John Waters’ Comical & Inspiring Commencement Speech: “You Too Can Fail Upwards” (2022)

John Waters has­n’t made a movie in quite some time, but that does­n’t mean he’s gone qui­et. In fact he’s remained as vis­i­ble a cul­tur­al fig­ure as ever by work­ing in oth­er forms: writ­ing a new nov­el, act­ing on tele­vi­sion, deliv­er­ing com­mence­ment address­es. His ded­i­ca­tion to that last pur­suit is such that he even kept it up in 2020, at the height of the COVID-19 pan­dem­ic. That year he deliv­ered his com­mence­ment speech for New York’s School of Visu­al Arts not at Radio City Music Hall, as sched­uled, but in front of a green screen in Bal­ti­more — which, of course, only enriched the Waters­esque sen­si­bil­i­ty of the pro­ceed­ings.

Hav­ing been forced into the role of “vir­tu­al keynote speak­er,” Waters made up for it this year by deliv­er­ing, in per­son, a make-up com­mence­ment address for the SVA class­es of both 2020 and 2021. And he did it onstage at Radio City, a venue “known for fam­i­ly movies and the Rock­ettes. What the hell am I doing here?” As usu­al in this phase of his career, Waters express­es sur­prise to find him­self in the role of elder states­man.

“In 2020, the School of Visu­al Arts gave me an hon­orary degree for, I guess, caus­ing trou­ble,” he says. “This year, the Nation­al Film Reg­istry — yes, that’s part of the Library of Con­gress, the U.S. Gov­ern­ment, for god’s sake — select­ed my film Pink Flamin­gos, which New York mag­a­zine once called ‘beyond pornog­ra­phy,’ to its annu­al list of 25 cul­tur­al­ly his­toric films.”

Safe to say that, half a cen­tu­ry after its release, Waters’ most noto­ri­ous motion pic­ture does­n’t repel the estab­lish­ment as it once did. And indeed, here in the 2020s, how can an artist get trans­gres­sive at all? Waters has much encour­age­ment and advice for young peo­ple in search of new bound­aries to vio­late. “Out­sider old mas­ter paint­ings, nar­ra­tive abstract expres­sion­ism, impen­e­tra­ble pop, dec­o­ra­tive min­i­mal­ism, non-con­cep­tu­al­ism, video folk art, appro­pri­at­ed NFT”: these are just a few of the artis­tic ven­tures not yet attempt­ed that could turn their pop­u­lar­iz­ers into cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­na. “You too can fail upwards, if you try,” Waters insists, but you’ve got to do it with a sense of humor. “Mock your­self first. Then you can be as crazi­ly right­eous as you want.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

John Waters’ RISD Grad­u­a­tion Speech: Real Wealth Is Life With­out A*Holes

David Byrne’s Grad­u­a­tion Speech Offers Trou­bling and Encour­ag­ing Advice for Stu­dents in the Arts

An Anti, Anti-Smok­ing Announce­ment from John Waters

David Lynch Gives Uncon­ven­tion­al Advice to Grad­u­ates in an Unusu­al Com­mence­ment Address

John Waters Talks About His Books and Role Mod­els in a Whim­si­cal Ani­mat­ed Video

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

What Makes Vermeer’s The Milkmaid a Masterpiece?: A Video Introduction

Johannes (or Jan) Ver­meer’s tran­quil domes­tic scenes draw larg­er crowds than near­ly any oth­er Euro­pean painter; he, like Rem­brandt, is syn­ony­mous with the phrase “Dutch Mas­ter.” But for much of its exis­tence, his work lay in near-obscu­ri­ty. After his death, some of his most-renowned paint­ings passed through the hands of patrons and col­lec­tors for next to noth­ing. In 1881, for exam­ple, Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring sold for two guilders, thir­ty cents, or about $26.

