A Short Biography of Keith Haring Told with Comic Book Illustrations & Music

Singer-song­writer-car­toon­ist Jef­frey Lewis is a wor­thy exem­plar of NYC street cred.

Born, raised, and still resid­ing on New York City’s Low­er East Side, he draws comics under the “judg­men­tal” gaze of The Art of Daniel Clowes: Mod­ern Car­toon­ist and writes songs beneath a poster of The Ter­mi­na­tor onto which he graft­ed the face of Lou Reed from a stolen Time Out New York pro­mo.

Billing him­self as “among NYC’s top slingers of folk / garage­rock / antifolk,” Lewis pairs his songs with comics dur­ing live shows, pro­ject­ing orig­i­nal illus­tra­tions or flip­ping the pages of a sketch­book large enough for the audi­ence to see, a prac­tice he refers to as “low bud­get films.”

He’s also an ama­teur his­to­ri­an, as evi­denced by his eight-minute opus The His­to­ry of Punk on the Low­er East Side, 1950–1975 and  a series of extreme­ly “low bud­get films” for the His­to­ry chan­nel, on top­ics such as the French Rev­o­lu­tionMar­co Polo, and the fall of the Sovi­et Union.

His lat­est effort is a 3‑minute biog­ra­phy of artist Kei­th Har­ing, above, for the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art Mag­a­zine’s new Illus­trat­ed Lives series.

While Lewis isn’t a con­tem­po­rary of Haring’s, they def­i­nite­ly breathed the same air:

While Har­ing was spend­ing a cou­ple of for­ma­tive years involved with Club 57 and PS 122, there was lit­tle six-year-old me walk­ing down the street, so I can remem­ber and draw that ear­ly ’80s Low­er East Side/East Vil­lage with­out much stretch. My whole brain is made out of fire escapes and fire hydrants and ten­e­ment cor­nices.

Lewis gives then-ris­ing stars Jean-Michel Basquiat and per­for­mance artist Klaus Nomi cameo appear­ances, before escort­ing Har­ing down into the sub­way for a lit­er­al light­bulb moment.

In Haring’s own words:

…It seemed obvi­ous to me when I saw the first emp­ty sub­way pan­el that this was the per­fect sit­u­a­tion. The adver­tise­ments that fill every sub­way plat­form are changed peri­od­i­cal­ly. When there aren’t enough new ads, a black paper pan­el is sub­sti­tut­ed. I remem­ber notic­ing a pan­el in the Times Square sta­tion and imme­di­ate­ly going above­ground and buy­ing chalk. After the first draw­ing, things just fell into place. I began draw­ing in the sub­ways as a hob­by on my way to work. I had to ride the sub­ways often and would do a draw­ing while wait­ing for a train. In a few weeks, I start­ed to get respons­es from peo­ple who saw me doing it.

After a while, my sub­way draw­ings became more of a respon­si­bil­i­ty than a hob­by. So many peo­ple wished me luck and told me to “keep it up” that it became dif­fi­cult to stop. From the begin­ning, one of the main incen­tives was this con­tact with peo­ple. It became a reward­ing expe­ri­ence to draw and to see the draw­ings being appre­ci­at­ed. The num­ber of peo­ple pass­ing one of these draw­ings in a week was phe­nom­e­nal. Even if the draw­ing only remained up for only one day, enough peo­ple saw it to make it eas­i­ly worth my effort.

Towards the end of his jam-packed, 22-page “low bud­get film,” Lewis wan­ders from his tra­di­tion­al approach to car­toon­ing, reveal­ing him­self to be a keen stu­dent of Haring’s bold graph­ic style.

The final image, to the lyric, “Keith’s explo­sive short life­time and gen­er­ous heart speak like an infi­nite foun­tain from some deep well­spring of art,” is breath­tak­ing.

Spend time with some oth­er New York City icons that have cropped up in Jef­frey Lewis’ music, includ­ing the Chelsea Hotel, the sub­waythe bridges, and St. Mark’s Place.

