The Scared Is Scared: A Child’s Wisdom for Starting New Chapters (Creative or Otherwise) in Life

The future’s uncer­tain­ty has par­a­lyzed many an artist. How to begin?

Were you to take the advice of 6‑year-old Asa Bak­er-Rouse, you might show the word “start” in a box, add an equals sign, frame it with a box, make the word orange, then green, then white in a green box….

Asa is both nar­ra­tor and muse of The Scared is Scared, the final project of recent Mid­dle­bury Col­lege grad, Bian­ca Giaev­er’s inde­pen­dent­ly designed Nar­ra­tive Stud­ies major. Rather than hand the boy a script, she allowed him to deter­mine the course of her film, lit­er­al­ly visu­al­iz­ing his spon­ta­neous mono­logue with the help of sev­er­al game friends, a trick imple­ment­ed ear­li­er in Holy Cow Lisa, which built on an inter­view with her col­lege advi­sor.

The result should appeal to any­one who had a soft spot for Pee­Wee’s Play­house­’s Pen­ny car­toons. It’s cute all right, but  The Scared is Scared also boasts an effort­less-seem­ing pro­fun­di­ty. Asa may be of the age where piano-shaped cook­ies and secret sleep­overs rep­re­sent the pin­na­cle of anar­chy, but he’s got an ancient mas­ter’s take on things com­ing to their inevitable end. By com­mit­ting to roll with what­ev­er unknowns this child might sup­ply, Giaver taps into a rich vein of cre­ativ­i­ty. Along the way, she makes peace with a very famil­iar-feel­ing unknown, the fate of the young artist leav­ing col­lege’s cozy embrace.

It turns out to be a per­fect place to start.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

 

One of the Biggest Risks is Being Too Cau­tious…

Paulo Coel­ho on The Fear of Fail­ure

J.K. Rowl­ing Tells Har­vard Grads Why Suc­cess Begins with Fail­ure

 

The Acoustic Guitar Project Gives Songwriters Worldwide a Guitar and One Week to Write a Song

The White Stripes’ song “Lit­tle Room” is all about re-con­nect­ing with the space of cre­ativ­i­ty with­in you—the “lit­tle room” where emo­tions become ideas—when you’re feel­ing over­whelmed (by suc­cess? Or maybe just kids, bills and the IRS). Their garage-rock dit­ty is a nice mar­riage of form and con­tent, the lyri­cal sim­plic­i­ty enacts the men­tal par­ing down Jack White rec­om­mends. No telling how often White goes to his “lit­tle room,” but he’s such a well­spring of song­writ­ing ideas, solo and in a con­stel­la­tion of side projects, that I’d guess it’s pret­ty often. As a song­writer myself, I have found White’s advice utter­ly unim­peach­able (which must be why I duti­ful­ly ignore it so often).

But the lit­tle room isn’t just a com­fort­ing place in the head, like Hap­py Gilmore’s hap­py place. It’s also a phys­i­cal space—differently arranged for artists of dif­fer­ent media. For the singer/songwriter, it’s gen­er­al­ly a famil­iar, seclud­ed place where you can put all of your focus on a gui­tar, a notepad, and a record­ing device (the sim­pler the bet­ter). That’s the space con­jured up by The Acoustic Gui­tar Project, “cre­at­ed to help musi­cians recon­nect to the orig­i­nal moment that inspired them to be singer-song­writ­ers.” Con­ceived in April, 2012, the project’s stat­ed mis­sion is three­fold:

  • Inspire artists to take action.
  • Tell sto­ries from a truth­ful, mean­ing­ful point of view.
  • Strive to give peo­ple some­thing to believe in.

If these goals sound a lit­tle too vague and pollyan­naish to com­mu­ni­cate much, lis­ten to the won­der­ful sim­plic­i­ty of The Acoustic Gui­tar Project’s premise: 1) the project selects a musi­cian, and pro­vides him or her with an acoustic gui­tar and a hand­held recorder. 2) the musi­cian must pro­duce an orig­i­nal song with­in one week, using only the equip­ment pro­vid­ed. 3) the musi­cian, once fin­ished, choos­es the next musi­cian for the project, and, I sup­pose, “pays it for­ward.”

