The Art of The Black Panthers: A Short Documentary on the Revolutionary Artist Emory Douglas

Known as the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Artist by his fel­low Black Pan­thers and offi­cial­ly titled their Min­is­ter of Cul­ture, Emory Dou­glas pro­vid­ed the strik­ing visu­als and designed the lay­out to the news­pa­per that bore the organization’s name when it pre­miered in 1967. In this short but insight­ful doc­u­men­tary by the out­fit known as Dress Code, Dou­glas looks back at his time with Eldridge Cleaver, Huey P. New­ton and the oth­er Pan­thers dur­ing that most tumul­tuous decade and a half.

Dou­glas reminds us that San Fran­cis­co was seg­re­gat­ed just as much as the South dur­ing the ear­li­er part of the 20th cen­tu­ry and that police bru­tal­i­ty was, well, just like today, but with­out cell phone cam­eras. Iron­i­cal­ly, it was because Dou­glas went to juve­nile deten­tion (he first got arrest­ed at 13 years old) that he learned screen­print­ing in the print shop there, prim­ing him to help Cleaver start up the The Black Pan­ther news­pa­per in his apart­ment.

Dou­glas’ graph­ic design style was born from necessity–thick black lines did not let col­or seep out as much in the print­ing, and talk­ing about col­or, he could only afford one or two. Pro­fes­sor Colette Gaiter called Dou­glas the “Nor­man Rock­well of the ghet­to,” afford­ing the poor and oppressed a nor­mal­cy in its depic­tions usu­al­ly giv­en to the mid­dle class. And although pigs had sym­bol­ized pow­er, greed and cor­rup­tion long before Dou­glas was born, it was his depic­tion of cops and oth­er author­i­ty fig­ures as anthro­po­mor­phic swine that has stuck with us to this day.

At its height, The Black Pan­ther news­pa­per had a week­ly cir­cu­la­tion of 400,000, but in the ear­ly ‘80s, Dou­glas stepped down as design­er. He has nev­er stopped work­ing for social jus­tice and by the 2000s, his huge body of work began to tour gal­leries and muse­ums, admired for its tech­nique and beau­ty, along with its mes­sage.

A cri­tique of Dress Code’s doc­u­men­tary is that it only affords us sliv­ers of Dou­glas’ art–zoomed in and ani­mat­ed.

This oth­er doc from a 2008 stu­dio vis­it pro­vides a bit more con­text, and for those who would like to see the art along­side the essays, calls to action, and col­lages in the orig­i­nal issues, there are plen­ty of them scanned online for you to read.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kick­start the The­atri­cal Release of the First Com­pre­hen­sive Black Pan­ther Par­ty Doc­u­men­tary

Mal­colm X, Debat­ing at Oxford, Quotes Shakespeare’s Ham­let (1964)

Wattstax Doc­u­ments the “Black Wood­stock” Con­cert Held 7 Years After the Watts Riots (1973)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

The Staggering Human Cost of World War II Visualized in a Creative, New Animated Documentary

“More peo­ple died in World War II than any oth­er war in his­to­ry,” explains Neil Hal­lo­ran in The Fall­en of World War II. In his 15-minute film, Hal­lo­ran uses inno­v­a­tive data visu­al­iza­tion tech­niques to put the human cost of WW II into per­spec­tive, show­ing how some 70 mil­lion lives were lost with­in civil­ian and mil­i­tary pop­u­la­tions across Europe and Asia, from 1939 to 1945. As one com­menter put it, “One mil­lion, six mil­lion, sev­en­ty mil­lion. Spo­ken or writ­ten, these num­bers become … incom­pre­hen­si­ble. Pre­sent­ed graph­i­cal­ly, they hit clos­er to the heart. As the Sovi­et loss­es climbed, I thought my brows­er had become frozen. Sure­ly the top of the col­umn must have been reached by now, I thought.” He’s refer­ring to the stag­ger­ing num­ber of Sovi­ets who died fight­ing the Nazis. If you fast for­ward to the 6‑minute mark above, you can see what he means.

The video comes accom­pa­nied by an inter­ac­tive web­site, where users can “pause dur­ing key moments to inter­act with the charts and dig deep­er into the num­bers.” To use this inter­ac­tive web­site, you will need a fair­ly new com­put­er and a mod­ern brows­er.