Watch his low bud­get films for the His­to­ry Chan­nel here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Kei­th Haring’s Eclec­tic Jour­nal Entries Go Online

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Dogs, Inspired by Kei­th Har­ing

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

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

Download 280 Pictographs That Put Japanese Culture Into a New Visual Language: They’re Free for the Public to Use

“One of the biggest con­sid­er­a­tions when trav­el­ing to Japan is its inscrutable lan­guage,” writes Design­boom’s Juliana Neira. But then, one might also con­sid­er mak­ing that lan­guage more scrutable — and mak­ing one’s expe­ri­ence in Japan much rich­er — by learn­ing some of it. Kan­ji, the Chi­nese char­ac­ters used in the writ­ten Japan­ese lan­guage, may at first look like small, often bewil­der­ing­ly com­plex pic­tures, and many assume they visu­al­ly evoke the mean­ings they express. In fact, to use the lin­guis­tic terms, they’re not pic­tograms, rep­re­sen­ta­tions of thoughts or ideas, but logograms, rep­re­sen­ta­tions of words or parts of words.

Resem­ble minia­ture works of art though they often do, kan­ji aren’t entire­ly unsys­tem­at­ic. This helps begin­ning learn­ers get a han­dle on the first and most essen­tial char­ac­ters of the thou­sands they’ll even­tu­al­ly need to know.

So does the fact that some of them, in ori­gin, real­ly are pic­to­graph­ic — that is, they look like the mean­ing of the word they rep­re­sent — or at least pic­to­graph­ic enough to make them teach­able through images. The Japan­ese word for “moun­tain,” to cite an ele­men­tary exam­ple, is 山; “riv­er” is 川; “tree” is 木. Alas, most of us who enjoy the 山, 川, and 木 of Japan — to say noth­ing of the 書店 and 喫茶店 in its cities — haven’t been able to vis­it them at all in this past pan­dem­ic year.

“After expe­ri­enc­ing years of tourism growth, tourists to Japan are down over 95% due to the pan­dem­ic,” writes Spoon & Tam­ago’s John­ny Wald­man. “Graph­ic design­er Kenya Hara and his firm Nip­pon Design Cen­ter have self-ini­ti­at­ed a project to release over 250 pic­tograms — free for any­one to use — in sup­port of tourism in Japan from a visu­al design per­spec­tive.” Col­lec­tive­ly ban­nered the Expe­ri­ence Japan Pic­tograms, these clear and evoca­tive icons rep­re­sent a wide range of the places and activ­i­ties one can enjoy in the Land of the Ris­ing Sun: ski­ing and surf­ing, cal­lig­ra­phy and open-air hot-spring bathing, Gin­za and Asakusa, Toky­o’s Skytree and Osaka’s Tsūtenkaku Tow­er.

The Expe­ri­ence Japan Pic­tograms hard­ly fail to include the glo­ries of Japan­ese cui­sine — sushi, tem­pu­ra, soba, and even the Japan­i­fied han­bāgā — which piques so many for­eign­ers’ inter­est in Japan to begin with. Click on any of them and you’ll see a brief cul­tur­al and his­tor­i­cal expla­na­tion of the item, activ­i­ty, place, or con­cept in ques­tion, along with the rel­e­vant Japan­ese term (in kan­ji where applic­a­ble) and its pro­nun­ci­a­tion. You can also down­load them in the col­or scheme of your choice and use them for any pur­pos­es you like, includ­ing com­mer­cial ones. The more wide­ly adopt­ed they are, the more con­ve­nient Japan­ese tourism will become for those who don’t read Japan­ese. Those who do can hard­ly deny the plea­sure of hav­ing anoth­er Japan­ese lan­guage to learn — and a tru­ly pic­to­graph­ic one at that.

via Spoon & Tam­a­go

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Learn Japan­ese Free

Vin­tage 1930s Japan­ese Posters Artis­ti­cal­ly Mar­ket the Won­ders of Trav­el

Dis­cov­er Iso­type, the 1920s Attempt to Cre­ate a Uni­ver­sal Lan­guage with Styl­ish Icons & Graph­ic Design

