Vintage Australian Mugshots from the 1920s

It was anoth­er time, anoth­er place, a moment when crim­i­nals were invit­ed to pose for the cam­era. The mugshot as an art form.

Above we have one of 2500 “spe­cial pho­tographs” tak­en by pho­tog­ra­phers from the New South Wales Police Depart­ment between 1910 and 1930. The four men (Hamp­ton Hirscham, Cor­nel­lius Joseph Keevil, William Thomas O’Brien and James O’Brien) were arrest­ed on charges of bur­glar­iz­ing the home of a book­ie — one Regi­nald Cat­ton — in April 1921. O’Brien was let off the hook, but the oth­er three dap­per ones weren’t so lucky.

You can find 30 vin­tage mugshots nice­ly curat­ed by Twist­ed Sifter. Or you can sift through a larg­er col­lec­tion housed by the Nation­al Library of Aus­tralia. H/T Coudal.com

Give us a fol­low on Face­book and Twit­ter. We’ll send more intel­li­gent media your way…

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How Shea Hembrey Became 100 Artists

Arkansas-born artist Shea Hem­brey kicks off his TED talk by con­fess­ing to a hick child­hood in which he and his sis­ter “would com­pete to see who could eat the most squir­rel brains.” That mod­est joke sets the stage for his intro­duc­tion of Seek, a project Hem­brey con­ceived in response to his dis­ap­point­ment with sev­er­al exhibits of con­tem­po­rary art in Europe, includ­ing the Venice Bien­nale. Find­ing much of the work he encoun­tered too obtuse and inac­ces­si­ble, Hem­brey decid­ed to cre­ate an inter­na­tion­al bien­ni­al of his own, fea­tur­ing the 100 most inspir­ing artists he could find.

The twist, of course, is that all 100 artists (and art­works) were cre­at­ed by Hem­brey him­self, in strict accor­dance with two per­son­al cri­te­ria:  First, the work must be some­thing he could explain to his grand­ma in less than five min­utes; next, its process must engage the three “H’s” of head, heart, and hand.

All 100 pieces fea­ture dis­tinct mate­ri­als, char­ac­ter and craft, and tak­en togeth­er they pro­vide an impres­sive show­case for Hem­brey’s humor and vir­tu­os­i­ty. But that grand­ma of his had bet­ter be hid­ing a degree in semi­otics, or at least an old copy of the The Post­mod­ern Con­di­tion, because the suc­cess of Seek’s joke is large­ly depen­dent on our knowl­edge of the world it lam­poons.  And for all the deter­mined folksi­ness of his man­i­festo, the posi­tion Hem­brey stakes out — some­where between par­o­dy and homage — would not be unfa­mil­iar to the cura­tors of the Venice Bien­nale.

Sheer­ly Avni is a San Fran­cis­co-based arts and cul­ture writer. Her work has appeared in Salon, LA Week­ly, Moth­er Jones, and many oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low her on twit­ter at @sheerly.

Un Chien Andalou: Revisiting Buñuel and Dalí’s Surrealist Film

The New York Times has post­ed A.O. Scot­t’s 3‑minute look back at the 1929 short film Un Chien Andalou. Scott describes the sur­re­al­ist clas­sic, a col­lab­o­ra­tion between painter Sal­vador DalĂ­ and a very young first-time film­mak­er Luis Buñuel, as an “old dog with an end­less sup­ply of new tricks.” The short­’s pro­ces­sion of seem­ing­ly absurd, uncon­nect­ed images, he adds, does not fol­low the log­ic of nar­ra­tive but rather the “log­ic of dreams.”

Even though its most famous (or infa­mous) images — a sev­ered hand, a hand cov­ered with ants, and most final­ly a hand slic­ing into a wom­an’s eye­ball with a razor blade —  seem less shock­ing now than they did 80 years ago, Un Chien Andalou is still a plea­sure. Our real­i­ty has changed since the 20s. Our dreams, less so.

You can watch Un Chien Andalou in its entire­ty, along with L’Âge d’Or, anoth­er Buñuel/Dalí pro­duc­tion, in our col­lec­tion of Free Online Movies. But pro­ceed with cau­tion: About 25 years ago, I slipped a copy into the fam­i­ly VCR, expect­ing a cute car­toon about an Andalu­sian dog. I’m still recov­er­ing.

Relat­ed:

Sal­vador Dali (and Oth­er VIPs) on “What’s My Line?”

Sheer­ly Avni is a San Fran­cis­co-based arts and cul­ture writer. Her work has appeared in Salon, LA Week­ly, Moth­er Jones, and many oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low her on twit­ter at @sheerly.

