Martin Scorsese Creates a List of 38 Essential Films About American Democracy

Image by “Sieb­bi,” Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

So many of us, through­out so much of the 20th cen­tu­ry, saw the nature of Amer­i­can-style democ­ra­cy as more or less etched in stone. But the events of recent years, cer­tain­ly on the nation­al lev­el but also on the glob­al one, have thrown our assump­tions about a polit­i­cal sys­tem that once looked des­tined for uni­ver­sal­i­ty — indeed, the much-dis­cussed “end” toward which his­to­ry itself has been work­ing — into ques­tion. What­ev­er our per­son­al views, we’ve all had to remem­ber that the Unit­ed States, approach­ing a quar­ter-mil­len­ni­um of his­to­ry, remains an exper­i­men­tal coun­try, one more sub­ject to re-eval­u­a­tion and revi­sion than we might have thought.

The same holds true for the art form that has done more than any oth­er to spread visions of Amer­i­ca: the movies. Mar­tin Scors­ese sure­ly knows this, just as deeply as he knows that a full under­stand­ing of any soci­ety demands immer­sion into that soci­ety’s dreams of itself. The fact that so many of Amer­i­ca’s dreams have tak­en cin­e­mat­ic form makes Scors­ese well-placed to approach the sub­ject, giv­en that he’s dreamed a fair few of them him­self. Taxi Dri­ver, Rag­ing Bull, Good­fel­las, Gangs of New YorkThe Wolf of Wall Street: most of his best-known films tell thor­ough­ly Amer­i­can sto­ries, root­ed in not just his coun­try’s dis­tinc­tive his­to­ry but the equal­ly dis­tinc­tive pol­i­tics, soci­ety, and cul­ture that have result­ed from it.


Now, along with his non­prof­it The Film Foun­da­tion, Scors­ese pass­es his under­stand­ing of Amer­i­ca along to all of us with their cur­ricu­lum, “Por­traits of Amer­i­ca: Democ­ra­cy on Film.” It comes as part of their larg­er project “The Sto­ry of Film,” described by its offi­cial site as “an inter­dis­ci­pli­nary cur­ricu­lum intro­duc­ing stu­dents to clas­sic cin­e­ma and the cul­tur­al, his­tor­i­cal, and artis­tic sig­nif­i­cance of film.” Scors­ese and The Film Foun­da­tion offer its mate­ri­als free to schools, but stu­dents of all ages and nation­al­i­ties can learn a great deal about Amer­i­can democ­ra­cy from the pic­tures it includes, the sequence of which runs as fol­lows:

Mod­ule 1: The Immi­grant Expe­ri­ence
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: From Pen­ny Clap­trap to Movie Palaces—the First Three Decades
Chap­ter 1: “The Immi­grant” (1917, d. Char­lie Chap­lin)
Chap­ter 2: “The God­fa­ther, Part II” (1974, d. Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la)
Chap­ter 3: “Amer­i­ca, Amer­i­ca” (1963, d. Elia Kazan)
Chap­ter 4: “El Norte” (1983, d. Gre­go­ry Nava)
Chap­ter 5: “The Name­sake” (2006, d. Mira Nair)

Mod­ule 2: The Amer­i­can Labor­er
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: The Com­mon Good
Chap­ter 1: “Black Fury” (1935, d. Michael Cur­tiz)
Chap­ter 2: “Har­lan Coun­ty U.S.A.” (1976, d. Bar­bara Kop­ple)
Chap­ter 3: “At the Riv­er I Stand” (1993, d. David Apple­by, Alli­son Gra­ham and Steven Ross)
Chap­ter 4: “Salt of the Earth” (1954, d. Her­bert J. Biber­man)
Chap­ter 5: “Nor­ma Rae” (1979, d. Mar­tin Ritt)

Mod­ule 3: Civ­il Rights
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: The Cam­era as Wit­ness
Chap­ter 1: King: A Filmed Record…Montgomery to Mem­phis (1970, con­ceived & cre­at­ed by
Ely Lan­dau; guest appear­ances filmed by Sid­ney Lumet and Joseph L.
Mankiewicz)
Chap­ter 2: “Intrud­er in the Dust” (1949, d. Clarence Brown)
Chap­ter 3: “The Times of Har­vey Milk” (1984, d. Robert Epstein)
Chap­ter 4: “Smoke Sig­nals” (1998, d. Chris Eyre)