It’s a real­ly neat idea, and you can see the results on the site, which fea­tures over forty singer/songwriters so far who have been passed the gui­tar. Each musi­cian has their own page with a pro­file, pho­to, and the audio and lyrics of their song. The first three stages of the project took place in New York City, Helsin­ki, Fin­land, and Bogo­ta, Colum­bia, respec­tive­ly, and the fourth stage moves to Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Joel Wald­man of Bogo­ta is one of these brave trou­ba­dours. You can see him per­form his song, “Como Una Lla­ma” (Like a Flame) live above. (See Joel’s page for the lyrics to his song, in both Span­ish and Eng­lish.)  In the video below, Joel very thought­ful­ly dis­cuss­es the feel­ing of writ­ing a song—a process, he says, of com­bin­ing infor­ma­tion and inspi­ra­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Tay­lor Gives Free Acoustic Gui­tar Lessons Online

The Best Music to Write By: Give Us Your Rec­om­men­da­tions

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Alain de Botton Proposes a Kinder, Gentler Philosophy of Success

For bet­ter or worse, Alain de Bot­ton is the face of pop phi­los­o­phy. He has advo­cat­ed “reli­gion for athe­ists” in a book of the same name (to the deep con­ster­na­tion of some athe­ists and the elo­quent inter­est of oth­ers); he has dis­tilled select­ed philo­soph­i­cal nuggets into self-help in his The Con­so­la­tions of Phi­los­o­phy; and most recent­ly, he’s tack­led a sub­ject close to everybody’s heart (to put it char­i­ta­bly) in How to Think More About Sex. As a corol­lary to his intel­lec­tu­al inter­ests in human bet­ter­ment, de Bot­ton also over­sees The School of Life, a “cul­tur­al enter­prise offer­ing good ideas for every­day life” with a base in Cen­tral Lon­don and a col­or­ful online pres­ence. Many crit­ics dis­dain de Botton’s shot­gun approach to phi­los­o­phy, but it gets peo­ple read­ing (not just his own books), and gets them talk­ing, rather than just shout­ing at each oth­er.

In addi­tion to his pub­lish­ing, de Bot­ton is an accom­plished and engag­ing speak­er. Although him­self a com­mit­ted sec­u­lar­ist, in his TED talks, he has posed some for­mi­da­ble chal­lenges to the smug cer­tain­ties of lib­er­al sec­u­lar­ism and the often bru­tal cer­tain­ties of lib­er­tar­i­an mer­i­toc­ra­cy. Apro­pos of the lat­ter, in the talk above, de Bot­ton takes on what he calls “job snob­bery,” the dom­i­nant form of snob­bery today, he says, and a glob­al phe­nom­e­non. Cer­tain­ly, we can all remem­ber any num­ber of times when the ques­tion “What do you do?” has either made us exhale with pride or feel like we might shriv­el up and blow away. De Bot­ton takes this com­mon expe­ri­ence and draws from it some inter­est­ing infer­ences: for exam­ple, against the idea that we (one assumes he means West­ern­ers) live in a mate­ri­al­is­tic soci­ety, de Bot­ton posits that we pri­mar­i­ly use mate­r­i­al goods and career sta­tus not as ends in them­selves but as the means to receive emo­tion­al rewards from those who choose how much love or respect to “spend” on us based on where we land in any social hier­ar­chy.

Accord­ing­ly, de Bot­ton asks us to see some­one in a Fer­rari not as greedy but as “incred­i­bly vul­ner­a­ble and in need of love” (he does not address oth­er pos­si­ble com­pen­sa­tions of mid­dle-aged men in over­ly-expen­sive cars). For de Bot­ton, mod­ern soci­ety turns the whole world into a school, where equals com­pete with each oth­er relent­less­ly.  But the prob­lem with the anal­o­gy is that in the wider world, the admirable spir­it of equal­i­ty runs up against the real­i­ties of increas­ing­ly entrenched inequities. Our inabil­i­ty to see this is nur­turned, de Bot­ton points out, by an indus­try that sells us all the fic­tion that, with just enough know-how and gump­tion, any­one can become the next Mark Zucker­berg or Steve Jobs. But if this were true, of course, there would be hun­dreds of thou­sands of Zucker­bergs and Jobs.