You can con­tribute mon­ey and sup­port the ongo­ing Fall­en of World War II project here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es

Watch World War II Rage Across Europe in a 7 Minute Time-Lapse Film: Every Day From 1939 to 1945

31 Rolls of Film Tak­en by a World War II Sol­dier Get Dis­cov­ered & Devel­oped Before Your Eyes

Dra­mat­ic Col­or Footage Shows a Bombed-Out Berlin a Month After Germany’s WWII Defeat (1945)

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The Art of Collotype: See a Near Extinct Printing Technique, as Lovingly Practiced by a Japanese Master Craftsman

When I was a kid,  I spent a lot of time at the Indi­anapo­lis Star, where my moth­er worked in what was then referred to as the “women’s pages.” She kept me busy return­ing the pho­tos that accom­pa­nied mar­riage and engage­ment announce­ments, using the SASEs the young brides had sup­plied. After that, I’d hit the print­ing floor, where vet­er­an work­ers sport­ed square caps fold­ed from the pre­vi­ous day’s edi­tion, as that day’s issue clacked on tracks over­head. If I was lucky, some­one would make me a gift of my name, set in hot type.

The Star still pub­lish­es — I shud­der to report that its web­site seems to have renamed it IndyS­tar… — but cul­tur­al and dig­i­tal advances have rel­e­gat­ed all of the par­tic­u­lars men­tioned above to the scrap pile.

They came rush­ing back with wild, Prous­t­ian urgency when Osamu Yamamo­to, a mas­ter print­er at Ben­ri­do Col­lo­type Ate­lier in Kyoto, men­tions the smell of the ink, in the short doc­u­men­tary above, how over the years, it has seeped into his skin, and become a part of his being.

Col­lo­type, defined by the Get­ty Con­ser­va­tion Insti­tute as “a screen­less pho­to­me­chan­i­cal process that allows high-qual­i­ty prints from con­tin­u­ous-tone pho­to­graph­ic neg­a­tives,” has been on the way out since the 70s. As mas­ter print­er Yamamo­to notes, it’s a low-effi­cien­cy, small batch oper­a­tion, involv­ing messy matrix­es, hand-oper­at­ed press­es, and heavy iron machines that give off a sort of ani­mal warmth when work­ing.

Rather than pressmen’s caps, Ben­ri­do’s shirt­less print­ers wear hachi­ma­ki, rub­ber aprons, and pur­ple dis­pos­able gloves.

Film­mak­er Fritz Schu­mann (whose film on the old­est hotel in Japan we pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured before) evokes the work­place — one of two remain­ing col­lo­type com­pa­nies in the world — through small details like the plas­tic-wrapped dig­i­tal Ham­taro clock and also by draw­ing view­ers’ atten­tion to the num­ber of years logged by each employ­ee. The art of col­lo­type takes a long time to mas­ter and novices appear to be in short sup­ply.

Should we con­ceive of this oper­a­tion as a quaint rel­ic, creep­ing along thanks to the whim­sy of a few nos­tal­gia buffs?

Sur­pris­ing­ly, no. The labo­ri­ous col­lo­type process remains the best way to dupli­cate pre­cious art­works and his­toric doc­u­ments. The way the ink inter­acts with retic­u­la­tions in the gelatin sur­face atop results in sub­tleties that pixel­lat­ed dig­i­tal images can­not hope to achieve.

Vis­i­tors to the stu­dio may sup­port the enter­prise by pick­ing up a hand­ful of col­lo­type-print­ed post­cards in the gift shop, but the office of the Japan­ese Emper­or is the one who’s real­ly keep­ing them in busi­ness, with orders to copy hun­dreds of del­i­cate, cen­turies old scrolls, paint­ings and let­ters.

Like a cir­cle in a circle…cultural preser­va­tion via cul­tur­al preser­va­tion! Per­haps the smell of the ink will pre­vail.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hōshi: A Short Film on the 1300-Year-Old Hotel Run by the Same Fam­i­ly for 46 Gen­er­a­tions

Mark Twain Wrote the First Book Ever Writ­ten With a Type­writer

 

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

 

Yoko Ono Lets Audience Cut Up Her Clothes in Conceptual Art Performance (Carnegie Hall, 1965)

Back before it was com­mon prac­tice to pref­ace one’s web posts with the phrase “trig­ger warn­ing” (which, BTW, might well apply here)…

Before the Inter­net…

And slight­ly before the pub­lic rev­e­la­tion of her rela­tion­ship with John Lennon turned a Japan­ese avant-garde artist into an Amer­i­can house­hold name…

Yoko Ono main­tained an aura of imper­vi­ous­ness onstage at Carnegie Hall, as audi­ence mem­bers accept­ed the chal­lenge to cut away her cloth­ing one piece at a time.