The Hobo Code: An Intro­duc­tion to the Hiero­glyph­ic Lan­guage of Ear­ly 1900s Train-Hop­pers

Google Makes Avail­able 750 Icons for Design­ers & Devel­op­ers: All Open Source 

Braille Neue: A New Ver­sion of Braille That Can Be Simul­ta­ne­ous­ly Read by the Sight­ed and the Blind

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

The Surface of Mars Shown in Stunning 4K Resolution

Could you use a men­tal escape? Some­thing that trans­ports you beyond the con­fines of your pan­dem­ic-nar­rowed world? Maybe a trip to Mars will do the trick. Above and below, you can find high def­i­n­i­tion footage cap­tured by NASA’s three Mars rovers–Spirit, Oppor­tu­ni­ty and Curios­i­ty. The footage (also con­tributed by JPL-Cal­techMSSSCor­nell Uni­ver­si­ty and ASU) was stitched togeth­er by Elder­Fox Doc­u­men­taries, cre­at­ing what they call the most life­like expe­ri­ence of being on Mars.

Safe trav­els.

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!

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan Presents Six Lec­tures on Earth, Mars & Our Solar Sys­tem … For Kids (1977)

Mars Rover, Curios­i­ty, Will Face Sev­en Min­utes of Ter­ror on August 5

NASA Releas­es a Mas­sive Online Archive: 140,000 Pho­tos, Videos & Audio Files Free to Search and Down­load

Leonard Nimoy Nar­rates Short Film About NASA’s Dawn: A Voy­age to the Ori­gins of the Solar Sys­tem

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Travel from Rotterdam to Amsterdam in 10 Minutes by Boat: A 4k Timelapse

In 2013, a boat trav­eled from Rot­ter­dam to Ams­ter­dam, with a time­lapse cam­era installed 30 meters high. The result­ing film “gives a unique and stun­ning view of the old Dutch water­ways, in 4K.” And lots of bridges along the way.

All images were shot with a Canon 550d at an inter­val of 3 sec­onds. 30,000 pic­tures were tak­en in total. Ini­tial­ly, “the film could­n’t be pub­lished due to restric­tions. After a few years it was for­got­ten.” But now it has been res­ur­rect­ed, and it’s online.

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:

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

How Venice Works: 124 Islands, 183 Canals & 438 Bridges

The Rijksmu­se­um in Ams­ter­dam Has Dig­i­tized 709,000 Works of Art, Includ­ing Famous Works by Rem­brandt and Ver­meer

Revis­it Scenes of Dai­ly Life in Ams­ter­dam in 1922, with His­toric Footage Enhanced by Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

Take a Road Trip Across America with Cartoonist Lynda Barry in the 90s Documentary, Grandma’s Way Out Party

Who wouldn’t love to take a road trip with beloved car­toon­ist and edu­ca­tor Lyn­da Bar­ry? As evi­denced by Grandma’s Way Out Par­ty, above, an ear­ly-90s doc­u­men­tary made for Twin Cities Pub­lic Tele­vi­sion, Bar­ry not only finds the humor in every sit­u­a­tion, she’s always up for a detour, whether to a time hon­ored des­ti­na­tion like Mount Rush­more or Old Faith­ful, or a more impul­sive pit­stop, like a Wash­ing­ton state car repair shop dec­o­rat­ed with sculp­tures made from cast off muf­flers or the Mon­tana State Prison Hob­by Store.

Alter­nat­ing in the driver’s seat with then-boyfriend, sto­ry­teller Kevin Kling, she makes up songs on her accor­dion, clowns around in a cheap cow­girl hat, sam­ples an over­sized gas sta­tion donut, and chats up every­one she encoun­ters.

At the World’s Only Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dako­ta, she breaks the ice by ask­ing a beard­ed local guy in offi­cial Corn Palace cap and t‑shirt if his job is the ful­fill­ment of a long held dream.