For de Bot­ton, when we believe that those who make it to the top do so only on mer­it, we also, in a cal­lous way, believe those at the bot­tom deserve their place and should stay there—a belief that takes no account of the acci­dents of birth and the enor­mi­ty of fac­tors out­side anyone’s con­trol. This shift in think­ing, he says—especially in the Unit­ed States—gets reflect­ed in a shift in lan­guage. Where in for­mer times some­one in tough cir­cum­stances might be called “unfor­tu­nate” or “down on their luck,” they are now more like­ly to be called “a los­er,” a social con­di­tion that exac­er­bates feel­ings of per­son­al fail­ure and increas­es the num­bers of sui­cides. The rest of de Botton’s rich­ly observed talk lays out his philo­soph­i­cal and psy­cho­log­i­cal alter­na­tives to the irra­tional rea­son­ing that makes every­one respon­si­ble for every­thing that hap­pens to them. As a con­se­quence of soft­en­ing the harsh bina­ry log­ic of success/failure, de Bot­ton con­cludes, we can find greater mean­ing and hap­pi­ness in the work we choose to do—because we love it, not because it buys us love.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alain De Bot­ton Turns His Philo­soph­i­cal Mind To Devel­op­ing “Bet­ter Porn”

Alain de Botton’s Quest for The Per­fect Home and Archi­tec­tur­al Hap­pi­ness

Socrates on TV, Cour­tesy of Alain de Bot­ton (2000)

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Meet “Dashan,” the Canadian Comedian Who Achieved Accidental Stardom in China

West­ern stu­dents of the Chi­nese lan­guage tend to know Dashan. Some­times they don’t like him very much. The vari­ety of pos­si­ble expla­na­tions obvi­ous­ly includes sim­ple jeal­ousy, since Dashan (giv­en name Mark Rowswell) enjoys fame across Chi­na for his mas­tery of Man­darin. But just as this anti-Dashan resent­ment actu­al­ly springs from more com­pli­cat­ed caus­es, so the fer­vent­ly pro-Dashan feel­ings of mil­lions of Chi­nese fans spring from more than his unusu­al flu­en­cy. Ambas­sador to Chi­na’s Fun­ny Bone, the fifty-minute doc­u­men­tary above, traces Dashan’s seem­ing­ly uncal­cu­lat­ed rise from his under­grad­u­ate days in Chi­nese stud­ies at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Toron­to, to his break­through appear­ance on Chi­na Cen­tral Tele­vi­sion’s 1988 New Year’s Gala, to his inescapable pres­ence on the Chi­nese stage and screen — includ­ing but by no means lim­it­ed to endors­ing a “Cana­di­an fast food restau­rant.” This sort of celebri­ty makes one instinc­tive­ly want to para­phrase Samuel John­son’s line about the dog walk­ing on its hind legs: even if a west­ern­er speak­ing Chi­nese on tele­vi­sion is not done well, audi­ences are sur­prised to find it done at all.

But Dashan does do it well, and he does it in a con­text even more chal­leng­ing than a four-legged ani­mal walk­ing upright: the tra­di­tion­al form of lan­guage com­e­dy known as xiang­sheng. The doc­u­men­tary shows Dashan per­form­ing as part of a duo, and just above you can see him going solo. Out­side of this spe­cial­ized set­ting, observers have com­pared his mild, easy­go­ing, friend­ly — dare I say Cana­di­an? — per­sona to Dick Clark’s; one inter­vie­wee in Ambas­sador even describes him as harm­less­ly sym­bol­iz­ing Cana­da just as a pan­da sym­bol­izes Chi­na. Yet his detrac­tors have grown vocal enough to prompt some­one to pub­licly ask, on ques­tion-and-answer site Quo­ra, “Why do so many Chi­nese learn­ers seem to hate Dashan?” The top answer comes from Dashan him­self, who pro­vides a thor­ough, clear­head­ed, and self-aware analy­sis of the per­cep­tion of his char­ac­ter. He even cites, approv­ing­ly, the answer from Chi­na watch­er and rock­er Kaiser Kuo: “Dashan seems like a nice enough guy, but for some rea­son every once in a while I have the urge to punch him in the face.”

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

An Animated Interpretation of Billy Collins’ Poem, “Forgetfulness”

Some twen­ty-five years ago, my act­ing class spent an entire semes­ter on the plays of Anton Chekhov. At the time, it felt very vital, but like so much else I stud­ied in col­lege, what I wound up retain­ing is sad­ly piece­meal. One thing I do remem­ber is the youngest of the Three Sis­ters break­down upon real­iz­ing that they’ll nev­er make it to Moscow. At the heart of this freak-out is her despair that she, and every­one who mat­ters to her, is aging, a con­di­tion she defines as dimin­ish­ment. It seemed a bit over-the-top to me at the time. For god’s sake, she’s only 24. So what if she can’t remem­ber a few words of school­girl Ital­ian? Two and a half decades out, I was mis­re­mem­ber­ing her name as Anya, a momen­tary con­fu­sion eas­i­ly right­ed on my third Google search.