While oth­er Ver­meer mas­ter­pieces lan­guished, one paint­ing nev­er lost its val­ue. The Milk­maid  – “prob­a­bly pur­chased from the artist by his Delft patron Pieter van Rui­jven,” who owned twen­ty-one of the artist’s works, notes the Met — was described at its 1696 auc­tion as “excep­tion­al­ly good.” It fetched the sec­ond high­est price of Ver­meer’s works (next to View of Delft). In 1719, “The famous milk­maid, by Ver­meer of Delft” (described as “art­ful”) began its jour­ney through a series of sig­nif­i­cant Ams­ter­dam col­lec­tions.

The Milk­maid even­tu­al­ly land­ed in the hands of “one of the great woman col­lec­tors of Dutch art, Lucre­tia Johan­na van Win­ter,” who mar­ried into the wealthy Six fam­i­ly of art col­lec­tors. Final­ly, in 1908, the Rijksmu­se­um pur­chased the paint­ing from her sons with help from the Dutch gov­ern­ment. The Milk­maid, that is to say, has remained part of the cul­tur­al her­itage of the Nether­lands from its begin­nings. In the Great Art Explained video above, you can learn what makes this ear­ly work, paint­ed between 1657–58, so spe­cial.

The Baroque art that pre­ced­ed Ver­meer’s gen­er­a­tion “came from con­flict,” name­ly the reli­gious wars of the Ref­or­ma­tion and Counter-Ref­or­ma­tion. “The art being pro­duced in Catholic coun­tries had become a pow­er­ful tool of pro­pa­gan­da, char­ac­ter­ized by a height­ened sense of dra­ma, move­ment and the­atri­cal­i­ty that had nev­er been seen before.” We see the dra­mat­ic tran­si­tion in Dutch art in the move­ment from Peter Paul Rubens to Ver­meer, as “sim­ple domes­tic inte­ri­ors of mid­dle-class life” became dom­i­nant: “sec­u­lar works that con­tain sto­ries of real human rela­tion­ships.” Those works arose in a Calvin­ist cul­ture that banned reli­gious imagery and stressed “sim­plic­i­ty in both wor­ship and dec­o­ra­tive style.”

The Dutch break with Catholic tra­di­tion meant a total rein­ven­tion of Dutch art; thus came the real­ist tra­di­tion, pro­duced not for the church but the wealthy mer­chant class, with Ver­meer as one of its ear­ly mas­ters because of his near-pho­to­graph­ic ren­der­ing of nat­ur­al light and nat­u­ral­is­tic com­po­si­tion. Ver­meer epit­o­mized the new Dutch art, despite the fact that he was a Catholic con­vert through mar­riage. After his mar­riage, he spent his life “in the same town, the same house, slow­ly pro­duc­ing paint­ings in the same room… at a rate of two or three a year.” His out­put, per­haps 60 paint­ings — 36 of which sur­vive — pales in com­par­i­son to that of his peers. But of all the artists pro­duc­ing domes­tic scenes, “there were none quite like Ver­meer.”

These scenes hard­ly seem rad­i­cal to view­ers today. They are prized for every­thing they are not — they are not Rubens: wild, fleshy, pas­sion­ate, las­civ­i­ous, exu­ber­ant… but that does not mean they are devoid of eroti­cism. There are obvi­ous sig­ni­fiers, such as a tile show­ing Cupid “bran­dish­ing his bow.” (Remind­ing us of a once-hid­den Cupid in anoth­er famous Ver­meer.) There are signs much less obvi­ous to us, such as the foot warmer, employed to “fre­quent­ly sug­gest fem­i­nine desire in Dutch genre paint­ings,” the Met writes. And then there is the resem­blance of Ver­meer’s “milk­maid” — with her down­cast eyes, white bon­net, and yel­low blouse — to a fig­ure in The Pro­curess, paint­ed the year pre­vi­ous, a work com­posed almost entire­ly of leers and gropes (and said to fea­ture the only self-por­trait of the artist him­self.)