Mod­ule 4: The Amer­i­can Woman
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: Ways of See­ing Women
Chap­ter 1: Through a Woman’s Lens: Direc­tors Lois Weber (focus­ing on “Sus­pense,” 1913 and
“Where Are My Chil­dren,” 1916) and Dorothy Arzn­er (“Dance, Girl, Dance,” 1940)
Chap­ter 2: “Imi­ta­tion of Life” (1934, d. John M. Stahl)
Chap­ter 3: “Woman of the Year” (1942, d. George Stevens)
Chap­ter 4: “Alien” (1979, d. Rid­ley Scott)
Chap­ter 5: “The Age of Inno­cence” (1993, d. Mar­tin Scors­ese)

Mod­ule 5: Politi­cians and Dem­a­gogues
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: Checks and Bal­ances
Chap­ter 1: “Gabriel Over the White House” (1933, d. Gre­go­ry La Cava)
Chap­ter 2: “A Lion is in the Streets” (1953, d. Raoul Walsh)
Chap­ter 3: “Advise and Con­sent” (1962, d. Otto Pre­minger)
Chap­ter 4: “A Face in the Crowd” (1957, d. Elia Kazan)

Mod­ule 6: Sol­diers and Patri­ots
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: Movies and Home­front Morale
Chap­ter 1: “Sergeant York (1941, d. Howard Hawks)
Chap­ter 2: Pri­vate Snafu’s Pri­vate War—three Sna­fu Shorts from WWII
Chap­ter 3: “Three Came Home” (1950, d. Jean Neg­ule­sco)
Chap­ter 4: “Glo­ry” (1989, Edward Zwick)
Chap­ter 5: “Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan” (1998, d. Steven Spiel­berg)

Mod­ule 7: The Press
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: Degrees of Truth
Chap­ter 1: “Meet John Doe” (1941, d. Frank Capra)
Chap­ter 2: “All the President’s Men” (1976, d. Alan J. Paku­la)
Chap­ter 3: “Good Night, and Good Luck” (2005, d. George Clooney)
Chap­ter 4: “An Incon­ve­nient Truth” (2006, d. Davis Guggen­heim)
Chap­ter 5: “Ace in the Hole” (1951, d. Bil­ly Wilder)

Mod­ule 8: The Auteurs
Intro­duc­to­ry Les­son: Film as an Art Form
Chap­ter 1: “Mod­ern Times” (1936, Char­lie Chap­lin)
Chap­ter 2: “The Grapes of Wrath”(1940, d. John Ford)
Chap­ter 3: “Cit­i­zen Kane” (1941, d. Orson Welles)
Chap­ter 4: “An Amer­i­can in Paris” (1951, d. Vin­cente Min­nel­li)
Chap­ter 5: “The Avi­a­tor” (2004, d. Mar­tin Scors­ese)

“Divi­sion, con­flict and anger seem to be defin­ing this moment in cul­ture,” says Scors­ese, quot­ed in Film Jour­nal Inter­na­tion­al arti­cle about the cur­ricu­lum. “I learned a lot about cit­i­zen­ship and Amer­i­can ideals from the movies I saw. Movies that look square­ly at the strug­gles, vio­lent dis­agree­ments and the tragedies in his­to­ry, not to men­tion hypocrisies, false promis­es. But they also embody the best in Amer­i­ca, our great hopes and ideals.” Few could watch all 38 of the films on his cur­ricu­lum with­out feel­ing that the exper­i­ments of democ­ra­cy and cin­e­ma are still on to some­thing – and hold out the promise of more pos­si­bil­i­ties than we’d imag­ined before.

via Indiewire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­tin Scors­ese to Teach His First Online Course on Film­mak­ing

Mar­tin Scors­ese on How “Diver­si­ty Guar­an­tees Our Cul­tur­al Sur­vival,” in Film and Every­thing Else

Mar­tin Scors­ese Makes a List of 85 Films Every Aspir­ing Film­mak­er Needs to See

Alex­is De Tocqueville’s Democ­ra­cy in Amer­i­ca: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Most Insight­ful Study of Amer­i­can Democ­ra­cy

20 Lessons from the 20th Cen­tu­ry About How to Defend Democ­ra­cy from Author­i­tar­i­an­ism, Accord­ing to Yale His­to­ri­an Tim­o­thy Sny­der

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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 or on Face­book.

