F.D.R. Proposes a Second Bill of Rights: A Decent Job, Education & Health Care Will Keep Us Free from Despotism (1944)

It’s dif­fi­cult to appraise the com­pli­cat­ed lega­cy of Franklin D. Roo­sevelt. His New Deal poli­cies are cred­it­ed for lift­ing mil­lions out of des­ti­tu­tion, and they cre­at­ed oppor­tu­ni­ties for strug­gling artists and writ­ers, many of whom went on to become some of the country’s most cel­e­brat­ed. But Roo­sevelt also com­pro­mised with racist south­ern sen­a­tors like Mississippi’s Theodore Bil­bo, and under­wrote hous­ing seg­re­ga­tion, job and pay dis­crim­i­na­tion, and exclu­sions in his eco­nom­ic recov­ery aimed most square­ly at African-Amer­i­cans. He is laud­ed as a wartime leader in the fight against Nazism. But he built con­cen­tra­tion camps on U.S. soil when he interned over 100,000 Japan­ese Amer­i­cans after Pearl Har­bor. His com­mit­ment to iso­la­tion­ism before the war and his “moral failure—or indif­fer­ence” to the plight of Euro­pean Jews, thou­sands of whom were denied entry to the U.S., has come under jus­ti­fi­able scruti­ny from his­to­ri­ans.

Both blame and praise are well war­rant­ed, and not his alone to bear. Yet, for all his seri­ous laps­es and wartime crimes, FDR con­sis­tent­ly had an astute and ide­al­is­tic eco­nom­ic vision for the coun­try. In his 1944 State of the Union address, he denounced war prof­i­teers and “self­ish and par­ti­san inter­ests,” say­ing, “if ever there was a time to sub­or­di­nate indi­vid­ual or group self­ish­ness to the nation­al good, that time is now.”

He went on to enu­mer­ate a series of pro­pos­als “to main­tain a fair and sta­ble econ­o­my at home” while the war still raged abroad. These include tax­ing “all unrea­son­able prof­its, both indi­vid­ual and cor­po­rate” and enact­ing reg­u­la­tions on food prices. The speech is most extra­or­di­nary, how­ev­er, for the turn it takes at the end, when the pres­i­dent pro­pos­es and clear­ly artic­u­lates a “sec­ond Bill of Rights,” argu­ing that the first one had “proved inad­e­quate to assure us equal­i­ty in the pur­suit of hap­pi­ness.”

Roo­sevelt did not take the val­ue of equal­i­ty for grant­ed or mere­ly invoke it as a slo­gan. Though its role in his ear­ly poli­cies was sore­ly lack­ing, he showed in 1941 that he could be moved on civ­il rights issues when, in response to a march on Wash­ing­ton planned by Bayard Rustin, A. Philip Ran­dolph, and oth­er activists, he deseg­re­gat­ed fed­er­al hir­ing and the mil­i­tary. In his 1944 speech, Roo­sevelt strong­ly sug­gests that eco­nom­ic inequal­i­ty is a pre­cur­sor to Fas­cism, and he offers a pro­gres­sive polit­i­cal the­o­ry as a hedge against Sovi­et Com­mu­nism.

“We have come to a clear real­iza­tion,” he says, “of the fact that true indi­vid­ual free­dom can­not exist with­out eco­nom­ic secu­ri­ty. ‘Neces­si­tous men are not free men.’ Peo­ple who are hun­gry and out of a job are the stuff of which dic­ta­tor­ships are made. In our day these eco­nom­ic truths have become accept­ed as self-evi­dent.” In the footage at the top of the post, you can see Roo­sevelt him­self read his new Bill of Rights. Read the tran­script your­self just below:

We have accept­ed, so to speak, a sec­ond Bill of Rights under which a new basis of secu­ri­ty and pros­per­i­ty can be estab­lished for all regard­less of sta­tion, race, or creed.

Among these are:

The right to a use­ful and remu­ner­a­tive job in the indus­tries or shops or farms or mines of the Nation;

The right to earn enough to pro­vide ade­quate food and cloth­ing and recre­ation;

The right of every farmer to raise and sell his prod­ucts at a return which will give him and his fam­i­ly a decent liv­ing; 

The right of every busi­ness­man, large and small, to trade in an atmos­phere of free­dom from unfair com­pe­ti­tion and dom­i­na­tion by monop­o­lies at home or abroad;

The right of every fam­i­ly to a decent home;

The right to ade­quate med­ical care and the oppor­tu­ni­ty to achieve and enjoy good health;

The right to ade­quate pro­tec­tion from the eco­nom­ic fears of old age, sick­ness, acci­dent, and unem­ploy­ment;

The right to a good edu­ca­tion.

All of these rights spell secu­ri­ty. And after this war is won we must be pre­pared to move for­ward, in the imple­men­ta­tion of these rights, to new goals of human hap­pi­ness and well-being.