“Nah,” he says. “I thought it was a joke … in Far­go, they call it the world’s biggest bird feed­er. We do have the biggest birds in South Dako­ta. They get fed good.”

He leads them to Cal Schultz, the art teacher who designed over 25 years worth of murals fes­toon­ing the exte­ri­or walls. Nudged by Bar­ry to pick a favorite, Schultz choos­es one that his 9th grade stu­dents worked on.

“I would have loved to have been in his class,” Bar­ry, a teacher now her­self, says emphat­i­cal­ly. “I would have giv­en any­thing to have worked on a Corn Palace when I was 14-years-old.”

This point is dri­ven home with a quick view of her best known cre­ation, the pig­tailed, bespec­ta­cled Marlys, osten­si­bly ren­dered in corn—an hon­or Marlys would no doubt appre­ci­ate.

Bar­ry has long been laud­ed for her under­stand­ing of and respect for children’s inner lives, and we see this nat­ur­al affin­i­ty in action when she befriends Desmond and Jake, two young par­tic­i­pants in the Crow Fair Pow Wowjust south of Billings, Mon­tana.

Frus­trat­ed by her inabil­i­ty to get a han­dle on the pro­ceed­ings (“Why didn’t I learn it in school!? Why wasn’t it part of our cur­ricu­lum?”), Bar­ry retreats to the com­fort of her sketch­book, which attracts the curi­ous boys. Even­tu­al­ly, she draws their por­traits to give them as keep­sakes, get­ting to know them bet­ter in the process.

The draw­ings they make in return are trea­sured by the recip­i­ent, not least for the win­dow they pro­vide on the cul­ture with which they are so casu­al­ly famil­iar.

Bar­ry and Kling also chance upon the Stur­gis Motor­cy­cle Ral­ly, and after a bite at the Road Kill Cafe (“from your grill to ours”), Bar­ry wax­es philo­soph­i­cal about the then-unusu­al sight of so much tat­tooed flesh:

There’s some­thing about the fact that they want some­thing on them that they can’t wash off, that even on days when they don’t want peo­ple to know they’re a bik­er, it’s still there. And I have always loved that about peo­ple, like …drag queens who will shave off their eye­brows so they can draw per­fect eye­brows on, or any­body who knows they’re dif­fer­ent and does some­thing to them­selves phys­i­cal­ly so that even on their bad days, they can’t deny it. Because I think that in the end, that’s sort of what saves your life, that you wear your col­ors. You can’t help it.

The afore­men­tioned muf­fler store prompts some mus­ings that will be very famil­iar to any­one who has immersed them­selves in Mak­ing ComicsPic­ture This, or any oth­er of Barry’s instruc­tion­al books con­tain­ing her won­der­ful­ly loopy, intu­itive cre­ative exer­cis­es:

I think this urge to cre­ate is actu­al­ly our ani­mal instinct. And what’s sad is if we don’t let that come through us, I don’t think we have a full life on this earth. And I think we get sick because of it. I mean, it’s weird that it’s an instinct, but it’s an option, just like you can take a wild ani­mal, a beau­ti­ful, wild ani­mal and put him in a zoo. They live, they’re fine in their cage, but you don’t get to see them do the thing that a chee­tah does best, which is, you know, just run like the wind and be able to jump and do the things… I mean, it’s our instinct, it’s instinc­tu­al, it’s our beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful, mag­i­cal, poet­ic, mys­te­ri­ous instinct. And every once in a while, you see the flower of it come right up out of a gas sta­tion. 

After 1653 miles and one squab­ble after over­shoot­ing a sched­uled stop (“You don’t want me to go to Butte!”), the two arrive at their final des­ti­na­tion, Barry’s child­hood home in Seat­tle. The occa­sion? Barry’s Fil­ipino grandmother’s 83rd birth­day, and plans are afoot for a potluck bash at the local VFW hall. Fans will swoon to meet this ven­er­at­ed lady and the rest of Barry’s extend­ed clan, and hear Barry’s reflec­tions on what it was like to grow up in a work­ing class neigh­bor­hood where most of the fam­i­lies were mul­ti-racial.