Read and Hear Tristan Tzara’s “Dada Manifesto,” the Avant-Garde Document Published 100 Years Ago (March 23, 1918)

Dada demands expla­na­tion, yet it some­how also demands not to be explained. In the near­ly 102 years since its incep­tion, many attempts at sum­ma­ry and analy­sis of that ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Euro­pean avant-garde move­ment have emerged; as you can see in the relat­ed links at the bot­tom of the post, we’ve fea­tured a fair few of them here on Open Cul­ture. But to tru­ly under­stand Dada, you must, to the extent pos­si­ble, get inside the heads of its founders, and one short­cut to that artis­ti­cal­ly rich des­ti­na­tion takes the form of some­thing any move­ment worth its salt — espe­cial­ly any ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Euro­pean avant-garde move­ment — will have drawn up: its man­i­festo.

“The mag­ic of a word – Dada – which has brought jour­nal­ists to the gates of a world unfore­seen, is of no impor­tance to us,” wrote Roman­ian-French essay­ist, poet, and per­for­mance artist Tris­tan Tzara almost exact­ly a cen­tu­ry ago.

To put out a man­i­festo you must want: ABC

to ful­mi­nate against 1, 2, 3

to fly into a rage and sharp­en your wings to con­quer and dis­sem­i­nate lit­tle abcs and big ABCs, to sign, shout, swear, to orga­nize prose into a form of absolute and irrefutable evi­dence, to prove your non plus ultra and main­tain that nov­el­ty resem­bles life just as the lat­est-appear­ance of some whore proves the essence of God. His exis­tence was pre­vi­ous­ly proved by the accor­dion, the land­scape, the wheedling word. To impose your ABC is a nat­ur­al thing — hence deplorable.

In this Dada Man­i­festo of March 23, 1918 (read it online here), Tzara goes on to define “Dada” as “a word that throws up ideas so that they can be shot down; every bour­geois is a lit­tle play­wright, who invents dif­fer­ent sub­jects and who, instead of sit­u­at­ing suit­able char­ac­ters on the lev­el of his own intel­li­gence, like chrysalis­es on chairs, tries to find caus­es or objects (accord­ing to whichev­er psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic method he prac­tices) to give weight to his plot, a talk­ing and self-defin­ing sto­ry.” And fur­ther down, just in case you haven’t quite got the pic­ture: “DADA DOES NOT MEAN ANYTHING.”

Dif­fer­ent trans­la­tions of Tzara’s words, of which you can hear read­ings in the videos at the top of the post and just above, put it some­what dif­fer­ent­ly: “Dada means noth­ing,” says anoth­er. But what­ev­er it means, exact­ly — or does­n’t mean, exact­ly — Dada burned bright­ly enough dur­ing its brief hey­day to pro­duce not just one man­i­festo, but two. “As in every human endeav­or when two strong per­son­al­i­ties meet, opin­ions may clash and an argu­ment often ensues,” writes Eli Ana­pur at Wide­walls. The Ger­man writer Hugo Ball actu­al­ly wrote his own Dada man­i­festo before Tzara did, in 1916. “Both Man­i­festos are expla­na­tions of the Dada move­ment and its goals, but the con­tent dif­fers as long as the modes of spread­ing the move­ment through­out Europe and ulti­mate­ly world, were con­cerned.”

Ball begins by describ­ing Dada as “a new ten­den­cy in art. One can tell this from the fact that until now nobody knew any­thing about it, and tomor­row every­one in Zurich will be talk­ing about it.” For the word itself he cites sev­er­al dic­tio­nary def­i­n­i­tions: “In French it means ‘hob­by horse.’ In Ger­man it means ‘good-by,’ ‘Get off my back,’ ‘Be see­ing you some­time.’ In Roman­ian: ‘Yes, indeed, you are right, that’s it. But of course, yes, def­i­nite­ly, right.’ ” Yet what a use­ful word it can be:

How does one achieve eter­nal bliss? By say­ing dada. How does one become famous? By say­ing dada. With a noble ges­ture and del­i­cate pro­pri­ety. Till one goes crazy. Till one los­es con­scious­ness. How can one get rid of every­thing that smacks of jour­nal­ism, worms, every­thing nice and right, blink­ered, moral­is­tic, euro­peanized, ener­vat­ed? By say­ing dada. Dada is the world soul, dada is the pawn­shop. Dada is the world’s best lily-milk soap. Dada Mr. Rubin­er, dada Mr. Kor­ro­di. Dada Mr. Anas­ta­sius Lilien­stein.