Roo­sevelt died in office before the war end­ed. His suc­ces­sor tried to car­ry for­ward his eco­nom­ic and civ­il rights ini­tia­tives with the “Fair Deal,” but con­gress blocked near­ly all of Tru­man’s pro­posed leg­is­la­tion. We might imag­ine an alter­nate his­to­ry in which Roo­sevelt lived and found a way through force of will to enact his “sec­ond Bill of Rights,” hon­or­ing his promise to every “sta­tion, race” and “creed.” Yet in any case, his fourth term was near­ly at an end, and he would hard­ly have been elect­ed to a fifth.

But FDR’s pro­gres­sive vision has endured. Many seek­ing to chart a course for the coun­try that tacks away from polit­i­cal extrem­ism and toward eco­nom­ic jus­tice draw direct­ly from Roosevelt’s vision of free­dom and secu­ri­ty. His new bill of rights is strik­ing for its polit­i­cal bold­ness. Its pro­pos­als may have had their clear­est artic­u­la­tion three years ear­li­er in the famous “Four Free­doms” speech. In it he says, “the basic things expect­ed by our peo­ple of their polit­i­cal and eco­nom­ic sys­tems are sim­ple. They are:

Equal­i­ty of oppor­tu­ni­ty for youth and for oth­ers.

Jobs for those who can work.

Secu­ri­ty for those who need it.

The end­ing of spe­cial priv­i­lege for the few.

The preser­va­tion of civ­il lib­er­ties for all.

The enjoy­ment of the fruits of sci­en­tif­ic progress in a wider and con­stant­ly ris­ing stan­dard of liv­ing.

These are the sim­ple, the basic things that must nev­er be lost sight of in the tur­moil and unbe­liev­able com­plex­i­ty of our mod­ern world. The inner and abid­ing strength of our eco­nom­ic and polit­i­cal sys­tems is depen­dent upon the degree to which they ful­fill these expec­ta­tions.

Guar­an­tee­ing jobs, if not income, for all and a “con­stant­ly ris­ing stan­dard of liv­ing” may be impos­si­ble in the face of automa­tion and envi­ron­men­tal degra­da­tion. Yet, most of Roo­sevelt’s prin­ci­ples may not only be real­iz­able, but per­haps, as he argued, essen­tial to pre­vent­ing the rise of oppres­sive, author­i­tar­i­an states.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Franklin D. Roo­sevelt Says to Mon­eyed Inter­ests (EG Bankers) in 1936: “I Wel­come Their Hatred!”

Rare Footage: Home Movie of FDR’s 1941 Inau­gu­ra­tion

Strik­ing Poster Col­lec­tion from the Great Depres­sion Shows That the US Gov­ern­ment Once Sup­port­ed the Arts in Amer­i­ca

 

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

Ansel Adams, Dorothea Lange, Clem Albers & Francis Stewart’s Censored Photographs of a WWII Japanese Internment Camp


Image by Ansel Adams

In places where atroc­i­ties or wide­spread human rights vio­la­tions occur, we some­times hear ordi­nary cit­i­zens lat­er claim they didn’t know what was going on. In the case of the intern­ment of Japan­ese Amer­i­cans dur­ing World War II, this would be almost impos­si­ble to believe. “120,000 peo­ple,” notes Newsweek, “lost their prop­er­ty and their free­dom,” round­ed up in full view of their neigh­bors. Every major pub­li­ca­tion of the time report­ed on Franklin Roosevelt’s 1941 Exec­u­tive Order. Newsweek wrote “that peo­ple in coastal areas ‘were more anx­ious than ever to get rid of their aliens after rumors that sig­nal lights were seen before sub­ma­rine attacks’ ” off the coast of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia. There were many such rumors, the kind that spread xeno­pho­bic fear and para­noia, and which peo­ple used to vocal­ly sup­port, or tac­it­ly approve of, send­ing their neigh­bors to intern­ment camps because of their ances­try.


Image by Fran­cis Stew­art

Oth­er reac­tions were less than sub­tle. The West Seat­tle Her­ald con­front­ed read­ers with the blunt head­line “GET ‘EM OUT!” Nonethe­less, Newsweek’s Rob Verg­er writes, “the pol­i­cy was by no means greet­ed with unan­i­mous sup­port,” and a vig­or­ous pub­lic debate played out, with oppo­nents point­ing to the bla­tant racism and vio­la­tions of civ­il rights. Two-thirds of the internees were Amer­i­can cit­i­zens. Yet all Japan­ese Amer­i­cans were repeat­ed­ly called “aliens,” lan­guage con­sis­tent with the vir­u­lent­ly anti-Japan­ese pro­pa­gan­da cam­paigns emerg­ing at the same time.