This now-famous con­cep­tu­al per­for­mance was doc­u­ment­ed by film­mak­ers Albert and David Maysles, who cap­tured ner­vous laugh­ter and audi­ence com­men­tary along with the onstage action. (Ono had pre­vi­ous­ly per­formed the piece twice in Japan where—with the excep­tion of one man who wield­ed the scis­sors as if intend­ing to stab her—audiences proved ret­i­cent and respect­ful.)

What does Cut Piece mean?

The motion­less­ness Ono imposed upon her­self (and all sub­se­quent per­form­ers of the work) keeps things open to inter­pre­ta­tion.

It’s been hailed as a deeply sym­bol­ic fem­i­nist work and rep­re­sent­ed in the press of the time as an unin­hib­it­ed, inter­ac­tive strip show. Many an aca­d­e­m­ic paper has been writ­ten.

With so much con­trol ced­ed to the audi­ence, even the per­former could­n’t pre­dict for cer­tain whether the inten­tion of the piece would synch with the real­i­ty.

Cut Piece can­not be mis­tak­en for pure impro­vi­sa­tion, how­ev­er. Like John Cage’s 4’33”, it has a score, com­plete with vari­a­tions:

 Cut Piece 

First Ver­sion for sin­gle per­former: 

Per­former sits on stage with a pair 

of scis­sors placed in front of him. 

It is announced that mem­bers of the audi­ence 

may come on stage–one at 

a time–to cut a small piece of the 

performer’s cloth­ing to take with them. 

Per­former remains motion­less 

through­out the piece. 

Piece ends at the performer’s 

option.

Ono has said that the impulse for Cut Piece came from the desire to cre­ate art free from ego, the “men­tal­i­ty of say­ing, ‘here you are, take any­thing you want, any part you want,’ rather than push­ing some­thing you chose on some­one else.”

She also took inspi­ra­tion from a famil­iar child­hood sto­ry about the Bud­dha self­less­ly giv­ing his own body to pro­vide food for a hun­gry tiger. It seems an apt metaphor, giv­en the facial expres­sions of cer­tain audi­ence par­tic­i­pants. Were they fak­ing a con­fi­dence they didn’t feel, or were they just jerks?

Did I men­tion the trig­ger warn­ing?

Doc­u­men­ta­tion, as any per­for­mance artist will tell you, is not quite the same as being there. Reen­act­ments, too, may fall short of the orig­i­nal.

Ono reprised the work in 2003, at the age of 70, not­ing that her moti­va­tion had shift­ed from rage to love, and a desire for world peace.

When artist Jon Hen­dricks per­formed it in 1968, he did so in a thrift store suit, thus ignor­ing its cre­ator’s con­vic­tion that part of its pow­er came from start­ing out in one’s best clothes.

It’s all very ball­sy, and hor­ri­fy­ing, and com­pelling, and a lit­tle hard to watch.

Would you con­sid­er try­ing it in your local library, com­mu­ni­ty hall, or as part of a school fundrais­er?

A longer analy­sis and his­to­ry of Yoko Ono’s Cut Piece can be found here cour­tesy of Kevin Con­can­non.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Yoko Ono, Age 80, Still Has Moves, Dances with The Beast­ie Boys, Ira Glass, Rober­ta Flack & Friends

Down­load the John Lennon/Yoko Ono “War is Over (If You Want It)” Poster in 100+ Lan­guages

John Lennon & Yoko Ono’s Two Appear­ances on The Dick Cavett Show in 1971 and 72

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

Mark Twain & Helen Keller’s Special Friendship: He Treated Me Not as a Freak, But as a Person Dealing with Great Difficulties

twain-keller-stormfield-visit

Some­times it can seem as though the more we think we know a his­tor­i­cal fig­ure, the less we actu­al­ly do. Helen Keller? We’ve all seen (or think we’ve seen) some ver­sion of The Mir­a­cle Work­er, right?—even if we haven’t actu­al­ly read Keller’s auto­bi­og­ra­phy. And Mark Twain? He can seem like an old fam­i­ly friend. But I find peo­ple are often sur­prised to learn that Keller was a rad­i­cal social­ist fire­brand, in sym­pa­thy with work­ers’ move­ments world­wide. In a short arti­cle in praise of Lenin, for exam­ple, Keller once wrote, “I cry out against peo­ple who uphold the empire of gold…. I am per­fect­ly sure that love will bring every­thing right in the end, but I can­not help sym­pa­thiz­ing with the oppressed who feel dri­ven to use force to gain the rights that belong to them.”