One hun­dred years on, the tenets of Dada may not look like an obvi­ous route to eter­nal bliss, fame, or the exci­sion of both­er­some ele­ments of life. But some­thing about the notion at the move­men­t’s core — of mov­ing rad­i­cal­ly beyond sense as a response to the state of the world — still res­onates today. The Europe of 1918 found itself in a bad spot, to put it mild­ly, but most of us in the ear­ly 21st cen­tu­ry also feel, at least occa­sion­al­ly, sur­round­ed by a real­i­ty that has lost its own sense. How much could it hurt to heed Ball and Tzara’s words and just say dada?

You can read Tzara’s man­i­festo at this Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia web­site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load All 8 Issues of Dada, the Arts Jour­nal That Pub­li­cized the Avant-Garde Move­ment a Cen­tu­ry Ago (1917–21)

The ABCs of Dada Explains the Anar­chic, Irra­tional “Anti-Art” Move­ment of Dadaism

Down­load 36 Dadaist Mag­a­zines from the The Dig­i­tal Dada Archive (Plus Oth­er Avant-Garde Books, Leaflets & Ephemera)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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 or on Face­book.

The History of the U.S. Civil War Visualized Month by Month and State by State, in an Infographic from 1897

There’s been a lot of hand­wring­ing over the i‑Generation’s lack of map read­ing skills.

While we’re at it, let’s take a cold, hard look at the Gild­ed Age info­graph­ic, above.…

… and con­clude that peo­ple who live in glass hous­es should stop reach­ing for stones.

Pub­lished in 1897 by the Com­par­a­tive Syn­op­ti­cal Chart Com­pa­ny, this now unfath­omable doc­u­ment–His­to­ry of the Civ­il War in the Unit­ed States: 1860–1865–achieved its goal of squeez­ing the max­i­mum amount of con­tent onto a sin­gle sheet.

This is in direct oppo­si­tion to today’s gen­er­al­ly accept­ed rules for cre­at­ing suc­cess­ful info­graph­ics, one of which is to sim­pli­fy.

Anoth­er holds that text should be used spar­ing­ly, lest it clut­ter up strong visu­als. Con­sumers have a lim­it­ed atten­tion span, and for con­tent to be con­sid­ered share­able, they should be able to take it in at a glance.

Mod­ern eyes may be for­giv­en for mis­tak­ing this chart for the world’s most con­vo­lut­ed sub­way map. But those aren’t stops, friend. They’re minor engage­ments. Blood­i­er and bet­ter-known bat­tles are delin­eat­ed with larg­er circles—yellow cen­ters for a Union vic­to­ry, pale green for Con­fed­er­ate.

The fastest way to begin mak­ing heads or tails of the chart is to note that each col­umn is assigned to a dif­fer­ent state.

The ver­ti­cal axis is divid­ed into months. Notice all the neg­a­tive space around Fort Sumter.

And the con­stant entries in Vir­gini­a’s col­umn.

The pub­lish­er not­ed that the loca­tion of events was “entire­ly gov­erned” by this time scale.

You’ll have to look hard for Lincoln’s assas­si­na­tion.

Con­sumers who pur­chased the His­to­ry of the Civ­il War in the Unit­ed States 1860–1865 pre­sum­ably pored over it by can­dle­light, sup­ple­ment­ing it with maps and books.

It would still make a superb addi­tion to any his­to­ry teacher’s class­room, both as dec­o­ra­tion and the tin­der that could ignite dis­cus­sion as to how we receive infor­ma­tion, and how much infor­ma­tion is in fact received.

