Watch Brian Eno’s “Video Paintings,” Where 1980s TV Technology Meets Visual Art

Bri­an Eno, the well-known music pro­duc­er, res­i­dent intel­lec­tu­al of rock, “non-musi­cian” musi­cian, “drift­ing clar­i­fi­er,” and pop­u­lar­iz­er of ambi­ent records, went to art school. (The Colch­ester Insti­tute in Essex, specif­i­cal­ly.) Any­one famil­iar with Eno’s career knows that Eng­lish art school of the six­ties must have per­fect­ly suit­ed his inter­ests and incli­na­tions. But read up on his gen­er­a­tion of U.K. pop­u­lar musi­cians, and you’ll find art school not a whol­ly unusu­al rite of pas­sage. That back­ground unit­ed sev­er­al of the mem­bers of Roxy Music, the band in which Eno would hone his son­ic craft (and build his noto­ri­ety) in the ear­ly sev­en­ties. Though music would offer him his high­est peaks of fame and for­tune, Eno nev­er quite for­got that he’d orig­i­nal­ly entered art school with the inten­tion of paint­ing. Attend­ing an exhi­bi­tion of his 77 Mil­lion Paint­ings a few years back, I delight­ed in see­ing his inter­est in tech­nol­o­gy and com­po­si­tion inter­sect with his pen­chant for the visu­al arts.

Rewind, now, to the eight­ies, where we find anoth­er, equal­ly fas­ci­nat­ing exam­ple of Eno con­tin­u­ing to “paint,” but in a tech­no­log­i­cal­ly rethought man­ner. You can now watch his “video paint­ings” of that era on Youtube. Here you can see Thurs­day After­noon, his series on the female form (some of which, despite approach­ing abstrac­tion, could poten­tial­ly be con­sid­ered NSFW, though any main­stream gallery today would show them open­ly). Just above, you’ll find an excerpt from his series Mis­tak­en Mem­o­ries of Medieval Man­hat­tan. It may not look like much, and indeed, Eno’s ini­tial process involved lit­tle more than acci­den­tal­ly leav­ing his cam­corder record­ing on the win­dowsill. But bear in mind that the actu­al instal­la­tion involved screen­ing the piece right-side-up on a tele­vi­sion itself turned on its side — a sim­ple recon­tex­tu­al­iza­tion, but as those who saw the orig­i­nal have assured me, a strik­ing one. Rainy-day project: try repli­cat­ing that set­up at home. I think Eno would approve.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Bri­an Eno on Cre­at­ing Music and Art As Imag­i­nary Land­scapes (1989)

Bri­an Eno Once Com­posed Music for Win­dows 95; Now He Lets You Cre­ate Music with an iPad App

Day of Light: A Crowd­sourced Film by Mul­ti­me­dia Genius Bri­an Eno

How David Byrne and Bri­an Eno Make Music Togeth­er: A Short Doc­u­men­tary

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

The Rise of Webcomics: PBS’ Off Book Series Explores the Emergence of New Popular Art Form

I’m a paper loy­al­ist by age and incli­na­tion. I don’t begrudge those who do the bulk of their read­ing dig­i­tal­ly, I just pre­fer the famil­iar­i­ty and object-ness of the print­ed page. As a lover of comics and graph­ic nov­els, my brick and mor­tar needs are more than met by the com­par­a­tive wealth of indie shops and fes­ti­vals here in New York City, as well as its belea­guered pub­lic library sys­tem.

I could­n’t help notic­ing, though, that many of the new­er titles I favor got their start online. The pro­po­nents of the form who dis­cuss the Rise of Web­comics for PBS’ Off Book series make a com­pelling case for explor­ing that realm a bit more ful­some­ly.