(IRINA. (Sob­bing.) Where? Where has it all gone? Where is it? Oh my God, my God! I have for­got­ten every­thing, for­got­ten every­thing… Every­thing is con­fused in my head… I can’t remem­ber what is the word for win­dow in Ital­ian, or for ceil­ing… I am for­get­ting every­thing, I for­get more every day, and life flies past and nev­er returns, nev­er, and we will nev­er go to Moscow… I see now that we will nev­er go…)

I flashed on this long ago melt­down while watch­ing “For­get­ful­ness,” the love­ly ani­ma­tion of the Bil­ly Collins poem, above. As Collins lists the seem­ing­ly incon­se­quen­tial things lost, it occurred to me that the cen­tral “you” could stand for any­body: you, me, an elder­ly rel­a­tive, Chekhov’s Iri­na. (Not Anya. If we’re to make it to Moscow, we bet­ter get crack­ing.)

We’re lucky to have artists like Chekhov, Collins, and by exten­sion, ani­ma­tor Julian Grey, all pos­sessed of the abil­i­ty to imbue one of mankind’s most depress­ing and time­ly real­i­ties with ten­der­ness and lyri­cism. Per­haps you’ll remem­ber some­one with whom to share “For­get­ful­ness”.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bil­ly Collins Poet­ry to Ani­mat­ed Life

The Ani­ma­tion of Bil­ly Collins’ Poet­ry

Ayun Hal­l­i­day describes some of the places she has been (not Moscow) in No Touch Mon­key! And Oth­er Trav­el Lessons Learned Too Late.

Harder Than It Looks: How to Make a Great Stop Motion Animation

Ever find your­self watch­ing a great lit­tle stop motion ani­ma­tion and think­ing, “Hey, I could do that?”  What’s that? You made one with some friends in mid­dle school? Great! Maybe you should bang one out tomor­row morn­ing, slap it up on YouTube, and brace your­self for the onslaught of pub­lic ado­ra­tion that’s so damnably dif­fi­cult to avoid when one’s cre­ation becomes a viral sen­sa­tion overnight.

Hold your hors­es, Gum­by. Film­mak­ing has grown increas­ing­ly demo­c­ra­t­ic in the dig­i­tal age, but a real­ly elab­o­rate stop motion ani­ma­tion is still a ton of work. Care to con­sid­er all that goes into one?

Try 382 Mole­sk­ine note­books; days of painstak­ing, no doubt bor­ing, labor; a cam­era dol­ly, a green screen, and a live, albeit less-than-pro­fes­sion­al, cat and mouse team. These are the pri­ma­ry ele­ments of Dutch “graph­ic motion design­er” Rogi­er Wieland’s “A Year in Full Colour,” a cun­ning salute to old-school dai­ly plan­ners. Unsur­pris­ing­ly, this flight of fan­cy was com­mis­sioned by Mole­sk­ine, a brand whose inroads into the iPad cov­er mar­ket would like­ly not be enough to keep things in the black should jot­ting things on paper go the way of the dodo.  Per­haps instead of mak­ing a stop motion of your own, you could pour your cre­ative efforts into record­ing your upcom­ing appoint­ments in a Mole­sk­ine clas­sic.

As to which you should view first—the fin­ished prod­uct (above) or the equal­ly brief, but high­ly illu­mi­nat­ing Mak­ing Of  (below)–we leave that in your capa­ble hands.

Relat­ed Con­tent

Spike Jonze Presents a Stop Motion Film for Book Lovers

Going West: A Stop Motion Nov­el

Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s plan­ner of choice is the Sling­shot Orga­niz­er  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

MAKERS Tells the Story of 50 Years of Progress for Women in the U.S.

Among the many thou­sands of items in my news­feed yes­ter­day, three popped out and stuck with me: First, a con­ser­v­a­tive pan­el called Inde­pen­dent Women’s Forum con­vened to dis­cuss their sense that “con­ser­v­a­tive lead­ers and fun­ders… don’t take women’s issues seri­ous­ly.” Pan­el mod­er­a­tor Christi­na Hoff Som­mers joked, “I’m not sure what’s worse: con­ser­v­a­tives ignor­ing women’s issues or con­ser­v­a­tives address­ing them.” The tone was light, but the sense of frus­tra­tion these women feel with their male col­leagues was very clear.