Once the camps were built and the internees impris­oned, how­ev­er, a mas­sive pro­pa­gan­da effort began, not only the sell the camps as a nec­es­sary nation­al secu­ri­ty mea­sure, but to por­tray them as idyl­lic vil­lages where the patri­ot­ic internees patient­ly wait­ed out the war by farm­ing, play­ing base­ball, mak­ing arts and crafts, run­ning gen­er­al stores, attend­ing school, wav­ing flags, and run­ning news­pa­pers.


Image by Clem Albers

Much of that infor­ma­tion was con­veyed to the pub­lic visu­al­ly by pho­tog­ra­phers hired by the War Relo­ca­tion Author­i­ty to doc­u­ment the camps. Among them were Clem Albers, Fran­cis Stew­art, and Dorothea Lange—well known for her pho­tographs of the Great Depres­sion. All three vis­it­ed the camp called Man­za­nar in the foothills of the Sier­ra moun­tains. Anoth­er famous pho­tog­ra­ph­er, Ansel Adams, gained access to Man­za­nar by virtue of his friend­ship with its direc­tor, Ralph Mer­ritt.


Image by Dorothea Lange

Their pho­tographs, for the most part, show busi­ly work­ing men and women, smil­ing school­child­ren, and lots of patri­ot­ic leisure activ­i­ties, like Stewart’s pho­to of sixth grade boys play­ing soft­ball, fur­ther up. The pho­tog­ra­phers were strict­ly pro­hib­it­ed from pho­tograph­ing guards, watch­tow­ers, search­lights, or barbed wire, and the heavy mil­i­tary pres­ence at the camp is near­ly always out of frame, with some very rare excep­tions, like Albers’ pho­to­graph above of mil­i­tary police.


Image by Ansel Adams

Adams worked under these pro­hi­bi­tions as well, but his pho­tos cap­tured camp life as hon­est­ly as he could. The stun­ning land­scapes some­times com­pete, even in the back­ground, with the real sub­ject of some of his images (as in the pho­to at the top). But he also con­veyed the harsh bar­ren­ness of the region. He tried to inti­mate the oppres­sive police appa­ra­tus by cap­tur­ing its shad­ow. “The pur­pose of my work,” he wrote to the Library of Con­gress in 1965 upon donat­ing his col­lec­tion, “was to show how these peo­ple, suf­fer­ing under a great injus­tice, and loss of prop­er­ty, busi­ness and pro­fes­sions, had over­come a sense of defeat and despair [sic].” His images often show internees “in hero­ic pos­es,” writes Dini­tia Smith, as above, in order to enno­ble their con­di­tions. Lange’s pho­tographs, on the oth­er hand, like that of a young girl below, “seem­ing­ly unstaged and unlight­ed… bear the hall­marks” of her “dis­tinc­tive­ly doc­u­men­tary style.” Her pic­tures “com­press intense human emo­tion into care­ful­ly com­posed frames.” Some of her pho­tos show smil­ing, relaxed sub­jects. Many oth­ers, like the pho­to­graph of a bar­racks inte­ri­or fur­ther down, show the faces of weary, uncer­tain, and despon­dent civil­ian pris­on­ers of war.


Image by Dorothea Lange

Per­haps because of her refusal to sen­ti­men­tal­ize the camps, or because of her left-wing pol­i­tics and oppo­si­tion to intern­ment (both known before she was hired), Lange’s work was cen­sored, not only through restrict­ed access, but through the impound­ment of over 800 pho­tographs she took at 21 loca­tions. Those pho­tos were recent­ly pub­lished in a book called Impound­ed: Dorothea Lange and the Cen­sored Images of Japan­ese Amer­i­can Intern­ment and hun­dreds of them are free to view online at the Den­sho Dig­i­tal Repository’s Dorothea Lange Col­lec­tion. The Nation­al Park Service’s col­lec­tion fea­tures 16 pic­tures from Lange’s vis­it to Man­za­nar. At the NPS site, you’ll also find col­lec­tions of pho­tographs from that camp by Adams, Albers, and Stew­art. Each, to one degree or anoth­er, faced a form of cen­sor­ship in what they could pho­to­graph or whether their work would be shown at all. What most ordi­nary peo­ple saw at the time did not tell the whole sto­ry. For all prac­ti­cal pur­pos­es, writes Ober­lin Library, “life at a Japan­ese intern­ment camp was com­pa­ra­ble to the life of a pris­on­er behind bars.”