Explore a larg­er, zoomable ver­sion of the map here.

via Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Free Course from Yale on the U.S. Civ­il War

Watch Vet­er­ans of The US Civ­il War Demon­strate the Dread­ed Rebel Yell (1930)

Visu­al­iz­ing Slav­ery: The Map Abra­ham Lin­coln Spent Hours Study­ing Dur­ing the Civ­il War

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

An Artist Visits Stonehenge in 1573 and Paints a Charming Watercolor Painting of the Ancient Ruins

The pur­pose of the mon­u­men­tal druidi­cal struc­ture known as Stone­henge has been lost to us, but many the­o­ries abound, “from the ratio­nal to the irra­tional to the mag­i­cal.” On the mag­i­cal end of the scale, we have the giant stones asso­ci­at­ed with King Arthur and the wiz­ard Mer­lin. On the more ratio­nal side, spec­u­la­tion that the struc­ture func­tioned as a cal­en­dar for reli­gious cer­e­monies or agri­cul­tur­al sea­sons.

While the search for answers may be irre­sistible, we may nev­er know exact­ly what the builders of Stone­henge intend­ed. But we learn much by study­ing how oth­ers have approached the ancient mon­u­ment in the past. Exis­tent stud­ies of Stone­henge with illus­tra­tions date back to the 14th cen­tu­ry. These Medieval rep­re­sen­ta­tions tried to sit­u­ate the stones in a “Chris­t­ian view of world his­to­ry,” as Art His­to­ry pro­fes­sor Sam Smiles writes at the British Library.

A cen­tu­ry lat­er, draw­ings of the stones show more of an inter­est in its archi­tec­tur­al fea­tures. One man­u­script includes “a tiny illus­tra­tion of four trilithons (two ver­ti­cal stones sup­port­ing a lin­tel).” Remark­ably, writes Smiles, “the artist has under­stood how the lin­tels were fixed to the uprights by a mor­tise and tenon joint.” The draw­ing may rep­re­sent “the ear­li­est sur­viv­ing rep­re­sen­ta­tion of Stone­henge based on direct obser­va­tion.”

The prac­tice of draw­ing Stone­henge from life con­tin­ued, and in the water­col­or above by Flem­ish painter Lucas de Heere, dat­ing from cir­ca 1573, we see “a more topo­graph­i­cal approach.” Relat­ed to oth­er sim­i­lar images cre­at­ed around the same time, the paint­ing shows us an ear­ly exam­ple of what came to be called “chorog­ra­phy,” which archae­ol­o­gist Michael Shanks describes as refer­ring to “anti­quar­i­an works that dealt in topog­ra­phy, place, com­mu­ni­ty, his­to­ry, mem­o­ry.”

Rather than con­sid­er­ing it only as a mys­ti­cal or sacred site or an archi­tec­tur­al mar­vel, de Heere’s depic­tion of Stone­henge folds both of these inter­ests into a larg­er con­cern with Eng­lish land­scape and his­to­ry, of the kind exem­pli­fied by William Camden’s 1586 Bri­tan­nia, a choro­graph­i­cal sur­vey of Britain and Ire­land. Works like de Heere’s and Camden’s are part of the “Re-Dis­cov­ery of Eng­land,” as his­to­ri­an R.C. Richard­son argues, that took place under the reign of Eliz­a­beth I, and which pro­duced a new nation­al his­to­ry, “designed to extend the bound­aries of knowl­edge and under­stand­ing.”

As chorog­ra­phy devel­oped as a dis­ci­pline, Stone­henge and oth­er ancient mon­u­ments con­tin­ued to exert a fas­ci­na­tion for their his­tor­i­cal, topo­graph­i­cal, and arche­o­log­i­cal fea­tures. By the “last quar­ter of the 18th cen­tu­ry,” Smiles tells us, “pre­his­toric mon­u­ments began to be reg­u­lar­ly includ­ed in topo­graph­i­cal sur­veys,” such as Thomas Hearne’s 1779 Antiq­ui­ties of Great Britain, which includ­ed the engrav­ing just above as its final plate. Learn more about the devel­op­ment of topog­ra­phy and its inter­est in ancient British mon­u­ments, and see many more of these his­toric images, at the British Library’s site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts Were Made: A Step-by-Step Look at this Beau­ti­ful, Cen­turies-Old Craft