Samuel Beckett in 3‑D: The Making of Unmakeable Love

Samuel Beck­et­t’s haunt­ing short sto­ry “The Lost Ones,” which tells of a group of peo­ple doomed to wan­der for­ev­er inside a nar­row cylin­dri­cal prison, makes Wait­ing for Godot seem like Lit­tle Miss Sun­shine. It is also near­ly unadapt­able since a sto­ry dri­ven by the cer­tain­ty of damna­tion leaves lit­tle room for dra­mat­ic ten­sion … until now, per­haps.

This mon­th’s New Sci­en­tist has a nice piece up about Unmake­ablelove, a 3‑D inter­ac­tive sim­u­la­tion based on “The Lost Ones” in which vir­tu­al bod­ies (cre­at­ed with motion cap­ture, the same tech­nique James Cameron used in Avatar) beat them­selves, col­lide into each oth­er, and slouch eter­nal­ly towards nowhere, all dri­ven by a force even more implaca­ble than fate: the com­put­er algo­rithms with which the piece was pro­grammed.

And as with any good work of Exis­ten­tial­ist Despair That Dooms All of Human­i­ty to A Future With­out Mean­ing or Hope, this one impli­cates the audi­ence — spec­ta­tors can only see inside the exhib­it if they sta­tion them­selves by one of six torch­es sur­round­ing the 30-foot space.  And when they do so, infrared video cam­eras project their own like­ness­es into the cylin­der. There are no spec­ta­tors.

Unmake­ablelove was cre­at­ed by Sarah Kender­dine and Jef­frey Shaw, and pre­sent­ed at the Hong Kong Inter­na­tion­al Art Fair in May. You can read more about the fas­ci­nat­ing nuts and bolts of the project here.

via Maud New­ton and A Piece of Mono­logue

Sheer­ly Avni is a San Fran­cis­co-based arts and cul­ture writer. Her work has appeared in Salon, LA Week­ly, Moth­er Jones, and many oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low her on twit­ter at @sheerly.

The Arctic Light

Last month, Ter­je Sorgjerd gave us a jaw-drop­ping video of El Tei­de, Spain’s high­est moun­tain, and home to one of the world’s best obser­va­to­ries. This month, he returns to his native land and films the Lofoten arch­i­pel­ago, sit­u­at­ed at the 68th and 69th par­al­lels of the Arc­tic Cir­cle in north­ern Nor­way. Filmed between April 29 and May 10, Sorgjerd cap­tures what he calls “The Arc­tic Light,” a pro­fu­sion of col­or that nat­u­ral­ly occurs two to four weeks before you see The Mid­night Sun. Yes, it’s yet anoth­er time lapse video, but oh is it pret­ty …

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.

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Darren’s Big DIY Camera

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Dar­ren Samuel­son spent a good year research­ing his big cam­era. Then it was time to build it. The bel­lows came first, craft­ed over two hard weeks on his liv­ing room floor. Next came the rear por­tion of the cam­era, and even­tu­al­ly the front, the rails, and the rest. All told, sev­en months of lov­ing labor went into mak­ing Dar­ren’s big DIY cam­era, capa­ble of pro­duc­ing 14×36-inch neg­a­tives. (By the way, it also used x‑ray film.) At long last, it was time to give things a try at San Fran­cis­co’s Lands End. The short doc­u­men­tary above shows you the rest. Don’t miss the images at the 2:20 mark…

A Brief History of Light

No light, no civ­i­liza­tion. It’s pret­ty much that sim­ple. And it’s this sim­ple idea that m ss ng p eces, a Brook­lyn-based cre­ative com­pa­ny, explores ever so art­ful­ly in The Sto­ry of Light. Here’s how they intro­duce the video:

We have used light for sur­vival, to learn by, to enter­tain and express our­selves, mold expe­ri­ences, and illu­mi­nate our imag­i­na­tions. Inspired by such a sin­gu­lar sto­ry we set out to cre­ate a hand­made sto­ry­book fan­ta­sy illus­trat­ing mile­stones in the his­to­ry of light. Each chap­ter invites us through the annals of his­to­ry, lead­ing to present day where a new set of pos­si­bil­i­ties are yet to be real­ized in the light of tomor­row.

When you reach the end of the video, you’ll real­ize that the clip also dou­bles as a com­mer­cial for GE’s new led light bulb. Lend­ing an air of cool­ness to a dowdy con­glom­er­ate (GE)  is no easy feat. But it’s prob­a­bly not so tough when you’ve already made GE Cap­i­tal, a huge recip­i­ent of 2008 bailout mon­ey, look ever so hip. GE Cap­i­tal + Tay­lor Gui­tars = I think I will buy a Mar­tin, thank you very much.

You can learn more about the mak­ing of The Sto­ry of Light with this video …

via PSFK

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3D Street Art

The title says it all. The art­work is pret­ty mind-blow­ing. The sound­track? Not so much. But you can’t have it all. Thanks to anony­mous user for send­ing…

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