Ver­meer’s Milk­maid “exudes a very earthy appeal,” a qual­i­ty that comes through not only in its sex­u­al under­tones but also in its ide­al depic­tion of Dutch “domes­tic virtue.” Both are sug­gest­ed at once by the pitch­er and the milk, com­mon sym­bols of female sex­u­al­i­ty. But it is a paint­ing that tran­scends the genre, which often enough shaped itself for the gaze of male employ­ers in a soci­ety that “acknowl­edged and accept­ed that maids engaged in love affairs with their mas­ters,” Gior­dana Goret­ti writes,” with con­sent or with­out it.” The “earth­i­ness” of Ver­meer’s mid­dle-class domes­tic paint­ings — per­haps most pro­found­ly in The Milk­maid as you’ll learn above — comes from a tri­umph of painter­ly tech­nique and per­spec­tive, cre­at­ing scenes so seem­ing­ly real that they resist objec­ti­fi­ca­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

A 10 Bil­lion Pix­el Scan of Vermeer’s Mas­ter­piece Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring: Explore It Online

Down­load All 36 of Jan Vermeer’s Beau­ti­ful­ly Rare Paint­ings (Most in Bril­liant High Res­o­lu­tion)

A Restored Ver­meer Paint­ing Reveals a Por­trait of a Cupid Hid­den for Over 350 Years

See the Com­plete Works of Ver­meer in Aug­ment­ed Real­i­ty: Google Makes Them Avail­able on Your Smart­phone

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

The Otherworldly Art of William Blake: An Introduction to the Visionary Poet and Painter

Giv­en his achieve­ments in the realms of both poet­ry and paint­ing, to say noth­ing of his com­pul­sions to reli­gious and philo­soph­i­cal inquiry, it’s tempt­ing to call William Blake a “Renais­sance man.” But he lived in the Eng­land of the mid-eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry to the near mid-nine­teenth, mak­ing him a Roman­tic Age man — and in fact, accord­ing to the cur­rent his­tor­i­cal view, one of that era’s defin­ing fig­ures. “Today he is rec­og­nized as the most spir­i­tu­al of artists,” say the nar­ra­tor of the video intro­duc­tion above, “and an impor­tant poet in Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture.” And whether real­ized on can­vas or in verse, his visions have retained their pow­er over the cen­turies.

That pow­er, how­ev­er, went prac­ti­cal­ly unac­knowl­edged in Blake’s life­time. Most who knew him regard­ed him as some­thing between an eccen­tric and a mad­man, a per­cep­tion his grand­ly mys­ti­cal ideas and vig­or­ous rejec­tion of both insti­tu­tions and con­ven­tions did lit­tle to dis­pel.

Blake did­n’t believe that the world is as we see it. Rather, he sought to access much stranger under­ly­ing truths using his for­mi­da­ble imag­i­na­tion, exer­cised both in his art and in his dreams. Cul­ti­vat­ing this capac­i­ty allows us to “see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heav­en in a Wild Flower / Hold Infin­i­ty in the palm of your hand / And Eter­ni­ty in an hour.”

Those words come from one of Blake’s “Auguries of Inno­cence.” Despite being one of his best-known poems, it mere­ly hints at the depth and breadth of his world­view — indeed, his view of all exis­tence. His entire cor­pus, writ­ten, paint­ed, and print­ed, con­sti­tutes a kind of atlas of this rich­ly imag­ined ter­ri­to­ry to which “The Oth­er­world­ly Art of William Blake” pro­vides an overview. Though very much a prod­uct of the time and place in which he lived, Blake clear­ly drew less inspi­ra­tion from the world around him than from the world inside him. Real­i­ty, for him, was to be cul­ti­vat­ed — and rich­ly — with­in his own being. Still today, the chimeri­cal con­vic­tion of his work dares us to cul­ti­vate the real­i­ty with­in our­selves.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Enter an Archive of William Blake’s Fan­tas­ti­cal “Illu­mi­nat­ed Books”: The Images Are Sub­lime, and in High Res­o­lu­tion