Image by Dorothea Lange

h/t @Histouroborus

Relat­ed Con­tent:

478 Dorothea Lange Pho­tographs Poignant­ly Doc­u­ment the Intern­ment of the Japan­ese Dur­ing WWII

200 Ansel Adams Pho­tographs Expose the Rig­ors of Life in Japan­ese Intern­ment Camps Dur­ing WW II

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

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

25,000+ 78RPM Records Now Professionally Digitized & Streaming Online: A Treasure Trove of Early 20th Century Music

Every record­ing medi­um works as a metonym for its era: the term “LP” con­jures up asso­ci­a­tions with a broad musi­cal peri­od of clas­sic rock ‘n’ roll, soul, doo-wop, R&B, funk, jazz, dis­co etc.; we talk of the “CD era,” dom­i­nat­ed by dance music and hip-hop; the 45 makes us think of juke­box­es, din­ers, and sock-hops; and the cas­sette, well… at least one sub­genre of music, what John Peel called “sham­bling,” jan­g­ly, lo-fi pop, came to be known by the name “C86,” the title of an NME com­pi­la­tion, short for “Cas­sette, 1986.” (Read­ers of the mag­a­zine had to clip coupons and send mon­ey by postal mail to receive a copy of the tape.)

Soon, how­ev­er, few­er and few­er peo­ple will remem­ber the age of the 78rpm record, the pre­ferred vehi­cle for the music of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry. From clas­si­cal and opera to blues, blue­grass, swing, rag­time, gospel, Hawai­ian, and hol­i­day nov­el­ties the 78 epit­o­mizes the sounds of its hey­day as much as any of the media men­tioned above.

While cas­settes recent­ly made a nos­tal­gic come­back, and turnta­bles are found in every big box store, we’re gen­er­al­ly not equipped to play back 78s. These are brit­tle records made from shel­lac, a resin secret­ed by bee­tles. They were often played on appli­ances that dou­bled as qual­i­ty par­lor fur­ni­ture.

Thanks now to the Inter­net Archive, that stal­wart of dig­i­tal cat­a­logu­ing and cura­tion, we can play twen­ty five thou­sand 78s and immerse our­selves in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, whether for research pur­pos­es or pure enjoy­ment. Pre­vi­ous efforts at preser­va­tion have “restored or remas­tered… com­mer­cial­ly viable record­ings” on LP or CD, writes The Great 78 Project, the archive’s vol­un­teer pro­gram to dig­i­tize musi­cal his­to­ry. The cur­rent effort seeks to go beyond pop­u­lar­i­ty and col­lect every­thing, from the rarest and strangest to the already his­toric. “I want to know what the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry sound­ed like,” writes Inter­net Archive founder Brew­ster Kahle, “Mid­west, dif­fer­ent coun­tries, dif­fer­ent social class­es, dif­fer­ent immi­grant com­mu­ni­ties and their loves and fears.”

You can hear sev­er­al selec­tions here, and thou­sands more at this archive of 78s uploaded by audio-visu­al preser­va­tion com­pa­ny, George Blood, L.P. Oth­er 78rpm archives from vol­un­teer col­lec­tors and the ARChive of Con­tem­po­rary Music are being dig­i­tized and uploaded as well. You’ll note the record­ings are often sub­merged in crack­le and hiss, and gen­er­al­ly lack bass and tre­ble (most play­back sys­tems of the time could not repro­duce the low­er and high­er ends of the audi­ble spec­trum). “We have pre­served the often very promi­nent sur­face noise and imper­fec­tions,” the Archive writes, “and includ­ed files gen­er­at­ed by dif­fer­ent sizes and shapes of sty­lus to facil­i­tate dif­fer­ent kinds of analy­sis.” Dif­fer­ent play­back sys­tems could pro­duce marked­ly dif­fer­ent sounds, and the record­ings were not always strict­ly 78rpm.

These con­di­tions of the trans­fer ensure that we rough­ly hear what the first audi­ences heard, though the records’ age and our pen­chant for 7 speak­er audio sys­tems intro­duce some new vari­ables. None of these record­ings were even made in stereo. The 78 peri­od, notes Yale Library, last­ed between 1898 and the late 1950s, when the 33 1/2 rpm long-play­ing record ful­ly edged out the old­er mod­el. For approx­i­mate­ly fifty years, these records car­ried record­ed music, sound, and speech into homes around the world. “What is this?” Kahle asks of this for­mi­da­ble dig­i­ti­za­tion project. “A ref­er­ence col­lec­tion? A collector’s dream? A dis­cov­ery radio sta­tion? The sound­track of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry?” All of the above. To learn more about The Great 78 Project, includ­ing the tech­ni­cal details of the trans­fer and how you can care­ful­ly pack­age up and mail in your own 78rpm records, vis­it their Preser­va­tion page.

h/t @Ferdinand77

Relat­ed Con­tent:

BBC Launch­es World Music Archive

The British Library’s “Sounds” Archive Presents 80,000 Free Audio Record­ings: World & Clas­si­cal Music, Inter­views, Nature Sounds & More

DC’s Leg­endary Punk Label Dischord Records Makes Its Entire Music Cat­a­log Free to Stream Online

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

Discover Langston Hughes’ Rent Party Ads & The Harlem Renaissance Tradition of Playing Gigs to Keep Roofs Over Heads

Both com­mu­ni­ties of col­or and com­mu­ni­ties of artists have had to take care of each oth­er in the U.S., cre­at­ing sys­tems of sup­port where the dom­i­nant cul­ture fos­ters neglect and depri­va­tion. In the ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, at the nexus of these two often over­lap­ping com­mu­ni­ties, we meet Langston Hugh­es and the artists, poets, and musi­cians of the Harlem Renais­sance. Hugh­es’ bril­liant­ly com­pressed 1951 poem “Harlem” speaks of the sim­mer­ing frus­tra­tion among a weary peo­ple. But while its star­tling final line hints grim­ly at social unrest, it also looks back to the explo­sion of cre­ativ­i­ty in the sto­ried New York City neigh­bor­hood dur­ing the Great Depres­sion.