“I walked in and it was every­thing Lyn­da said,” Kling mar­vels.

Indeed.

The jour­ney is every­thing we could have hoped for, too.

Lis­ten to a post-trip inter­view with Kling on Min­neso­ta Pub­lic Radio.

H/t to read­er Char­lotte Book­er

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lyn­da Bar­ry on How the Smart­phone Is Endan­ger­ing Three Ingre­di­ents of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Lone­li­ness, Uncer­tain­ty & Bore­dom

Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry Shows You How to Draw Bat­man in Her UW-Madi­son Course, “Mak­ing Comics”

Lyn­da Barry’s New Book Offers a Mas­ter Class in Mak­ing Comics

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine — cur­rent issue: #63 Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Watch 36 Short Animations That Tell the Origin Stories of Mexico’s Indigenous Peoples in Their Own Languages

In our efforts to pre­serve endan­gered species we seem to over­look some­thing equal­ly impor­tant. To me it is a sign of a deeply dis­turbed civ­i­liza­tion where tree hug­gers and whale hug­gers in their weird­ness are accept­able while no one embraces the last speak­ers of a lan­guage.

 — Wern­er Her­zog, Encoun­ters at the End of the World

Trees and whales aside, we sus­pect the ever quotable Her­zog would warm to fel­low direc­tor Gabriela Badil­lo’s 68 Voic­es, 68 Hearts, a series of one-minute ani­ma­tions that pre­serve indige­nous Mex­i­can sto­ries with nar­ra­tion pro­vid­ed by native speak­ers.

“It was cre­at­ed in order to help fos­ter pride, respect, and the use of indige­nous Mex­i­can lan­guages between speak­ers and non-speak­ers, as well as to help reduce dis­crim­i­na­tion and fos­ter a sense of pride towards all com­mu­ni­ties and cul­tures that are part of the cul­tur­al rich­ness that makes up Mex­i­co,” Badil­lo says in an inter­view with Awasqa.

The project stemmed from a real­iza­tion in the wake of the death of her grand­fa­ther, a Max­canu from Yucatan:

Aside from los­ing a loved one, I real­ized that an enor­mous wis­dom had also been lost: a lan­guage, sto­ries, tra­di­tions and cus­toms, a whole world had dis­solved with him.

Each ani­ma­tion involves col­lab­o­ra­tion with the Nation­al Insti­tute of Indige­nous Lan­guage and the com­mu­ni­ty whose sto­ry is being shared. Com­mu­ni­ty mem­bers choose the sub­ject, then sup­ply nar­ra­tion and trans­la­tion. Their chil­dren draw scenes from the select­ed sto­ry, which steers the style of ani­ma­tion.

Pri­or to being released to the gen­er­al pub­lic, each film is pre­sent­ed to its com­mu­ni­ty of ori­gin, along with a book­let of sug­gest­ed edu­ca­tion­al activ­i­ties for par­ents and teach­ers to use in con­junc­tion with screen­ings. Box­es of post­cards fea­tur­ing art­work from the series are donat­ed to the com­mu­ni­ty school.

Some of the entries, like the above About Earth­quakes and the Ori­gin of Life on Earth, nar­rat­ed in Ch’ol by Euge­nia Cruz Mon­te­jo, pack a mas­sive amount of sto­ry into the allot­ted minute:

They say many years ago Ch’u­j­ti­at, the Heav­en’s lord, cre­at­ed the Earth with 12 immor­tal men to car­ry it. And it is when they get tired that the Earth moves, pro­vok­ing earth­quakes.

At the same time he cre­at­ed the first men, who were ungrate­ful, so Ch’u­j­ti­at sent the flood and turned the sur­vivors into mon­keys, and the inno­cent chil­dren into stars. He then cre­at­ed our first par­ents, na’al, Ixic y Xun’Ok, who mul­ti­plied and pop­u­lat­ed the Earth. 

That’s how life on Earth began.That’s how the Ch’oles tell it.