William Blake’s Paint­ings Come to Life in Two Ani­ma­tions

William Blake’s Mas­ter­piece Illus­tra­tions of the Book of Job (1793–1827)

William Blake’s Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Illus­tra­tions of John Milton’s Par­adise Lost

William Blake Illus­trates Mary Wollstonecraft’s Work of Children’s Lit­er­a­ture, Orig­i­nal Sto­ries from Real Life (1791)

William Blake: The Remark­able Print­ing Process of the Eng­lish Poet, Artist & Vision­ary

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

The Biology of Bonsai Trees: The Science Behind the Traditional Japanese Art Form

The art of bon­sai orig­i­nat­ed in Chi­na. As sub­se­quent­ly refined in Japan, its tech­niques pro­duce minia­ture trees that give aes­thet­ic plea­sure to peo­ple all around Asia and the wider world beyond. This appre­ci­a­tion is reflect­ed in the cou­ple-on-the-street inter­view footage incor­po­rat­ed into “The Biol­o­gy Behind Bon­sai Trees,” the video above from Youtu­ber Jon­ny Lim, bet­ter known as The Back­pack­ing Biol­o­gist. Not only does Lim gath­er pos­i­tive views on bon­sai around Los Ange­les, he also finds in that same city a bon­sai nurs­ery run by Bob Pressler, who has spent more than half a cen­tu­ry mas­ter­ing the art.

Even Pressler admits that he does­n’t ful­ly under­stand the biol­o­gy of bon­sai. Lim’s search for sci­en­tif­ic answers sends him to “some­thing called the api­cal meris­tem.” That’s the part of the tree made of “stem cells found at the tips of the shoots and roots.” Stem cells, as you may remem­ber from their long moment in the news a few years ago, have the poten­tial to turn into any kind of cell.

The cells of bon­sai are the same size as those of reg­u­lar trees, research has revealed, but thanks to the delib­er­ate cut­ting of roots and resul­tant restric­tion of nutri­ents to the api­cal meris­tem, their leaves are made up of few­er cells in total. Lim draws an anal­o­gy with bak­ing cook­ies of dif­fer­ent sizes: “The com­po­nents are exact­ly the same. The only dif­fer­ence is that bon­sais have less start­ing mate­r­i­al.”

Hav­ing gained his own appre­ci­a­tion for bon­sai, Lim also wax­es poet­ic on how these minia­ture trees “still grow on the face of adver­si­ty, and they do so per­fect­ly.” But as one com­menter replies, “Why recre­ate adver­si­ty?” Claim­ing that the process is “crip­pling trees for just aes­thet­ics,” this indi­vid­ual presents one of the known cas­es against bon­sai. But that case, accord­ing to the experts Lim con­sults, is based on cer­tain com­mon mis­con­cep­tions about the process­es involved: that the wires used to posi­tion limbs “tor­ture” the trees, for exam­ple. But as oth­ers point out, do those who make these anti-bon­sai argu­ments feel just as pained about the many lawns that get mown down each and every week?

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Art & Phi­los­o­phy of Bon­sai

This 392-Year-Old Bon­sai Tree Sur­vived the Hiroshi­ma Atom­ic Blast & Still Flour­ish­es Today: The Pow­er of Resilience

What Makes the Art of Bon­sai So Expen­sive?: $1 Mil­lion for a Bon­sai Tree, and $32,000 for Bon­sai Scis­sors

The Art of Cre­at­ing a Bon­sai: One Year Con­densed Con­densed Into 22 Mes­mer­iz­ing Min­utes

Daisu­gi, the 600-Year-Old Japan­ese Tech­nique of Grow­ing Trees Out of Oth­er Trees, Cre­at­ing Per­fect­ly Straight Lum­ber

A Dig­i­tal Ani­ma­tion Com­pares the Size of Trees: From the 3‑Inch Bon­sai, to the 300-Foot Sequoia