Hugh­es had grown reflec­tive in the 50s, return­ing to the ori­gins of jazz and blues and the his­to­ry of Harlem in Mon­tage of a Dream Deferred. The strained hopes and hard­ships he had elo­quent­ly doc­u­ment­ed in the 20s and 30s remained large­ly the same post-World War II, and one of the key fea­tures of Depres­sion-era Harlem had returned; Rent par­ties, the wild shindigs held in pri­vate apart­ments to help their res­i­dents avoid evic­tion, were back in fash­ion, Hugh­es wrote in the Chica­go Defend­er in 1957.

“Maybe it is infla­tion today and the high cost of liv­ing that is caus­ing the return of the pay-at-the-door and buy-your-own-refresh­ments par­ties,” he said. He also not­ed that the new par­ties weren’t as much fun.

But how could they be? Depres­sion-era rent par­ties were leg­endary. They “impact­ed the growth of Swing and Blues danc­ing,” writes dance teacher Jered Morin, “like few oth­er peri­ods.” As Hugh­es com­ment­ed, “the Sat­ur­day night rent par­ties that I attend­ed were often more amus­ing than any night club, in small apart­ments where God-knows-who lived.” Famous artists met and rubbed elbows, musi­cians formed impromp­tu jams and invent­ed new styles, work­ing class peo­ple who couldn’t afford a night out got to put on their best clothes and cut loose to the lat­est music. Hugh­es was fas­ci­nat­ed, and as a writer, he was also quite tak­en by the quirky cards used to adver­tise the par­ties. “When I first came to Harlem,” he said, “as a poet I was intrigued by the lit­tle rhymes at the top of most House Rent Par­ty cards, so I saved them. Now I have quite a col­lec­tion.”

The cards you see here come from Hugh­es’ per­son­al col­lec­tion, held with his papers at Yale’s Bei­necke Rare Book and Man­u­script Library. Many of these date from the 40s and 50s, but they all draw their inspi­ra­tion from the Harlem Renais­sance peri­od, when the phe­nom­e­non of jazz-infused rent par­ties explod­ed.  “San­dra L. West points out that black ten­ants in Harlem dur­ing the 1920s and 1930s faced dis­crim­i­na­to­ry rental rates,” notes Rebec­ca Onion at Slate. “That, along with the gen­er­al­ly low­er salaries for black work­ers, cre­at­ed a sit­u­a­tion in which many peo­ple were short of rent mon­ey. These par­ties were orig­i­nal­ly meant to bridge that gap.” A 1938 Fed­er­al Writ­ers Project account put it plain­ly: Harlem “was a typ­i­cal slum and ten­e­ment area lit­tle dif­fer­ent from many oth­ers in New York except for the fact that in Harlem rents were high­er; always have been, in fact, since the great war-time migra­to­ry influx of col­ored labor.”

Ten­ants took it in stride, draw­ing on two long­stand­ing com­mu­ni­ty tra­di­tions to make ends meet: the church fundrais­er and the Sat­ur­day night fish fry. But rent par­ties could be rau­cous affairs. Guests typ­i­cal­ly paid a few cents to enter, and extra for food cooked by the host. Apart­ments filled far beyond capac­i­ty, and alcohol—illegal from 1919 to 1933—flowed freely. Gam­bling and pros­ti­tu­tion fre­quent­ly made an appear­ance.  And the com­pe­ti­tion could be fierce. The Ency­clo­pe­dia of the Harlem Renais­sance writes that in their hey­day, “as many as twelve par­ties in a sin­gle block and five in an apart­ment build­ing, simul­ta­ne­ous­ly, were not uncom­mon.” Rent par­ties “essen­tial­ly amount­ed to a kind of grass­roots social wel­fare,” though the atmos­phere could be “far more sor­did than the aver­age neigh­bor­hood block par­ty.” Many upright cit­i­zens who dis­ap­proved of jazz, gam­bling, and booze turned up their noses and tried to ignore the par­ties.