Vari­ants of “that’s how we tell it” are a com­mon refrain, as in the Cora (also known as Náay­eri) sto­ry of how the Moth­er God­dess cre­at­ed earth (and oth­er gods), nar­rat­ed by Pedro Muñiz López.

Here is the writ­ten ver­sion, in Cora:

E’itɨ tiuséi­jre cháana­ka

Yaapú ti’nyúukari tɨkɨn a’najpú ɨtyáj nái­mi ajnáana Náa­sisaa, Téijkame jemín ɨ cháana­ka ajtá ɨ máxkɨrai, góutaaguaka’a ɨ tabóu­jsimua yaati’xáata tɨkɨn mata’a já guatéchaɨn majtá tyuipuán iyakúi cháana­ka japuá.

Muxáj kɨmen­pú góutaaguaka’a tɨ’kí nájkɨ’ta gojoutyáj­tua. Áuna me’séira aɨjme tabou­jsimua matákua’naxɨ.

Tɨ’kí aɨj­na tanáana Náa­sisaa, ukɨpuapú guatákɨɨnitya’a, yán guajaikagua’xɨjre uyóu­j­mua matɨ’jmí jet­sán guatyáakɨ yán miye’ntiné tajapuá. Kapú aɨn jé’i, matákua’naxɨ máj akábibɨɨ yán juté’e, makaupɨxɨɨ ujet­sé matɨ’jmí chuéj kɨj ten­tyóu metya’úrara, ajtá ɨ Taja’as xu’rabe’táana tiuɨrɨj tyau­tyáj­tua ajpúi tanáana Náa­sisaa tsíikɨri guatyákɨs­ta­ka ukɨpuá kɨmen. Japuan­pú aɨj­na chuéj utía­j­ka tɨ’kí goutaíjte aɨjme tabóu­jsimua guatái­jte máj atapa’tsaren metya’tanya’tɨkɨ’káa ayaapú tiutéjbe máj tiunéi­tan.

Ayaapú tiuséi­jre cháana­ka. Ayáj tigua’nyúukari Náay­eri.

Badillo’s edu­ca­tion­al mis­sion is well served by one of our favorites, The Ori­gin of the Moun­tains. In addi­tion to moun­tains, this Cucapá sto­ry, nar­rat­ed by Inocen­cia González Sainz, delves into the ori­gin of oceans and the Col­orado Riv­er, though fair warning—it may be dif­fi­cult to restore class­room order once the stu­dents hear that tes­ti­cles and ear­wax fig­ure promi­nent­ly.

To watch a playlist of the 36 ani­ma­tions com­plet­ed so far with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles, click here.

68 Voic­es, 68 Heart’s Kick­starter page has more infor­ma­tion about this ongo­ing project. Con­tri­bu­tions will go toward ani­mat­ing sto­ries in the three lan­guages that are at the high­est risk of dis­ap­pear­ing—AkatekoPopolo­ca, and Ku’ahl.

As Badil­lo writes:

When a lan­guage dis­ap­pears, not only a sound, a way of writ­ing, a let­ter or a word goes away. Some­thing much deep­er than just a form of com­mu­ni­ca­tion dis­ap­pears — a way of see­ing and con­ceiv­ing the world, sto­ries, tales, a way of nam­ing and relat­ing to things, an enor­mous knowl­edge that we should relearn because of its deep respect with nature.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

200+ Films by Indige­nous Direc­tors Now Free to View Online: A New Archive Launched by the Nation­al Film Board of Cana­da

Peru­vian Schol­ar Writes & Defends the First The­sis Writ­ten in Quechua, the Main Lan­guage of the Incan Empire

Opti­cal Scan­ning Tech­nol­o­gy Lets Researchers Recov­er Lost Indige­nous Lan­guages from Old Wax Cylin­der Record­ings

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. She most recent­ly appeared as a French Cana­di­an bear who trav­els to New York City in search of food and mean­ing in Greg Kotis’ short film, L’Ourse.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Rick Steves’ Europe: Binge Watch 11 Seasons of America’s Favorite Traveler Free Online