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

The Revolutionary Paintings of Jean-Michel Basquiat: A Video Essay

“The idea of the unrec­og­nized genius slav­ing away in a gar­ret is a deli­cious­ly fool­ish one,” says artist and crit­ic Rene Ricard, as por­trayed by Michael Win­cott, in Julian Schn­abel’s Basquiat. “We must cred­it the life of Vin­cent Van Gogh for real­ly send­ing this myth into orbit.” And “no one wants to be part of a gen­er­a­tion that ignores anoth­er Van Gogh. In this town, one is at the mer­cy of the recog­ni­tion fac­tor.” The town to which he refers is, of course, New York, in which the tit­u­lar Jean-Michel Basquiat lived the entire­ty of his short life — and cre­at­ed the body of work that has con­tin­ued not just to appre­ci­ate enor­mous­ly in val­ue, but to com­mand the atten­tion of all who so much as glimpse it.

As a film Basquiat has much to rec­om­mend it, not least David Bowie’s appear­ance as Andy Warhol. But as one would expect from a biopic about an artist direct­ed by one of his con­tem­po­raries, it takes a sub­jec­tive view of Basquiat’s life and career. “The Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Paint­ings of Jean-Michel Basquiat,” the video essay by Youtube Blind Dweller above, adheres more close­ly to the his­tor­i­cal record, telling the sto­ry of how his wild imag­i­na­tion spurred him on to become the hottest phe­nom­e­non on the New York art scene of the nine­teen-eight­ies. By the mid­dle of that decade, the young Brook­lynite who’d once lived on the street after drop­ping out of school found him­self mak­ing over a mil­lion dol­lars per year with his art.

At that time Basquiat “had col­lec­tors knock­ing on his door near­ly every day demand­ing art from him, yet simul­ta­ne­ous­ly ask­ing for spe­cif­ic col­ors or imagery to match their fur­ni­ture,” which result­ed in “him slam­ming the door in a lot of col­lec­tors’ faces.” He refused to pro­duce art to order, con­sumed as he was with his own inter­ests — the law, saint­hood, African cul­ture, black Amer­i­can his­to­ry, the built envi­ron­ment of New York City — and their incor­po­ra­tion into his work. He also pos­sessed a keen sense of how to main­tain a tan­ta­liz­ing dis­tance between him­self and his pub­lic, for instance by delib­er­ate­ly cross­ing out text in his paint­ings on the the­o­ry that “when a word is more obscured, the more like­ly an observ­er will be drawn to it.”

This would have been evi­dent to Warhol, him­self no incom­pe­tent when it came to audi­ence man­age­ment. His asso­ci­a­tion with Basquiat secured both of their places in the zeit­geist of eight­ies Amer­i­ca, but his death in 1987 marked, for his young pro­tégé, the begin­ning of the end. “He began dis­so­ci­at­ing him­self from his down­town past, attend­ing more par­ties reserved for the super-rich, and becom­ing increas­ing­ly obsessed with the idea of being accept­ed by cer­tain crowds,” says Blind Dweller, and his final hero­in over­dose occurred the very next year. Basquiat is remem­bered as both ben­e­fi­cia­ry and vic­tim of the phe­nom­e­non to which we refer (now almost always pos­i­tive­ly) as hype — count­less cycles of which have since done noth­ing to dimin­ish the vital­i­ty exud­ed by his most strik­ing paint­ings.

Relat­ed con­tent:

What Makes Basquiat’s Unti­tled Great Art: One Paint­ing Says Every­thing Basquiat Want­ed to Say About Amer­i­ca, Art & Being Black in Both Worlds

Take a Close Look at Basquiat’s Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Art in a New 500-Page, 14-Pound, Large For­mat Book by Taschen

The Sto­ry of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s Rise in the 1980s Art World Gets Told in a New Graph­ic Nov­el

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Chaot­ic Bril­liance of Jean-Michel Basquiat: From Home­less Graf­fi­ti Artist to Inter­na­tion­al­ly Renowned Painter

The Odd Cou­ple: Jean-Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol, 1986

When Glenn O’Brien’s TV Par­ty Brought Klaus Nomi, Blondie & Basquiat to Pub­lic Access TV (1978–82)

When David Bowie Played Andy Warhol in Julian Schnabel’s Film, Basquiat

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Discover DALL‑E, the Artificial Intelligence Artist That Lets You Create Surreal Artwork

DALL‑E, an arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence sys­tem that gen­er­ates viable-look­ing art in a vari­ety of styles in response to user sup­plied text prompts, has been gar­ner­ing a lot of inter­est since it debuted this spring.