In order to entice par­ty-goers and dis­tin­guish them­selves, writes Onion, “the cards name the kind of musi­cal enter­tain­ment atten­dees could expect using lyrics from pop­u­lar songs or made-up rhyming verse as slo­gans.” They also “used euphemisms to name the par­ties’ pur­pose,” call­ing them “Social Whist Par­ty” or “Social Par­ty,” while also sly­ly hint­ing at row­di­er enter­tain­ments. The new rent par­ties may not have lived up to Hugh­es’ mem­o­ries of jazz-age shindigs, per­haps because, in some cas­es, live musi­cians had been replaced by record play­ers. But the new cards, he wrote “are just as amus­ing as the old ones.”

via Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Langston Hugh­es Presents the His­to­ry of Jazz in an Illus­trat­ed Children’s Book (1955)

Langston Hugh­es Cre­ates a List of His 100 Favorite Jazz Record­ings: Hear 80+ of Them in a Big Playlist

Watch Langston Hugh­es Read Poet­ry from His First Col­lec­tion, The Weary Blues (1958)

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

3D Scans of 7,500 Famous Sculptures, Statues & Artworks: Download & 3D Print Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David & More

Last week we fea­tured the British Muse­um’s archive of down­load­able 3D mod­els of over 200 rich­ly his­tor­i­cal objects in their col­lec­tion, per­haps most notably the Roset­ta Stone. But back in 2015, before that mighty cul­tur­al insti­tu­tion put online in 3D the most impor­tant lin­guis­tic arti­fact of them all, a project called Scan the World cre­at­ed a mod­el of it dur­ing an unof­fi­cial com­mu­ni­ty “scanathon,” and it remains freely avail­able to all who would, for exam­ple, like to 3D print a Roset­ta Stone of their very own.

Or per­haps you’d pre­fer to run off your own copy of a world-famous sculp­ture like ancient Egypt­ian court sculp­tor Thut­mose’s bust of Nefer­ti­ti or Auguste Rod­in’s The Thinker, both of whose 3D mod­els you can find on Scan the World’s archive at My Mini Fac­to­ry.

There the orga­ni­za­tion, “com­prised of a vast com­mu­ni­ty of 3D scan­ning and 3D print­ing enthu­si­asts,” has amassed a col­lec­tion of 7,834 3D mod­els and count­ing, all toward their mis­sion ” to archive the world’s sculp­tures, stat­ues, art­works and any oth­er objects of cul­tur­al sig­nif­i­cance using 3D scan­ning tech­nolo­gies to pro­duce con­tent suit­able for 3D print­ing.”

Scan the World has­n’t lim­it­ed its man­date to just arti­facts and art­works kept in muse­ums: among its mod­els you’ll also find large scale pieces of pub­lic sculp­ture like the Stat­ue of Lib­er­ty and even beloved build­ings like Big Ben. This con­jures up the tan­ta­liz­ing vision of each of us one day becom­ing empow­ered to 3D-print our very own Lon­don, com­plete with not just a British Muse­um but all the objects, each of which tells part of human­i­ty’s sto­ry, inside it.

As much of a tech­no­log­i­cal mar­vel as it may rep­re­sent, print­ing out a Venus de Milo or a David or a Lean­ing Tow­er of Pisa or a Moai head at home can’t, of course, com­pare to mak­ing the trip to see the gen­uine arti­cle, espe­cial­ly with the kind of 3D print­ers now avail­able to con­sumers. But as recent tech­no­log­i­cal his­to­ry has shown us, the most amaz­ing devel­op­ments tend to come out of the decen­tral­ized efforts of count­less enthu­si­asts — just the kind of com­mu­ni­ty pow­er­ing Scan the World. The great achieve­ments of the future have to start some­where, and they might as well start by pay­ing trib­ute to the great­est achieve­ments of the past.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The British Muse­um Cre­ates 3D Mod­els of the Roset­ta Stone & 200+ Oth­er His­toric Arti­facts: Down­load or View in Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty

The British Muse­um Is Now Open To Every­one: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour and See 4,737 Arti­facts, Includ­ing the Roset­ta Stone

Artists Put Online 3D, High Res­o­lu­tion Scans of 3,000-Year-Old Nefer­ti­ti Bust (and Con­tro­ver­sy Ensues)

The Com­plete His­to­ry of the World (and Human Cre­ativ­i­ty) in 100 Objects

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

When Soviet Artists Turned Textiles (Scarves, Tablecloths & Curtains) into Beautiful Propaganda in the 1920s & 1930s

Amer­i­cans swim in pro­pa­gan­da all the time, even those of us who think the word refers to some exot­ic form of for­eign author­i­tar­i­an­ism rather than our own good ol’ home-cooked vari­ety. But the sad fact—admittedly very far down the list of rather trag­ic facts—is that U.S. pro­pa­gan­da is par­tic­u­lar­ly crude, obnox­ious, and unap­peal­ing. Con­trast, for exam­ple, the sym­bol of the pantsuit, or the casu­al racism, misog­y­ny, and homi­ci­dal fan­tasies on truck­er hats, t‑shirts, and beach tow­els with the alarm­ing pageantry of Maoist Chi­na, Stal­in­ist Rus­sia, or name-your-showy-total­i­tar­i­an-regime.