Sec­ond­ly, a UK come­di­an, Michael J. Dolan pub­lished a soul-search­ing piece much dis­cussed state­side in which he admits he was “a misog­y­nist come­di­an.” Dolan claims that, like racist come­di­ans of old, “Those ped­dling misog­y­ny, homo­pho­bia or oth­er vari­eties of hate to drunks who don’t know bet­ter are going to find them­selves out of favour.” And final­ly, for­mer pres­i­dent Jim­my Carter wrote an edi­to­r­i­al to announce that he is sev­er­ing his six-decade-long ties with the South­ern Bap­tist Con­ven­tion because of their view that women should be “sub­servient” to men. “It is sim­ply self-defeat­ing,” wrote Carter, “for any com­mu­ni­ty to dis­crim­i­nate against half its pop­u­la­tion.”

I men­tion these exam­ples because they seem to be part of a gen­er­al trend of cul­tur­al reassess­ment, after sev­er­al dis­mal­ly low points in the dis­cus­sion of gen­der equal­i­ty this past year, about the con­tin­ued institutionalization—in pol­i­tics, reli­gion, the work­place, and enter­tain­ment—of dam­ag­ing atti­tudes toward half of the human species. While it some­times seems that social change takes place at a glacial pace, with sev­er­al steps back for every step for­ward, there are always strong under­cur­rents of progress that aren’t read­i­ly appar­ent until some­one takes the time to orga­nize them into nar­ra­tives.

This is pre­cise­ly what the film­mak­ers of MAKERS aim to do. A “mul­ti-plat­form video expe­ri­ence” from AOL and PBS, the project show­cas­es “hun­dreds of com­pelling sto­ries from women of today and tomor­row… both known and unknown.” Unlike world­wide, pol­i­cy-based efforts like the just-end­ed 2013 Glob­al Mater­nal Health Con­fer­ence, MAKERS restricts its focus to women in the U.S. and, it seems, relies pri­mar­i­ly on indi­vid­ual women with promi­nent pub­lic roles—journalists, activists, writ­ers, and celebri­ties, or at least that’s the sense one gets from their intro­duc­to­ry video (above), which might open them up to charges of elit­ism. But there is more to the project than celebri­ty pro­files. In their own words, the pro­duc­ers of MAKERS describe the project thus:

MAKERS orig­i­nat­ed from a very clear premise: over the last half cen­tu­ry, the work of mil­lions of women has altered vir­tu­al­ly every aspect of Amer­i­can cul­ture. MAKERS fea­tures ground­break­ing women who have sparked change, been first in their fields and paved the way for those that fol­lowed. This ini­tia­tive also extends to pro­file hun­dreds of sto­ries of women who are dri­ving social change today.

Delve into the wealth of short doc­u­men­tary videos on the MAKERS YouTube chan­nel and you’ll see that there are dozens of women pro­filed who aren’t celebri­ties in the con­ven­tion­al sense. Sure, we’ve got stars of the screen and the pow­er cen­ters of gov­ern­ment and the cor­po­rate world, e.g. Ellen DeGeneres, Hilary Clin­ton, and Yahoo CEO Maris­sa May­er, but there are also less­er known “mak­ers,” like 15-year-old Tavi Gevin­son, founder and edi­tor-in-chief of webzine Rook­ie. Gevin­son is a prodi­gy who has built her own online media empire, begin­ning at the age of 11, when her fash­ion blog Style Rook­ie became one of the most pop­u­lar of its kind. Watch her (below) dis­cuss her own approach to typ­i­cal teenage inse­cu­ri­ties in an excerpt from her longer pro­file.

Anoth­er mak­er with a deeply inspir­ing sto­ry that you won’t hear in the dai­ly news cycle is Kather­ine Switzer, the first woman to enter the Boston Marathon in 1967. She did so by sign­ing the form with her ini­tials, mak­ing marathon offi­cials think she was a man. Below, Switzer recounts the curios­i­ty, bile, and dis­turbing­ly vio­lent harass­ment she faced dur­ing the race. It wasn’t until five years lat­er that the race was offi­cial­ly opened to women. By that time, Switzer was an activist for female run­ners.