“Peo­ple who are addict­ed to Euro­pean trav­el, this is kind of a frus­trat­ing time for them,” says Rick Steves in a pod­cast inter­view with The New York Times’ Sam Ander­son from this past spring. He should know: since becom­ing a pro­fes­sion­al trav­el guide and edu­ca­tor in the late 1970s, Steves has har­nessed his own Euro­pean trav­el addic­tion to build a busi­ness empire. To his fel­low Europhiles — and espe­cial­ly his fel­low Europhile but monoglot Amer­i­cans mak­ing their first leap across the Atlantic — Steves has sold a great many class­es, tours, guide­books, mon­ey belts, and neck pil­lows. Over the past three decades, almost every­one who’s got to know him has done so through his trav­el shows on pub­lic tele­vi­sion, espe­cial­ly Rick Steves’ Europe.

“Steves is a joy­ful and jaun­ty host, all eager-beaver smiles and expres­sive head tilts,” writes Ander­son of the show, whose star “gush­es poet­i­cal­ly about England’s Lake Dis­trict (‘a lush land steeped in a rich brew of his­to­ry, cul­ture and nature’) and Erfurt, Ger­many (‘this half-tim­bered medieval town with a shal­low riv­er gur­gling through its cen­ter’) and Istan­bul (‘this sprawl­ing metrop­o­lis on the Bosporus’) and Lis­bon (‘like San Fran­cis­co, but old­er and grit­ti­er and less expen­sive’).”

In recent years, sea­sons of Rick Steves’ Europe have become free to watch on Youtube. The eleven full sea­sons now avail­able also include “Ger­many’s Roman­tic Rhine”; Nor­mandy, “War-Torn Yet Full of Life”; “Feisty and Poet­ic” North Wales; “Lit­tle Europe: Five Micro-Coun­tries”; Basque coun­try; and The Best of Slove­nia.

As well known for his prac­ti­cal-mind­ed­ness as he is for his cheer­ful­ness, Steves has also pro­duced such spe­cial broad­casts as a three-part series on the trav­el skills nec­es­sary to cross huge swaths of Europe safe­ly and enjoy­ably. Giv­en the ongo­ing coro­n­avirus pan­dem­ic, how­ev­er, it will be a while before any of us can once again put our trav­el skills to the test. “This virus can stop our trav­el plans, but it can­not stop our trav­el dreams,” Steves declares on the pod­cast with Ander­son, lead­ing into the announce­ment of a new game: Rick Steves’ Europe Bin­go, “where the cards have all of the lit­tle goofy clichés that show up in almost every one of my shows,” from “Rick vis­its a church” and “Rick enjoys a local drink” to sig­na­ture lines like “Oh, baby!” and “Keep on trav­elin’.”

“You can turn it into a drink­ing game if you want,” Steves notes. And indeed, with or with­out the aid of alco­hol, there are much worse ways for trav­el­ers to pass the remain­der of the pan­dem­ic than with an extend­ed binge-watch of Rick Steves’ Europe, whose sea­sons are orga­nized into playlists below:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry of Fas­cism: Rick Steves’ Doc­u­men­tary Helps Us Learn from the Hard Lessons of the 20th Cen­tu­ry

Explore the Entire World–from the Com­fort of Quar­an­tine — with 4K Walk­ing Tours

High-Res­o­lu­tion Walk­ing Tours of Italy’s Most His­toric Places: The Colos­se­um, Pom­peii, St. Peter’s Basil­i­ca & More

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

The Deadliest Garden in the World: Visit Alnwick’s Poison Garden in Northumberland, England

The mind reels to think of all the ear­ly humans who sac­ri­ficed them­selves, unwit­ting­ly, in the pre­his­toric quest to learn which plants were safe to eat, which were suit­able for heal­ing, and which would maim or kill who­ev­er who touched them. Even now, of course, the great major­i­ty of us rely on experts to make these dis­tinc­tions for us. Unless we’re steeped in field train­ing and/or folk knowl­edge, it’s safe to say most of us wouldn’t have a clue how to avoid poi­son­ing our­selves in the wild.