Many artists who put their stuff up on the web ben­e­fit from the imme­di­a­cy of the act and the—theoretically—larger audi­ence. But pub­lish­ing in this for­mat also opens it up for Sam Brown and Andrew Hussie to cre­ate a large body of work based on read­er sug­ges­tions. Hussie takes full advan­tage of the mul­ti plat­form pos­si­bil­i­ties. Lucy Knis­ley, no stranger to edi­to­r­i­al refine­ment in a more tra­di­tion­al pub­li­ca­tion mod­el, gives her mon­sters of the id free rein online. And Nick Gure­witch’s Per­ry Bible Fel­low­ship (though he yanked a cou­ple of them offline to “make the book more spe­cial”) is the ves­sel into which his tor­rent of hilar­i­ous, dis­so­cia­tive ideas flows.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Gold­en Age Comics

The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb: A Por­trait Script­ed by the Under­ground Comics Leg­end Him­self (1987)

The Art of Illus­tra­tion: Four Illus­tra­tors Intro­duce You to the Awe-Inspir­ing State of Their Art

Join Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry for a Uni­ver­si­ty-Lev­el Course on Doo­dling and Neu­ro­science

Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s favorite web­com­ic (until now the only one she read) remains Hyper­bole and a Half.

Artist Robbie Cooper’s Video Project Immersion Stares Back at Gamers and YouTubers

What if that screen you’re peer­ing at was some­thing akin to a one-way mir­ror? There’s a def­i­nite aspect of dress­ing room hor­ror, view­ing artist Rob­bie Coop­er’s Immer­sion project, a video col­lec­tion of the alter­nate­ly grotesque and dull expres­sions appear­ing on peo­ple’s faces as they play video games and watch YouTube. (The view­er is nev­er privy to what’s show­ing on the sub­jects’ screens, but one sus­pects it’s like­ly less rar­i­fied than a short ani­ma­tion inspired by physi­cist Richard Feyn­man’s remarks on a flower or film­mak­er Miran­da July’s lyri­cal advice to the pro­cras­ti­na­tion-prone). But before we denounce the most­ly under­aged par­tic­i­pants’ dead eyes and slack jaws—an effect made more dis­turb­ing by the sound­track­’s high inci­dence of gunfire—perhaps we should turn the web cam on our­selves.

That’s exact­ly what Coop­er is hop­ing will hap­pen, as he pre­pares to expand the pro­jec­t’s scope to include peo­ple of all ages and nation­al­i­ties. “Babies being born right now arrive in a land­scape where com­put­ers, smart­phones, the inter­net, and social media already exist,” he explains, “While the old­est gen­er­a­tion alive today can remem­ber a time before TV was a fix­ture of our liv­ing room.”

To widen the net, Coop­er is turn­ing to crowd sourc­ing. Whether some­one who know­ing­ly trains the cam­era on him or her­self can achieve the pre­vi­ous par­tic­i­pants zoo-like lack of inhi­bi­tion remains to be seen, but the Kick­starter cam­paign to fund this next phase lays things out on a grand scale. The plan is for the pub­lic to con­tribute via uploads and a social media aggre­ga­tor. More excit­ing­ly, they’re encour­aged to seize the reins by cre­at­ing a series of instruc­tions and prompts for those com­ing lat­er to fol­low.

Let us hope this will lead to a more heart­en­ing vari­ety of expres­sions, as well as the book, doc­u­men­tary, and  inter­ac­tive exhibits Coop­er envi­sions.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

This is Your Kid on Tele­vi­sion

Art in the Era of the Inter­net (and Why Open Edu­ca­tion Mat­ters)

The Cre­ators Project Presents the Future of Art and Design, Brought to You by Intel and Vice Mag­a­zine

Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s lap­top is direct­ly respon­si­ble for two ver­ti­cal creas­es between her brows.

“The Bay Lights,” The World’s Largest LED Light Sculpture, Debuts in San Francisco

On Tues­day night, the San Fran­cis­co-Oak­land Bay Bridge out­shined The Gold­en Gate Bridge for the first time in 75 years. That hap­pened when artist Leo Vil­lare­al flipped a switch and illu­mi­nat­ed 25,000 lights, turn­ing the 1.8‑mile expanse into the world’s largest L.E.D. light sculp­ture. Accord­ing to The New York Times, the pri­vate­ly-fund­ed project, esti­mat­ed to cost $8 mil­lion, “has become a dar­ling of mon­eyed Sil­i­con Val­ley types.” And, it’s not hard to see why. As Vil­lare­al explains in the video above, “The Bay Lights” instal­la­tion runs on cus­tom-designed soft­ware (writ­ten in C) that cap­tures the kinet­ic activ­i­ty around the bridge and then uses the data to sequence the lights, cre­at­ing pat­terns that nev­er occur twice. You can vis­it the instal­la­tion through 2015. Learn more here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pi in the Sky: The World’s Largest Ephemer­al Art Instal­la­tion over Beau­ti­ful San Fran­cis­co