In the ear­ly days of the Sovi­et Union, state pro­pa­gan­da received a spe­cial boost from a cadre of eager and will­ing avant-garde artists, includ­ing poet, actor, direc­tor, etc. Vladimir Mayakovsky, who wrote Sovi­et children’s books, and a num­ber of Russ­ian Futur­ists who seized the oppor­tu­ni­ty to pro­mote the new order with total­ly incom­pre­hen­si­ble poet­ry and art.

In no way reg­i­ment­ed or stan­dard­ized, as were lat­er Social­ist Real­ists, ear­ly Sovi­et pro­pa­gan­dists used pol­i­tics as anoth­er mate­r­i­al in their work, rather than its pri­ma­ry rai­son d’être.

These pio­neers were joined by exper­i­men­tal com­posers, film­mak­ers, and even tex­tile design­ers, who had a brief moment under the shin­ing Sovi­et star between 1927 and 1933, when, as one pub­li­ca­tion from a wealthy col­lec­tor notes, “a fas­ci­nat­ing exper­i­ment in tex­tile mak­ing took place in the Sovi­et Union. As the new nation emerged and the Com­mu­nist par­ty strug­gled to trans­form an agrar­i­an coun­try into an indus­tri­al­ized state, a group of young design­ers began to cre­ate the­mat­ic tex­tile designs.”

Their designs—adorning table­cloths, sheets, cur­tains, and scarves and oth­er items of every­day, off-the-rack wear—showcase bold, strik­ing pat­terns, many, writes Dan­ger­ous Minds, “the­mat­ic of clas­si­cal Russ­ian art: you see lush col­or, dense scapes and even the odd Ori­en­tal­ist trope.” They are also filled with “delight­ful­ly pro­pa­gan­dist imagery,” notes Mari­na Galpe­ri­na at Fla­vor­wire, “of revving trac­tors, smoke-pump­ing fac­tor pipes, and babush­ka-clad women tak­ing a sick­le to wheat… woven in between opu­lent flo­rals and pret­ty, con­struc­tivist squig­gles.”

Fac­to­ry gears, war machines, ath­letes, and scenes of indus­try were pop­u­lar, as were the expect­ed state sym­bols and iconography—as in the Lenin linen at the top, framed at the top by Marx and Engels; Trot­sky at the bot­tom left has been purged from the tex­tile record. See many more exam­ples of ear­ly Sovi­et tex­tiles at io9, Flash­bak, and Messy Nessy.

via Eng­lish Rus­sia and @Ted­Gioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Every­thing You Need to Know About Mod­ern Russ­ian Art in 25 Min­utes: A Visu­al Intro­duc­tion to Futur­ism, Social­ist Real­ism & More

A Dig­i­tal Archive of Sovi­et Children’s Books Goes Online: Browse the Artis­tic, Ide­o­log­i­cal Col­lec­tion (1917–1953)

Watch the Sur­re­al­ist Glass Har­mon­i­ca, the Only Ani­mat­ed Film Ever Banned by Sovi­et Cen­sors (1968)

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

Leonardo da Vinci’s Visionary Notebooks Now Online: Browse 570 Digitized Pages

Quick, what do you know about Leonar­do da Vin­ci? He paint­ed the Mona Lisa! He wrote his notes back­wards! He designed super­cool bridges and fly­ing machines! He was a genius about, um… a lot of oth­er… things… and, um, stuff…

Okay, I’m sure you know a bit more than that, but unless you’re a Renais­sance schol­ar, you’re cer­tain to find your­self amazed and sur­prised at how much you didn’t know about the quin­tes­sen­tial Renais­sance man when you encounter a com­pi­la­tion of his note­books—Codex Arun­del—which has been dig­i­tized by the British Library and made avail­able to the pub­lic.

The note­book, writes Jonathan Jones at The Guardian, rep­re­sents “the liv­ing record of a uni­ver­sal mind.” And yet, though a “technophile” him­self, “when it came to pub­li­ca­tion, Leonar­do was a lud­dite…. He made no effort to get his notes pub­lished.”

For hun­dreds of years, the huge, secre­tive col­lec­tion of man­u­scripts remained most­ly unseen by all but the most rar­i­fied of col­lec­tors. After Leonar­do’s death in France, writes the British Library, his stu­dent Francesco Melzi “brought many of his man­u­scripts and draw­ings back to Italy. Melzi’s heirs, who had no idea of the impor­tance of the man­u­scripts, grad­u­al­ly dis­posed of them.” Nonethe­less, over 5,000 pages of notes “still exist in Leonardo’s ‘mir­ror writ­ing’, from right to left.” In the note­books, da Vin­ci drew “visions of the aero­plane, the heli­copter, the para­chute, the sub­ma­rine and the car. It was more than 300 years before many of his ideas were improved upon.”