1,000-Year-Old Man­u­script of Beowulf Dig­i­tized and Now Online

A Free Yale Course on Medieval His­to­ry: 700 Years in 22 Lec­tures

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

A Huge Scale Model Showing Ancient Rome at Its Architectural Peak (Built Between 1933 and 1937)

The nar­ra­tor of Teju Cole’s Open City, one of the bet­ter nov­els of mem­o­ry and urban space to come along in recent years, at one point flies into New York City and remem­bers going to see a “sprawl­ing scale mod­el” of the metrop­o­lis at the Queens Muse­um of Art. “The mod­el had been built for the World’s Fair in 1964, at great cost, and after­ward had been peri­od­i­cal­ly updat­ed to keep up with the chang­ing topog­ra­phy and built envi­ron­ment of the city. It showed, in impres­sive detail, with almost a mil­lion tiny build­ings, and with bridges, parks, rivers, and archi­tec­tur­al land­marks, the true form of the city.” The mod­el real­ly exists; you can go see it your­self.

But if you get to Rome before you next get to New York, you can see anoth­er city mod­el of equal­ly impres­sive, almost implau­si­ble accom­plish­ment there. At the Muse­um of Roman Cul­ture resides a 1:250 recre­ation of impe­r­i­al Rome, known as the Plas­ti­co di Roma Impe­ri­ale, which trans­ports view­ers not just through space but time as well.

“To com­mem­o­rate the birth of Augus­tus (63 BC) two thou­sand years ear­li­er, Mus­soli­ni com­mis­sioned a mod­el of Rome as it appeared at the time of Con­stan­tine (AD 306–337), when the city had reached its great­est size,” says Ency­clo­pe­dia Romana. Con­struct­ed by Ita­lo Gis­mon­di between 1933 and 1937, then extend­ed and restored in the 1990s, it takes as its basis Rodol­fo Lan­cian­i’s 1901 atlas the For­ma Urbis Romae.

You can see more detailed pic­tures of the Plas­ti­co di Roma Impe­ri­ale at the Muse­um of Roman Cul­ture’s site as well as at Viral Spell, zoom­ing in on such Roman land­marks as the Cam­pus Mar­tius, the Cir­cus Max­imus, the Tiber Island, and the Fla­vian Amphithe­atre, bet­ter know as the Colos­se­um. “The atten­tion to detail was so metic­u­lous that one could not help but think of Borges’s car­tog­ra­phers,” says Open City’s nar­ra­tor, “who, obsessed with accu­ra­cy, had made a map so large and so fine­ly detailed that it matched the empire’s scale on a ratio of one to one, a map in which each thing coin­cid­ed with its spot on the map.” This mem­o­ry comes prompt­ed by the sight of the Big Apple, of course, but it some­how sounds even more fit­ting for the Eter­nal City at the height of its ambi­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Inter­ac­tive Map Lets You Take a Lit­er­ary Jour­ney Through the His­toric Mon­u­ments of Rome

New Dig­i­tal Archive Puts Online 4,000 His­toric Images of Rome: The Eter­nal City from the 16th to 20th Cen­turies

Rome Reborn: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Ancient Rome, Cir­ca 320 C.E.

Rome Reborn – An Amaz­ing Dig­i­tal Mod­el of Ancient Rome

Ancient Rome’s Sys­tem of Roads Visu­al­ized in the Style of Mod­ern Sub­way Maps

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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 or on Face­book.

How the Ornate Tapestries from the Age of Louis XIV Were Made (and Are Still Made Today)

“Time is the warp and mat­ter the weft of the woven tex­ture of beau­ty in space, and death is the hurl­ing shut­tle.”

— Annie Dil­lard, Pil­grim at Tin­ker Creek

For the unini­ti­at­ed, the warp are the plain ver­ti­cal threads of a weav­ing or tapes­try, through which the col­or­ful, hor­i­zon­tal weft threads are passed, over and under, on wood­en nee­dle-shaped bob­bins (or shut­tles).

As Beat­rice Grisol, Head Weaver at Paris’ ven­er­a­ble Man­u­fac­ture Nationale des Gob­elins remarks, in The Art of Mak­ing a Tapes­try, above, weavers must pos­sess a love of draw­ing and an abun­dance of imag­i­na­tion in order to trans­late an artist’s vision using silken or woolen threads.