Cap­ti­vat­ing Col­lab­o­ra­tion: Artist Hubert Duprat Uses Insects to Cre­ate Gold­en Sculp­tures

MIT LED Heli­copters: The Ear­ly Smart Pix­els

Build­ing the Gold­en Gate Bridge: A Retro Film Fea­tur­ing Orig­i­nal Archival Footage

Google Launches a New “Art Talks” Series: Tune in Tonight

google art project

Today at 8 p.m. EST Google Art Project will launch a new series, Art Talks. Like Google’s oth­er Hang­outs on Air, Art Talks will con­vene some of the most influ­en­tial peo­ple of our time.

Each month Art Talks will fea­ture a con­ver­sa­tion with cura­tors, muse­um direc­tors, his­to­ri­ans, or edu­ca­tors from world-renowned cul­tur­al insti­tu­tions, who “will reveal the hid­den sto­ries behind par­tic­u­lar works, exam­ine the cura­tion process and pro­vide insights into par­tic­u­lar mas­ter­pieces or artists.”

For today’s talk Deb­o­rah Howes, direc­tor of dig­i­tal learn­ing at the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art, will mod­er­ate a pan­el of artists and stu­dents for a dis­cus­sion about how to teach art online. To post a ques­tion for the group, vis­it the Google event page.

The talk will be broad­cast live at 8 p.m. EST. After­wards it’ll be avail­able on Google Art Project’s YouTube chan­nel.

Lat­er this month Car­o­line Camp­bell and Arni­ka Schmidt from the Nation­al Gallery will dis­cuss depic­tions of the female nude. In April, a pan­el will exam­ine the gigapex­il project based on Bruegel’s “Tow­er of Babel.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Google Art Project Expands, Bring­ing 30,000 Works of Art from 151 Muse­ums to the Web

Vis­it the Pra­do Art Col­lec­tion with Google Earth

Free: The Guggen­heim Puts 65 Mod­ern Art Books Online

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Read more of her work at .

Pac-Man, Tetris, SimCity & Other Classic Video Games Opening Friday at the Museum of Modern Art

The ques­tion “what is art?” has not been answered so much as expo­nen­tial­ly dis­man­tled in the past 100 years, such that, at present, it’s more or less mean­ing­less to assert that some high­er aes­thet­ic realm exists apart from the splash and top­i­cal­i­ty of street art, prod­uct design, or adver­tis­ing. Muse­ums find them­selves not so much cura­tors of high cul­ture as inter­preters of what’s hap­pen­ing now, includ­ing such “low” arts as, say, graf­fi­ti, hip hop, rock pho­tog­ra­phy, and, most recent­ly, video games.

Which brings us to the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art’s video game exhib­it open­ing this Fri­day. Does the idea make you gasp? Well, accord­ing to MoMA Senior Cura­tor Pao­la Antonel­li in the video above, you are “in a dra­mat­ic minor­i­ty… out of space and out of time.” Is she for real? It real­ly doesn’t mat­ter, since the final word on what is or isn’t art rests with… well, no one, real­ly. And that is, in my hum­ble opin­ion, a salu­tary lega­cy of the mod­ernist rev­o­lu­tion in the arts. Maybe if everyone’s a crit­ic these days, then everyone’s also an artist, but espe­cial­ly those design­ers and pro­gram­mers who gave us such endur­ing clas­sics as Pac-Man, Tetris, Sim­C­i­ty, and Myst, all of which have made the cut in MoMA’s exhi­bi­tion.

This is not the first large-scale exhi­bi­tion of video games in a major art muse­um. In March-Sep­tem­ber, 2012, the Smith­son­ian Muse­um of Amer­i­can Art staged The Art of the Video Game, which fea­tured eighty games, select­ed with help from the pub­lic, and video inter­views with twen­ty game devel­op­ers. Curat­ed by gamer and col­lec­tor Chris Melissi­nos, the exhi­bi­tion made an exten­sive case for video games as art. See the Smith­son­ian exhi­bi­tion trail­er below, and decide for your­self if video games belong in muse­ums. You’re the crit­ic, after all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Indie Video Game Mak­ers Are Chang­ing the Game

Ancient Greek Pun­ish­ments: The Retro Video Game

Pong, 1969: A Mile­stone in Video Game His­to­ry

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

15,000 Volts Courses Through Plywood, Revealing “Lightning Made from Molasses”

“When light­ning flash­es across the sky, you only get a chance to glimpse its frac­tal form for a split sec­ond. But when you send 15,000 volts cours­ing through ply­wood, you get a much bet­ter look at how it grows. Melanie Hoff, a stu­dent at the Pratt Insti­tute in New York City did just that, and the result is a time­lapse where you can see the pat­terns slow­ly grow out and smol­der, like light­ning made from molasses.”

