, where Cocteau’s moth­er had an apart­ment.  Below, you can view a sketch Picas­so sent off to the fore­fa­ther of the Sur­re­al­ist move­ment, his rotund friend and poet Guil­laume Apol­li­naire. The mes­sage reads, blunt­ly, “I don’t see you any­more. Are you dead?”

Picasso Ă  Apollinaire

In the length­i­est of the post­cards, dat­ing from 1919 and pro­vid­ed by Some­thing Rich & Strange, Picas­so writes to Gertrude Sein, per­haps describ­ing a hol­i­day:

picasso to stein

“Mais non Gertrude,

il n’y a pas des mouch­es et je n’ai vu encore qu’un mous­tique, que j’ai tuĂ© d’ailleurs.  Ecrives si le couer vous dit.  Milles bonnes choses de nous deux a vous [et mlle Tok­las]

votre Picas­so.

-

“No, Gertrude,

there are no flies, and I haven’t seen more than one mos­qui­to, which I killed, any­way.  Write me if the mood strikes. All the best to you and Ms. Tok­las.

Yours, Picas­so”

Inter­est­ed read­ers may pur­chase a col­lec­tion of Picasso’s post­cards on Ama­zon.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Six Post­cards From Famous Writ­ers: Hem­ing­way, Kaf­ka, Ker­ouac & More

Watch Icon­ic Artists at Work: Rare Videos of Picas­so, Matisse, Kandin­sky, Renoir, Mon­et, Pol­lock & More

Picas­so Paint­ing on Glass

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