21st cen­tu­ry designs are more con­tem­po­rary, and dying equip­ment more pre­cise, but Les Gob­elins’s weavers’ process remains remark­ably unchanged since the days of the Sun King, Louis XIV.

As in the 17th-cen­tu­ry, giant looms are strung with white warp threads, in readi­ness for the threads expert dyers have col­ored accord­ing to the artist’s palette.

The col­ored weft threads are stored on spools, and even­tu­al­ly por­tioned out onto the bob­bins, which dan­gle from the back­side of the tapes­try, as the weaver works her mag­ic, con­stant­ly check­ing her progress in a mir­ror reflect­ing both the pro­jec­t’s front side and a print of the orig­i­nal design.

It’s worth not­ing that the pro­nouns here are exclu­sive­ly fem­i­nine. The lav­ish tapes­tries dec­o­rat­ing Louis XIV’s court hint­ed at years of unsung labor by high­ly skilled craftswomen. Tapes­tries were the ne plus ultra of prince­ly sta­tus, a tes­ta­ment to their owner’s eru­di­tion and taste. Louis XIV amassed some 2,650 pieces.

That’s a lot of bob­bins, and a lot of hard-work­ing female weavers.

Wit­ness the trans­for­ma­tion from artist Charles Le Brun’s 1664 study for the fig­ure who would become the seat­ed youth in The Entry of Alexan­der into Baby­lon

…to the ful­ly real­ized oil on can­vas ren­der­ing from 1690…

…to its incar­na­tion as a tapes­try in the Sun King’s court:

Speed­ing ahead to the 21st-cen­tu­ry, Les Gob­elins appears to rival Brooklyn’s Etsy flag­ship as a pleas­ant­ly appoint­ed, well lit, and high­ly respect­ed Tem­ple of Craft.

View some of the high­lights of the Get­ty Museum’s 2016 exhi­bi­tion Woven Gold: Tapes­tries of Louis XIV here.

Or grab your hed­dles and plan an in-per­son vis­it to La Man­u­fac­ture Nationale des Gob­elins here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts Were Made: A Step-by-Step Look at this Beau­ti­ful, Cen­turies-Old Craft

Artis­tic Maps of Pak­istan & India Show the Embroi­dery Tech­niques of Their Dif­fer­ent Regions

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on March 20 for the sec­ond install­ment of Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain at The Tank. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Illuminated Medieval Manuscripts Were Made: A Step-by-Step Look at this Beautiful, Centuries-Old Craft

What place does the paper book have in our increas­ing­ly all-dig­i­tal present? While some util­i­tar­i­an argu­ments once mar­shaled in its favor (“You can read them in the bath­tub” and the like) have fall­en into dis­use, oth­er, more aes­thet­i­cal­ly focused argu­ments have arisen: that a work in print, for exam­ple, can achieve a state of beau­ty as an object in and of itself, the way a file on a lap­top, phone, or read­er nev­er can. In a sense, this case for the paper book in the 21st cen­tu­ry comes back around to the case for the paper book from the 12th cen­tu­ry and even ear­li­er, the age of the illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script.

Book­mak­ers back then had to con­cen­trate on pres­tige prod­ucts, giv­en that they could­n’t make books in any­thing like the num­bers even the hum­blest, most anti­quat­ed print­ing oper­a­tion can run off today.

In the video above, the Get­ty Muse­um reveals the painstak­ing phys­i­cal process behind the medieval illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script: the sourc­ing, soak­ing, and stretch­ing of ani­mal skin for the parch­ment; the con­ver­sion of feath­ers into the quills and nuts into the ink with which scribes would write the text; the appli­ca­tion of gold leaf and oth­er col­ors by the illu­mi­na­tor as they drew in their designs; and the sewing of the bind­ing before encas­ing the whole pack­age tight­ly between clasped leather cov­ers.

Some illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts also bear elab­o­rate cov­er designs sculpt­ed of pre­cious met­al, but even with­out those, these elab­o­rate books — what with all the art and craft that went into them, not to men­tion all those pricey mate­ri­als — came out even more valu­able, at the time, than even the most cov­et­ed lap­top, phone, read­er, or oth­er con­sumer elec­tron­ic device today. Most of us in the devel­oped world can now buy one of those, but the non-insti­tu­tion­al patrons will­ing and able to com­mis­sion the most splen­did illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts in the Mid­dle Ages and ear­ly Renais­sance includ­ed most­ly “soci­ety’s rulers: emper­ors, kings, dukes, car­di­nals, and bish­ops.”