It has yet to be released to the gen­er­al pub­lic, but while we’re wait­ing, you could have a go at DALL‑E Mini, an open source AI mod­el that gen­er­ates a grid of images inspired by any phrase you care to type into its search box.

Co-cre­ator Boris Day­ma explains how DALL‑E Mini learns by view­ing mil­lions of cap­tioned online images:

Some of the con­cepts are learnt (sic) from mem­o­ry as it may have seen sim­i­lar images. How­ev­er, it can also learn how to cre­ate unique images that don’t exist such as “the Eif­fel tow­er is land­ing on the moon” by com­bin­ing mul­ti­ple con­cepts togeth­er.

Sev­er­al mod­els are com­bined togeth­er to achieve these results:

• an image encoder that turns raw images into a sequence of num­bers with its asso­ci­at­ed decoder

• a mod­el that turns a text prompt into an encod­ed image

• a mod­el that judges the qual­i­ty of the images gen­er­at­ed for bet­ter fil­ter­ing 

My first attempt to gen­er­ate some art using DALL‑E mini failed to yield the hoped for weird­ness.  I blame the bland­ness of my search term — “toma­to soup.”

Per­haps I’d have bet­ter luck “Andy Warhol eat­ing a bowl of toma­to soup as a child in Pitts­burgh.”

Ah, there we go!

I was curi­ous to know how DALL‑E Mini would riff on its name­sake artist’s han­dle (an hon­or Dali shares with the tit­u­lar AI hero of Pixar’s 2018 ani­mat­ed fea­ture, WALL‑E.)

Hmm… seems like we’re back­slid­ing a bit.

Let me try “Andy Warhol eat­ing a bowl of toma­to soup as a child in Pitts­burgh with Sal­vador Dali.”

Ye gods! That’s the stuff of night­mares, but it also strikes me as pret­ty legit mod­ern art. Love the spar­ing use of red. Well done, DALL‑E mini.

At this point, van­i­ty got the bet­ter of me and I did the AI art-gen­er­at­ing equiv­a­lent of googling my own name, adding “in a tutu” because who among us hasn’t dreamed of being a bal­le­ri­na at some point?

Let that be a les­son to you, Pan­do­ra…

Hope­ful­ly we’re all plan­ning to use this play­ful open AI tool for good, not evil.

Hyperallergic’s Sarah Rose Sharp raised some valid con­cerns in rela­tion to the orig­i­nal, more sophis­ti­cat­ed DALL‑E:

It’s all fun and games when you’re gen­er­at­ing “robot play­ing chess” in the style of Matisse, but drop­ping machine-gen­er­at­ed imagery on a pub­lic that seems less capa­ble than ever of dis­tin­guish­ing fact from fic­tion feels like a dan­ger­ous trend.

Addi­tion­al­ly, DALL‑E’s neur­al net­work can yield sex­ist and racist images, a recur­ring issue with AI tech­nol­o­gy. For instance, a reporter at Vice found that prompts includ­ing search terms like “CEO” exclu­sive­ly gen­er­at­ed images of White men in busi­ness attire. The com­pa­ny acknowl­edges that DALL‑E “inher­its var­i­ous bias­es from its train­ing data, and its out­puts some­times rein­force soci­etal stereo­types.”