That’s the descrip­tion that intro­duces the 15,000 Volts video on YouTube. On her own Vimeo Chan­nel, Hoff adds a few more details about what you’re see­ing above, say­ing “Yes, the grain of the wood influ­ences the pat­tern and the direc­tion [it takes]. The lay­ers of veneer and the glue that holds them togeth­er caus­es the growth to progress much slow­er than in non-ply­wood. This is sped up hun­dreds of thou­sands of times” in the time­lapse film. The musi­cal accom­pa­ni­ment is “Aire De Zam­ba,” by Augustin Bar­rios Man­gore.

via Giz­mo­do

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The Confessions of Robert Crumb: A Portrait Scripted by the Underground Comics Legend Himself (1987)

Any­one who’s seen Crumb, Ter­ry Zwigoff’s 1994 doc­u­men­tary about under­ground comics leg­end, R. Crumb, may con­sid­er them­selves fair­ly con­ver­sant in both the art and the off­beat exis­tence of the vin­tage-record-rever­ing sex­u­al adven­tur­er and self-pro­claimed wimp.

But does a trav­el­er pass up the oppor­tu­ni­ty to vis­it Paris sim­ply because he’s been there once before?

Unless you’re a vir­gin to the sub­ject, The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb, a BBC doc whose release pre­dat­ed that of Zwigof­f’s defin­i­tive por­trait by sev­en years, will con­tain no major rev­e­la­tions. It’s still a lot of fun though, per­haps more so for hav­ing been script­ed by its main attrac­tion.

Crumb and his wife, fel­low car­toon­ist, Aline Komin­sky Crumb, were uneasy with Zwigof­f’s por­tray­al, a reac­tion they doc­u­ment­ed in Head for the Hills!, a joint­ly authored, two-page com­ic in the New York­er. Their objec­tions ulti­mate­ly lay with the noto­ri­ety the film would con­fer on them. Fame for Crumb is a mon­ster-mak­ing drain on cre­ativ­i­ty. (“And I guar­an­tee we won’t earn an extra dol­lar as a result of this won­der­ful expo­sure,” Aline adds in a word bub­ble, an obser­va­tion the Crumb blog gives the lie to, near­ly twen­ty years out.)

But in terms of what he was will­ing to own up to on cam­era, Crumb the screen­writer is far from a shrink­ing vio­let. The talk­ing heads are min­i­mized and the extend­ed fam­i­ly kept to the shad­ows, but he’s frank about the erot­ic pre­oc­cu­pa­tions that fig­ure promi­nent­ly in his work and have raised more than a few fem­i­nist hack­les over the years. One might even say he plays it up in goofy staged bits, such as the one where he dons a lab coat to exam­ine the pow­er­ful rear and kid­ney bean-shaped pelvic tilt of an impas­sive mod­el clad in 80s-style Jane Fon­da Work­out wear. As social mal­adroits go, he’s not afraid to wear a lamp­shade on his head.

He also reveals him­self as a life­long learn­er, avid­ly research­ing his non-flesh-relat­ed pas­sions. His inter­ests are infec­tious. One hour with Crumb and you may find your­self spend­ing the next two or three on eso­teric top­ics rang­ing from James Gill­ray to Har­ry Roy and his Bat Club Boys.

You can find The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb list­ed in our col­lec­tion of 55o Free Online Movies.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Record Cov­er Art by Under­ground Car­toon­ist Robert Crumb

The Inscrutable Imag­i­na­tion of the Late Com­ic Artist Mœbius

Vis­it the World of Lit­tle Nemo Artist Win­sor McCay: Three Clas­sic Ani­ma­tions and a Google Doo­dle

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is a fem­i­nist and a long term Robert Crumb fan.

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