Twain took a more pes­simistic, iron­ic approach, yet he thor­ough­ly opposed reli­gious dog­ma, slav­ery, and impe­ri­al­ism. “I am always on the side of the rev­o­lu­tion­ists,” he wrote, “because there nev­er was a rev­o­lu­tion unless there were some oppres­sive and intol­er­a­ble con­di­tions against which to rev­o­lute.” While a great many peo­ple grow more con­ser­v­a­tive with age, Twain and Keller both grew more rad­i­cal, which in part accounts for anoth­er lit­tle-known fact about these two nine­teenth cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can celebri­ties: they formed a very close and last­ing friend­ship that, at least in Keller’s case, may have been one of the most impor­tant rela­tion­ships in either figure’s life.

10-hk-twain

Twain’s impor­tance to Keller, and hers to him, begins in 1895, when the two met at a lunch held for Keller in New York. Accord­ing to the Mark Twain Library’s exten­sive doc­u­men­tary exhib­it, Keller “seemed to feel more at ease with Twain than with any of the oth­er guests.” She would lat­er write, “He treat­ed me not as a freak, but as a hand­i­capped woman seek­ing a way to cir­cum­vent extra­or­di­nary dif­fi­cul­ties.” Twain was tak­en as well, sur­prised by “her quick­ness and intel­li­gence.” After the meet­ing, he wrote to his bene­fac­tor Hen­ry H. Rogers, ask­ing Rogers to fund Keller’s edu­ca­tion. Rogers, the Mark Twain Library tells us, “per­son­al­ly took charge of Helen Keller’s for­tunes, and out of his own means made it pos­si­ble for her to con­tin­ue her edu­ca­tion and to achieve for her­self the endur­ing fame which Mark Twain had fore­seen.”

Twain wrote to his wealthy friend, “It won’t do for Amer­i­ca to allow this mar­velous child to retire from her stud­ies because of pover­ty. If she can go on with them she will make a fame that will endure in his­to­ry for cen­turies.” There­after, the two would main­tain a “spe­cial friend­ship,” sus­tained not only by their polit­i­cal sen­ti­ments, but also by a love of ani­mals, trav­el, and oth­er per­son­al sim­i­lar­i­ties. Both writ­ers came to live in Fair­field Coun­ty, Con­necti­cut at the end of their lives, and she vis­it­ed him at his Red­ding home, Storm­field, in 1909, the year before his death (see them there at the top of the post, and more pho­tos here). Twain was espe­cial­ly impressed by Keller’s auto­bi­og­ra­phy, writ­ing to her, “I am charmed with your book—enchanted.” (See his endorse­ment in a 1903 adver­tise­ment, below.)

HelenKellerAd2

Twain also came to Keller’s defense, ten years lat­er, after read­ing in her book about a pla­gia­rism scan­dal that occurred in 1892 when, at only twelve years old, she was accused of lift­ing her short sto­ry “The Frost King” from Mar­garet Canby’s “Frost Fairies.” Though a tri­bunal acquit­ted Keller of the charges, the inci­dent still piqued Twain, who called it “unspeak­ably fun­ny and owlish­ly idi­ot­ic and grotesque” in a 1903 let­ter in which he also declared: “The ker­nel, the soul—let us go fur­ther and say the sub­stance, the bulk, the actu­al and valu­able mate­r­i­al of all human utterance—is pla­gia­rism.” What dif­fers from work to work, he con­tends is “the phras­ing of a sto­ry”; Keller’s accusers, he writes pro­tec­tive­ly, were “solemn don­keys break­ing a lit­tle child’s heart.” (The exquis­ite­ly-word­ed let­ter is well worth read­ing in full at Let­ters of Note).

twain-welcomes-keller-4

We also have Twain—not play­wright William Gib­son—to thank for the “mir­a­cle work­er” title giv­en to Keller’s teacher, Anne Sul­li­van. (See Keller, Sul­li­van, Twain, and Sullivan’s hus­band John Macy above at Twain’s home). As a trib­ute to Sul­li­van for her tire­less work with Keller, he pre­sent­ed her with a post­card that read, “To Mrs. John Sul­li­van Macy with warm regard & with lim­it­less admi­ra­tion of the won­ders she has per­formed as a ‘mir­a­cle-work­er.’” In his 1903 let­ter to Keller, he called Sul­li­van “your oth­er half… for it took the pair of you to make com­plete and per­fect whole.”