Co-cre­ator Day­ma does not duck the trou­bling impli­ca­tions and bias­es his baby could unleash:

While the capa­bil­i­ties of image gen­er­a­tion mod­els are impres­sive, they may also rein­force or exac­er­bate soci­etal bias­es. While the extent and nature of the bias­es of the DALL·E mini mod­el have yet to be ful­ly doc­u­ment­ed, giv­en the fact that the mod­el was trained on unfil­tered data from the Inter­net, it may gen­er­ate images that con­tain stereo­types against minor­i­ty groups. Work to ana­lyze the nature and extent of these lim­i­ta­tions is ongo­ing, and will be doc­u­ment­ed in more detail in the DALL·E mini mod­el card.

The New York­er car­toon­ists Ellis Rosen and Jason Adam Katzen­stein con­jure anoth­er way in which DALL‑E mini could break with the social con­tract:

And a Twit­ter user who goes by St. Rev. Dr. Rev blows minds and opens mul­ti­ple cans of worms, using pan­els from car­toon­ist Joshua Bark­man’s beloved web­com­ic, False Knees:

Pro­ceed with cau­tion, and play around with DALL‑E mini here.

Get on the wait­list for orig­i­nal fla­vor DALL‑E access here.

 

Relat­ed Con­tent

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Brings to Life Fig­ures from 7 Famous Paint­ings: The Mona Lisa, Birth of Venus & More

Google App Uses Machine Learn­ing to Dis­cov­er Your Pet’s Look Alike in 10,000 Clas­sic Works of Art

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence for Every­one: An Intro­duc­to­ry Course from Andrew Ng, the Co-Founder of Cours­era

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Wealthy Women (Like the Mona Lisa) Got Dressed in Renaissance Florence

“The inhab­i­tants of fif­teenth-cen­tu­ry Flo­rence includ­ed Brunelleschi, Ghib­er­ti, Donatel­lo, Masac­cio, Fil­ip­po Lip­pi, Fra Angeli­co, Ver­roc­chio, Bot­ti­cel­li, Leonar­do, and Michelan­ge­lo,” writes essay­ist and ven­ture cap­i­tal­ist Paul Gra­ham. “There are rough­ly a thou­sand times as many peo­ple alive in the U.S. right now as lived in Flo­rence dur­ing the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry. A thou­sand Leonar­dos and a thou­sand Michelan­ge­los walk among us.” But “to make Leonar­do you need more than his innate abil­i­ty. You also need Flo­rence in 1450”: its com­mu­ni­ty of artists, and indeed every­one of all class­es who con­sti­tut­ed its uncom­mon­ly fruit­ful soci­ety.

Flo­rence’s cul­tur­al flour­ish­ing last­ed into the six­teenth cen­tu­ry. Above, you can see a morn­ing in the life of one Flo­ren­tine of the 1500s recre­at­ed in a video by Crow’s Eye Pro­duc­tions. Pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for their re-cre­ations of the dress­ing process­es of the four­teenth, sev­en­teenth, and eigh­teenth cen­turies, they show us this time how a woman would put her­self togeth­er — or by the help, be put togeth­er — in turn-of-the-six­teenth-cen­tu­ry Flo­rence, which, “like many oth­er Ital­ian regions, had devel­oped its own dis­tinc­tive fash­ion style.” The camur­ra gown, the sep­a­rate gold­en sleeves, the infor­mal guar­nel­lo over-gown: all evoke this par­tic­u­lar time and place.

As each gar­ment and acces­so­ry is applied to the mod­el, she may begin to look odd­ly famil­iar. “In 1503, a silk mer­chant from Flo­rence, Francesco del Gio­con­do, com­mis­sioned a por­trait of his young wife to adorn a wall in their new home, and per­haps to cel­e­brate the safe arrival of their third child,” the video’s nar­ra­tor tells us. “The artist com­mis­sioned was Leonar­do da Vin­ci.” His por­trait of Madon­na Gia­con­do is “an inti­mate por­tray­al of a young mar­ried woman,” expen­sive­ly but mod­est­ly dressed, wear­ing a smile “that seems intend­ed for Francesco’s eyes only.” Yet until Leonar­do’s death, the pic­ture nev­er left his own pos­ses­sion — per­haps because he sensed it had a des­tiny much greater than the wall of the del Gio­con­dos’ bed­cham­ber.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Women Got Dressed in the 14th & 18th Cen­turies: Watch the Very Painstak­ing Process Get Cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly Recre­at­ed