The MAKERS project pro­files dozens of oth­er women—like civ­il rights lawyer and founder of Children’s Defense Fund Mar­i­an Wright Edel­man—who nor­mal­ly fly under the mass-media radar, but whose pres­ence in the cul­ture has an enor­mous impact. Keep your eye on PBS listings—on Feb­ru­ary 26th, they will air a three-hour doc­u­men­tary called MAKERS: Women Who Make Amer­i­ca, which promis­es to tell the “remark­able sto­ry for the first time” of the sweep­ing progress Amer­i­can women have made over the last half-cen­tu­ry.

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness.

152 Big Thinkers Answer the Question “What Should We Be Worried About?”

Edge_2013_Flower

It’s a new year, which means it’s time for the Edge.org to pose its annu­al ques­tion to some of the world’s finest minds. The 2013 edi­tion asks the ques­tion, â€śWhat Should We Be Wor­ried About?”. And the replies — 152 in total — fea­ture thoughts by Nas­sim Nicholas Taleb, Daniel Den­nettSher­ry Turkle, Lawrence Krauss, and Esther Dyson, plus the ones excerpt­ed below. If you’re will­ing to go down the rab­bit hole, you can access the com­plete col­lec­tion of respons­es here.

What I fear most is that we will lack the will and the fore­sight to face the world’s prob­lems square­ly, but will instead retreat from them into super­sti­tion and igno­rance. Con­sid­er how in 375 AD, after a dream in which he was whipped for being “a Ciceron­ian” rather than a Chris­t­ian, Saint Jerome resolved no more to read the clas­si­cal authors and to restrict him­self only to Chris­t­ian texts, how the Chris­tians of Alexan­dria mur­dered the philoso­pher and math­e­mati­cian Hypa­tia in 415, and real­ize that, at least in part, the so-called dark ages were not some­thing imposed from with­out, a break­down of civ­i­liza­tion due to bar­bar­ian inva­sions, but a choice, a turn­ing away from knowl­edge and dis­cov­ery into a kind of reli­gious fun­da­men­tal­ism. [Read the rest here.]

–Tim O’Reil­ly, Founder and CEO of O’Reil­ly Media, Inc.

Death is what makes this cycli­cal renew­al and steady advance in organ­isms pos­si­ble. Dis­cov­ered by liv­ing things mil­lions of years ago, aging and death per­mit a species to grow and flour­ish. Because nat­ur­al selec­tion ensures that the child-who-sur­vives-to-repro­duce is bet­ter than the par­ent (albeit infin­i­tes­i­mal­ly so, for that is how evo­lu­tion works), it is bet­ter for many species that the par­ent step out of the way and allow its (supe­ri­or) child to suc­ceed in its place.… So impor­tant is death that we have, wired into our genes, a self-destruct senes­cence pro­gram that shuts down oper­a­tions once we have suc­cess­ful­ly repro­duced, so that we even­tu­al­ly die, leav­ing our children—the fresh­er, new­er, shinier ver­sions of ourselves—to car­ry on with the best of what we have giv­en them: the best genes, the best art, and the best ideas. Four bil­lion years of death has served us well. Now, all this may be com­ing to an end, for one of the things we humans, with our evolved intel­li­gence, are work­ing hard at is try­ing to erad­i­cate death.[Read the rest here.]

–Kate Jef­fery, Head, Dept. of Cog­ni­tive, Per­cep­tu­al and Brain Sci­ences, Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege, Lon­don

Most of the smart peo­ple I know want noth­ing to do with pol­i­tics. We avoid it like the plague… Is this because we feel that pol­i­tics isn’t where any­thing sig­nif­i­cant hap­pens? Or because we’re too tak­en up with what we’re doing, be it Quan­tum Physics or Sta­tis­ti­cal Genomics or Gen­er­a­tive Music? Or because we’re too polite to get into argu­ments with peo­ple? …  It’s pol­i­tics that’s bleed­ing the poor­er nations for the debts of their for­mer dic­ta­tors. It’s pol­i­tics that allows spe­cial inter­ests to run the coun­try. It’s pol­i­tics that helped the banks wreck the econ­o­my. It’s pol­i­tics that pro­hibits gay mar­riage and stem cell research but nur­tures Gaza and Guan­tanamo.… What wor­ries me is that while we’re lais­sez-ing, some­one else is faire-ing. [Read the rest here]

–Bri­an Eno, Artist, Com­pos­er, Pro­duc­er

You can dive into the full col­lec­tion at Edge.org. The pho­to above was tak­en by Katin­ka Mat­son.

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