Twain praised Sul­li­van effu­sive­ly for “her bril­lian­cy, pen­e­tra­tion, orig­i­nal­i­ty, wis­dom, char­ac­ter, and the fine lit­er­ary com­pe­ten­cies of her pen.” But he reserved his high­est praise for Keller her­self. “You are a won­der­ful crea­ture,” he wrote, “The most won­der­ful in the world.” Keller’s praise of her friend Twain was no less lofty. “I have been in Eden three days and I saw a King,” she wrote in his guest­book dur­ing her vis­it to Storm­field, “I knew he was a King the minute I touched him though I had nev­er touched a King before.” The last words in Twain’s auto­bi­og­ra­phy, the first vol­ume anyway—which he only allowed to be pub­lished in 2010—are Keller’s; “You once told me you were a pes­simist, Mr. Clemons,” he quotes her as say­ing, “but great men are usu­al­ly mis­tak­en about them­selves. You are an opti­mist.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Only Footage of Mark Twain: The Orig­i­nal & Dig­i­tal­ly Restored Films Shot by Thomas Edi­son

Mark Twain Writes a Rap­tur­ous Let­ter to Walt Whit­man on the Poet’s 70th Birth­day (1889)

Helen Keller Speaks About Her Great­est Regret — Nev­er Mas­ter­ing Speech

Helen Keller & Annie Sul­li­van Appear Togeth­er in Mov­ing 1930 News­reel

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

The Death Masks of Great Authors: Dante, Goethe, Tolstoy, Joyce & More

joyce death mask

Charles Gui­teau, the man who assas­si­nat­ed James Garfield, tried to argue in court that he just shot the pres­i­dent — the doc­tors actu­al­ly killed him. Though Gui­teau was ulti­mate­ly hanged for his crime in 1882, he did have a point. Garfield’s doc­tor, William Bliss, jammed his unster­il­ized fin­gers in the pres­i­den­tial wound in an attempt to pull out the bul­let. So did a host of oth­er spe­cial­ists. Pres­i­dent Garfield died 80 days lat­er of, among oth­er things, sep­sis. It was lat­er con­clud­ed that the pres­i­dent would have like­ly sur­vived if the doc­tors had kept their hands to them­selves.

goethe deathmask

Garfield’s death was one of the cat­a­lysts that helped pop­u­lar­ize Joseph Lister’s ideas about bac­te­ria, a con­cept that vast­ly improved the qual­i­ty of med­ical care. A hun­dred years lat­er, for exam­ple, Ronald Rea­gan suf­fered from almost an iden­ti­cal bul­let wound and was back to work with­in weeks.

tolstoy death mask

In the 19th cen­tu­ry and cen­turies before, dis­eases weren’t well under­stood and death was mys­te­ri­ous and divine. In the evan­gel­i­cal revivals of the mid-19th cen­tu­ry, the end of life was seen as some­thing to embrace. After all, God was call­ing his believ­ers back home. Then with a grow­ing under­stand­ing of germs, that sense of won­der with our mor­tal­i­ty changed. “God hadn’t called the indi­vid­ual to him,” writes Deb­o­rah Lutz, schol­ar of Vic­to­ri­an cul­ture, in The New York Times this week. “Rather, a mal­a­dy had over­tak­en the body. Rather than dying at home, the sick were cart­ed off to hos­pi­tals.” Death, in oth­er words, became divorced from every­day life.

coleridge death mask

So from our 21st cen­tu­ry view­point, the Vic­to­ri­ans’ (and their pre­de­ces­sors’) ten­den­cy to col­lect memen­tos of the dead, like death masks, might seem grue­some. But from their point of view, our pan­icked denial of death would prob­a­bly seem fool­ish and per­verse. Mor­tal­i­ty, after all, is a fact of life.

dante death mask

Prince­ton University’s Lau­rence Hut­ton Col­lec­tion has dozens of death masks of famous politi­cians, philoso­phers and authors. Peo­ple like Isaac New­ton, Abra­ham Lin­coln and Leo Tol­stoy. There’s some­thing hum­bling about see­ing these titans of West­ern cul­ture cap­tured at such an inti­mate moment. Stripped of all the mark­ers of class and rank, they look like peo­ple you might see on the street.

wordsworth death mask

Aside from a rather uncon­vinc­ing effi­gy of Queen Eliz­a­beth, the col­lec­tion fea­tures few masks of great women. No Jane Austens or Emi­ly Dick­in­sons here. The col­lec­tion also, sad­ly, lacks a mask of James Garfield.