How Fash­ion­able Dutch Women (Like the Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring) Got Dressed in 1665

How Ladies & Gen­tle­men Got Dressed in the 18th Cen­tu­ry: It Was a Pret­ty Involved Process

What Makes Leonardo’s Mona Lisa a Great Paint­ing?: An Expla­na­tion in 15 Min­utes

Orig­i­nal Por­trait of the Mona Lisa Found Beneath the Paint Lay­ers of da Vinci’s Mas­ter­piece

How Did the Mona Lisa Become the World’s Most Famous Paint­ing?: It’s Not What You Think

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Ambient Kyoto: Brian Eno Stages His First Large-Scale Exhibition in Japan

If you live in Kyoto or are trav­el­ing to Japan in the next two months or, who knows, maybe you have a whole lot­ta miles saved up on your cred­it card, Bri­an Eno has a career-span­ning exhi­bi­tion going on at the for­mer wel­fare cen­tre of the Kyoto Chuo Shinkin Bank.

The above live stream record­ing fea­tures a selec­tion of pre­vi­ous­ly released ambi­ent work, along with a pan­el of Japan­ese “Eno Experts” chat­ting about the musician/producer/artist/thinker. They play selec­tions on vinyl, show clips from rare Eno doc­u­men­taries, even man­age to dig up a LaserDisc of Thurs­day After­noon and a CD-Rom of Head Can­dy.

Ambi­ent Kyoto is Eno’s first large-scale exhi­bi­tion in Japan, and fea­tures the instal­la­tions “77 Mil­lion Paint­ings,” “The Ship,” his con­stant­ly shift­ing “Light Box­es,” a stream of “The Light­house,” Eno’s SONOS chan­nel of his unre­leased archive, and a new work called “Face to Face,” which the exhi­bi­tion site describes thus:

This work began with a small group of pho­tographs of the faces of 21 real peo­ple, each in a sin­gle still image. Using spe­cial soft­ware, the image slow­ly changes pix­el by pix­el from one real face to anoth­er. This cre­ates a long chain of “new humans” between the real faces of each and every one, such as those who did­n’t actu­al­ly exist, inter­me­di­ate humans, and more than 36,000 new faces, 30 per sec­ond. can do.

Yes, you say, that’s all very nice, but what’s on sale at the gift shop? Here you won’t be dis­ap­point­ed. There’s vinyl and CD albums, an exhib­it cat­a­log, t‑shirts, tote bags, and box­es of Eno and Peter Schmidt’s Oblique Strate­gies. And only in Japan can you get this: a box of Japan­ese sweets designed to look like one of his light instal­la­tions.

The exhib­it is afford­able (around $20) and you can stay as long as you like. Eno con­tin­ues to fas­ci­nate and make art in spaces where he’s often the first to start exploring—-certainly in terms of ambi­ent and gen­er­a­tive art he has been a pio­neer. In an inter­view near the end of the eight-hour live stream he describes his career:

“I just don’t see any­body else doing [these instal­la­tions]. And I know it’s pow­er­ful. So I think wow, I’ve got this all to myself. So instead of shoot­ing arrows at some­body else’s tar­get, which I’ve nev­er been very good at, I make my own tar­get around wher­ev­er my arrow’s hap­pened to have land­ed.”

Learn more about the exhi­bi­tion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to “Bri­an Eno Day,” a 12-Hour Radio Show Spent With Eno & His Music (Record­ed in 1988)

Bri­an Eno’s Advice for Those Who Want to Do Their Best Cre­ative Work: Don’t Get a Job

Bri­an Eno Lists the Ben­e­fits of Singing: A Long Life, Increased Intel­li­gence, and a Sound Civ­i­liza­tion

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

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