The dig­i­tized note­books debuted in 2007 as a joint project of the British Library and Microsoft called “Turn­ing the Pages 2.0,” an inter­ac­tive fea­ture that allows view­ers to “turn” the pages of the note­books with ani­ma­tions. Onscreen gloss­es explain the con­tent of the cryp­tic notes sur­round­ing the many tech­ni­cal draw­ings, dia­grams, and schemat­ics (see a selec­tion of the note­books in this ani­mat­ed for­mat here). For an over­whelm­ing amount of Leonar­do, you can look through 570 dig­i­tized pages of Codex Arun­del here. For a slight­ly more digestible, and read­able, amount of Leonar­do, see the British Library’s brief series on his life and work, includ­ing expla­na­tions of his div­ing appa­ra­tus, para­chute, and glid­er.

And for much more on the man—including evi­dence of his sar­to­r­i­al “pref­er­ence for pink tights” and his shop­ping lists—see Jonathan Jones’ Guardian piece, which links to oth­er note­book col­lec­tions and resources. The artist and self-taught poly­math made an impres­sive effort to keep his ideas from pry­ing eyes. Now, thanks to dig­i­tized col­lec­tions like those at the British Library, “any­one can study the mind of Leonar­do.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leonar­do Da Vinci’s To Do List (Cir­ca 1490) Is Much Cool­er Than Yours

How to Build Leonar­do da Vinci’s Inge­nious Self-Sup­port­ing Bridge: Renais­sance Inno­va­tions You Can Still Enjoy Today

Down­load the Sub­lime Anato­my Draw­ings of Leonar­do da Vin­ci: Avail­able Online, or in a Great iPad App

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

Russian History & Literature Come to Life in Wonderfully Colorized Portraits: See Photos of Tolstoy, Chekhov, the Romanovs & More

Col­orized episodes of I Love Lucy verge on sac­ri­lege, but Olga Shirn­i­na, a trans­la­tor and ama­teur col­orist of con­sid­er­able tal­ent, has unques­tion­ably noble goals when col­oriz­ing vin­tage por­traits, such as that of the Romanovs, above.

In her view, col­or has the pow­er to close the gap between the sub­jects of musty pub­lic domain pho­tos and their mod­ern view­ers. The most ful­fill­ing moment for this artist, aka Klimblim, comes when “sud­den­ly the per­son looks back at you as if he’s alive.”

A before and after com­par­i­son of her dig­i­tal makeover on Nadezh­da Kolesniko­va, one of many female Sovi­et snipers whose vin­tage like­ness­es she has col­orized bears this out. The col­or ver­sion could be a fash­ion spread in a cur­rent mag­a­zine, except there’s noth­ing arti­fi­cial-seem­ing about this 1943 pose.

“The world was nev­er mono­chrome even dur­ing the war,” Shirn­i­na reflect­ed in the Dai­ly Mail.

Mil­i­tary sub­jects pose a par­tic­u­lar chal­lenge:

When I col­orize uni­forms I have to search for info about the colours or ask experts. So I’m not free in choos­ing col­ors. When I col­orize a dress on a 1890s pho­to, I look at what col­ors were fash­ion­able at that time. When I have no lim­i­ta­tions I play with colours look­ing for the best com­bi­na­tion. It’s real­ly quite arbi­trary but a cou­ple of years ago I trans­lat­ed a book about colours and hope that some­thing from it is left in my head.

She also puts her­self on a short leash where famous sub­jects are con­cerned. Eye­wit­ness accounts of Vladimir Lenin’s eye col­or ensured that the revolutionary’s col­orized iris­es would remain true to life.

And while there may be a mar­ket for rep­re­sen­ta­tions of punked out Russ­ian lit­er­ary heroes, Shirn­i­na plays it straight there too, eschew­ing the dig­i­tal Man­ic Pan­ic where Chekhov, Tol­stoy, and Bul­gakov are con­cerned.

Her hand with Pho­to­shop CS6 may restore celebri­ty to those whose stars have fad­ed with time, like Vera Komis­sarzhevskaya, the orig­i­nal ingenue in Chekhov’s much per­formed play The Seag­ull and wrestler Karl Pospis­chil, who showed off his physique sans culotte in a pho­to from 1912.

Even the unsung pro­le­tari­at are giv­en a chance to shine from the fields and fac­to­ry floors.

Browse an eye pop­ping gallery of Olga Shirnina’s work on her web­site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Beau­ti­ful, Col­or Pho­tographs of Paris Tak­en 100 Years Ago—at the Begin­ning of World War I & the End of La Belle Époque

Col­orized Pho­tos Bring Walt Whit­man, Char­lie Chap­lin, Helen Keller & Mark Twain Back to Life

Venice in Beau­ti­ful Col­or Images 125 Years Ago: The Rial­to Bridge, St. Mark’s Basil­i­ca, Doge’s Palace & More

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

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