To ful­ly under­stand the mak­ing of the devices we use to read elec­tron­i­cal­ly today would require years and years of study, and so there’s some­thing sat­is­fy­ing in the fact that we can grasp so much about the mak­ing of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts with rel­a­tive ease: see, for exam­ple, the two-minute Get­ty video just above, “The Struc­ture of a Medieval Man­u­script.” A fuller under­stand­ing of the nature of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, both in the sense of their con­struc­tion and their place in soci­ety, makes for a fuller under­stand­ing of how rare the chance was to own beau­ti­ful books of their kind in their own time — and how much rar­er the exact com­bi­na­tion of skills need­ed to cre­ate that beau­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Bril­liant Col­ors of Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made with Alche­my

Behold the Beau­ti­ful Pages from a Medieval Monk’s Sketch­book: A Win­dow Into How Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made (1494)

The Aberdeen Bes­tiary, One of the Great Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts, Now Dig­i­tized in High Res­o­lu­tion & Made Avail­able Online

1,600-Year-Old Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script of the Aeneid Dig­i­tized & Put Online by The Vat­i­can

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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 or on Face­book.

Mozart’s Diary Where He Composed His Final Masterpieces Is Now Digitized and Available Online

We have a ten­den­cy to regard Wolf­gang Amadeus Mozart’s music as hav­ing emerged ful­ly formed into the world, not least because we hear it per­formed almost exclu­sive­ly in a high­ly pol­ished state of near-per­fec­tion. That makes any glimpse into the process of its cre­ation all the more valu­able, and the British Library has now pro­vid­ed us with much more than such a glimpse: at its site you can now read Mozart’s own thir­ty-page musi­cal diary, a record of “his com­po­si­tions in the last sev­en years of his life” and thus “a unique­ly impor­tant doc­u­ment” in the his­to­ry of clas­si­cal music.

The British Library notes that, dur­ing the peri­od from Feb­ru­ary 1784 until Decem­ber 1791 that the diary cov­ers, Mozart “com­posed many of his best-known works, includ­ing his five mature operas, sev­er­al of his most beau­ti­ful piano sonatas, and his last three great sym­phonies, as well as sev­er­al famous less­er works.”

The pages you see above and below this para­graph come from his com­ic opera The Mar­riage of Figaro. “It was a tur­bu­lent time of his life, with finan­cial crises, fam­i­ly tragedy, and his ongo­ing unsuc­cess­ful search for a per­ma­nent court posi­tion.” Enthu­si­asts will have tak­en notice that those years also con­sti­tut­ed the last sev­en of his life, before his ear­ly death at age 35.

But the flame that burns twice as bright, to coin a phrase, burns half as long, and we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture some of the for­mi­da­ble musi­cal accom­plish­ments Mozart attained before even reach­ing ado­les­cence. But it some­how feels even more of a won­der to see writ­ings in the actu­al hand of the mature Mozart, at the height of his com­po­si­tion­al pow­ers. You can read the musi­cal diary he wrote in two dif­fer­ent for­mats: as a stan­dard web site with details about the viewed pages and his­tor­i­cal con­text from Mozart’s life pro­vid­ed below each set of pages, and a zoomable, page-flip­pable brows­er with option­al audio notes. If you’d like a sound­track to go with the read­ing expe­ri­ence, a cer­tain 127-hour playlist of Mozart’s music sug­gests itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear All of Mozart in a Free 127-Hour Playlist

Hear the Pieces Mozart Com­posed When He Was Only Five Years Old

Read an 18th-Cen­tu­ry Eye­wit­ness Account of 8‑Year-Old Mozart’s Extra­or­di­nary Musi­cal Skills

See Mozart Played on Mozart’s Own Fortepi­ano, the Instru­ment That Most Authen­ti­cal­ly Cap­tures the Sound of His Music

Leck Mich Im Arsch (“Kiss My Ass”): Lis­ten to Mozart’s Scat­o­log­i­cal Canon in B Flat (1782)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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 or on Face­book.

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