Above you can find death masks of lit­er­ary fig­ures from the 14th to ear­ly 20th cen­turies. From top to bot­tom, you will see James Joyce, Goethe, Leo Tol­stoy, Samuel Tay­lor Coleridge, Dante and William Wordsworth.

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  

Hear Thomas Edison’s Creepy Talking Dolls: An Invention That Scared Kids & Flopped on the Market

Edison doll

When study­ing his­to­ry’s most famous cre­ators, we must nev­er for­get that they always pro­duced fail­ures as well as suc­cess­es, and often fail­ures as impres­sive as their suc­cess­es. Take Thomas Edi­son, wide­ly regard­ed as the great Amer­i­can inven­tor for his work on the light bulb, the movie cam­era, and the phono­graph. We all know about those achieve­ments, all of which shaped tech­nolo­gies which went on to near-uni­ver­sal use, but have you heard of Edis­on’s still-pio­neer­ing but rather less well-known work in the field of talk­ing dolls?

Many of us in the past few gen­er­a­tions grew up with talk­ing dolls of one kind or anoth­er. But had we been chil­dren in 1890, we might have grown up with the very first talk­ing dolls, for which Edi­son designed an inter­nal mech­a­nism that played one of sev­er­al wax cylin­ders pre-record­ed with var­i­ous child-ori­ent­ed songs, prayers, and nurs­ery rhymes. Or rather, we might have grown up with them if we came from wealthy fam­i­lies: they cost between $10 and $20 in 1890 dol­lars, or up to $526 in today’s dol­lars.

And even at that price, Edis­on’s talk­ing dolls pro­vid­ed not just the low­est of lo-fi lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ences, but resound­ing­ly creepy ones at that. “The pub­lic react­ed as one does when con­front­ed with a grandmother’s mas­sive doll col­lec­tion: You avert­ed your eyes in fear,” writes PBS’ Joshua Bara­jas. “After six weeks into pro­duc­tion, the dolls were deemed too scary and pulled from the mar­ket, the New York Times report­ed.”

Edison dollad

But now, thanks to opti­cal audio-scan­ning tech­nol­o­gy unimag­in­able in Edis­on’s day, we can hear the dolls’ ren­di­tions of “Twin­kle, Twin­kle, Lit­tle Star,” “Hick­o­ry, Dick­o­ry, Dock,” and — most eeri­ly of all — “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep” just as the chil­dren of 1890 would have heard them. But even this seri­ous­ly wrong­head­ed-seem­ing prod­uct paved the way for not just the less dis­turb­ing Fur­bys and Ted­dy Rux­pins of more recent child­hoods, but, giv­en its unprece­dent­ed use of auto record­ings made for enter­tain­ment pur­pos­es, the entire record indus­try — and, of course, the minor but robust sub­genre of talk­ing-doll hor­ror movies.

via PBS News Hour

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Thomas Edi­son and Niko­la Tes­la Face Off in “Epic Rap Bat­tles of His­to­ry”

A Brief, Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Thomas Edi­son (and Niko­la Tes­la)

Thomas Edi­son & His Trusty Kine­to­scope Cre­ate the First Movie Filmed In The US (c. 1889)

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

What’s It Like to Fight in 15th Century Armor?: A Surprising Demonstration

Above, Le Musée Nation­al du Moyen-Âge (oth­er­wise known as The Nation­al Muse­um of the Mid­dle Ages) and The Uni­ver­si­ty of Gene­va recre­ate fight scenes from the 15th cen­tu­ry, demon­strat­ing the move­ments and tech­niques of com­bat­ants who clanked around in full suits of armor. If you’re like me, you’re watch­ing with sur­prise — sur­prised by their agili­ty and dex­ter­i­ty. Was­n’t quite expect­ing that!

If you don’t read French, it’s worth not­ing that the video starts with a demon­stra­tion of mobil­i­ty, then explores medieval fight­ing tech­niques, from stab­bing an oppo­nent right between the eyes, to strik­ing a mor­tal blow on the ground.  The video was brought to the web by Le Figaro.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Yoda’s Long Lost Twin Found in a 14th Cen­tu­ry Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script

Won­der­ful­ly Weird & Inge­nious Medieval Books

See The Guidon­ian Hand, the Medieval Sys­tem for Read­ing Music, Get Brought Back to Life

140 Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es

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