This need not over­ly con­cern us on a vis­it to The Poi­son Gar­den, how­ev­er. Nes­tled in man­i­cured lanes at Alnwick Gar­den, “one of north England’s most beau­ti­ful attrac­tions,” Natasha Geil­ing writes at Smith­son­ian, the Poi­son Gar­den includes such infa­mous killers as hem­lock, Atropa bel­ladon­na (a.k.a. Dead­ly Night­shade), and Strych­nos nux-vom­i­ca, the source of strych­nine, in its col­lec­tions. Just don’t touch the plants and you should be fine. Oh, and also, guides tell vis­i­tors, “don’t even smell them.” It should go with­out say­ing that tast­ing is out.

The Poi­son Gar­den is hard­ly the main attrac­tion at Alnwick, in Northum­ber­land. The cas­tle itself was used as the set­ting for Hog­warts in the first two Har­ry Pot­ter films. The 14 acres of con­tro­ver­sial mod­ern land­scape gardens–designed by the flam­boy­ant Jane Per­cy, Duchess of Northum­ber­land–have become famous in their own right, in part for vio­lat­ing “England’s archi­tec­tur­al pat­ri­mo­ny,” a scan­dal you can read about here. (One gar­den design­er and crit­ic called it a “pop­u­lar enter­tain­ment, the dream of a girl who looks like Posh and lives at Hog­warts.”)

The duchess responds to crit­i­cism of her extrav­a­gant designs with a shrug. “A lot of my ideas come from Las Vegas and Euro Dis­ney,” she admits. The Poi­son Gar­den has a much more ven­er­a­ble source, the Orto Botan­i­co in Pad­ua, the old­est extant aca­d­e­m­ic botan­i­cal gar­den, found­ed in 1545, with its own poi­son gar­den that dates to the time of the Medicis. After a vis­it, Per­cy “became enthralled with the idea of cre­at­ing a gar­den of plants that could kill instead of heal,” writes Geil­ing. She thought of it, specif­i­cal­ly, as “a way to inter­est chil­dren.” As the duchess says:

Chil­dren don’t care that aspirin comes from the bark of a tree. What’s real­ly inter­est­ing is to know how a plant kills you, and how the patient dies, and what you feel like before you die.

What child doesn’t won­der about such things? And if we teach kids how to avoid poi­so­nous plants, they can keep the rest of us alive should we have to retreat into the woods and become for­agers again. The Poi­son Gar­den also grows plants from which com­mon recre­ation­al drugs derive, like cannabis and cocaine, “as a jump­ing-off point for drug edu­ca­tion,” Geil­ing points out.

Pro­vid­ed vis­i­tors fol­low the rules, the gar­den is safe, “although some peo­ple still occa­sion­al­ly faint from inhal­ing tox­ic fumes,” Alnwick Garden’s web­site warns. And while it’s designed to attract and edu­cate kids, there’s a lit­tle some­thing for every­one. Percy’s favorite poi­so­nous plant, for exam­ple, Brug­man­sia, or angel’s trum­pet, acts as a pow­er­ful aphro­disi­ac before it kills. She explains with glee that “Vic­to­ri­an ladies would often keep a flower from the plant on their card tables and add small amounts of its pollen to their tea to incite an LSD-like trip.” You can learn many oth­er fas­ci­nat­ing facts about plants that kill, and do oth­er things, at Alnwick’s Poi­son Gar­den when the world opens up again.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Oliv­er Sacks Pro­motes the Heal­ing Pow­er of Gar­dens: They’re “More Pow­er­ful Than Any Med­ica­tion”

Denmark’s Utopi­an Gar­den City Built Entire­ly in Cir­cles: See Astound­ing Aer­i­al Views of Brønd­by Have­by

What Voltaire Meant When He Said That “We Must Cul­ti­vate Our Gar­den”: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion

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

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