An Introduction to Jean Baudrillard, Who Predicted the Simulation-Like Reality in Which We Live

Each and every morn­ing, many of us wake up and imme­di­ate­ly check on what’s hap­pen­ing in the world. Some­times these events stir emo­tions with­in us, and occa­sion­al­ly we act on those emo­tions, which raise in us a desire to affect the world our­selves. But does this entire rit­u­al involve any­thing real? While per­form­ing it we don’t expe­ri­ence the world, but only media; when we respond, we respond not with action in the world, but only with action in media. We have direct­ly inter­act­ed, to put it blunt­ly, with noth­ing more than pix­els on a screen. This con­di­tion has piti­less­ly inten­si­fied in our era of smart­phones and social media, and though philoso­pher and soci­ol­o­gist Jean Bau­drillard died three months before the intro­duc­tion of the iPhone, noth­ing about it would sur­prise him.

Assem­bled in an omi­nous, vin­tage stock footage-heavy style rem­i­nis­cent of Adam Cur­tis (he of The Cen­tu­ry of the Self and Hyper­Nor­mal­i­sa­tion), the half-hour Then & Now video essay above pro­vides an intro­duc­tion to Bau­drillard’s ideas, espe­cial­ly those that pre­dict­ed the world in which we live today, a “hyper­re­al post­mod­ern” one filled with signs ref­er­enc­ing lit­tle that actu­al­ly exists. “In the run-up to the 2008 crash,” the nar­ra­tor reminds us, “the real val­ue of mort­gages was hid­den under lay­ers of sign val­ue, under deceit­ful insur­ance poli­cies and finan­cial rat­ings based on noth­ing.” On the news, “it does­n’t mat­ter what’s real. What mat­ters is how it’s said, who says it — the per­spec­tive, whether it will be provoca­tive enough, whether it will enter­tain.” We live, in sum, in a “post­mod­ern car­ni­val” where  “things like real­i­ty TV, Dis­ney­land, and Face­book define our lives.”

Bau­drillard saw this hap­pen­ing near­ly 40 years ago: “Peo­ple no longer look at each oth­er, but there are insti­tutes for that,” he writes in Sim­u­lacra and Sim­u­la­tion. “They no longer touch each oth­er, but there is con­tac­tother­a­py. They no longer walk, but they go jog­ging, etc. Every­where one recy­cles lost fac­ul­ties, or lost bod­ies, or lost social­i­ty, or the lost taste for food.” He cred­it­ed Mar­shall McLuhan, fel­low gnom­ic observ­er of late 20th-cen­tu­ry soci­ety, with “one of the defin­ing axioms of post­mod­ern life.” When McLuhan declared that “the medi­um is the mes­sage,” says the nar­ra­tor, he saw that “what mat­tered in this new world was not what was real and mate­r­i­al, but what was rep­re­sent­ed as signs: in short, tele­vi­sion, and now the com­put­er screen, has come to dom­i­nate social life. Sign pro­duc­tion has replaced mate­r­i­al pro­duc­tion as the orga­niz­ing prin­ci­ple of polit­i­cal econ­o­my.”

What would Bau­drillard make of a pro­duc­tion like HBO’s Cher­nobyl, whose painstak­ing recon­struc­tion of his­tor­i­cal events we pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture? What made that show a spec­ta­cle, says the nar­ra­tor, was that “the depic­tion was more real than the event itself: cos­tumes, props, spe­cial effects, and the per­fect angle, the Geiger counter mapped onto the score already overde­ter­mined by signs.” And so, “in twen­ty years’ time we think of Cher­nobyl, will we think of the real event, or images con­jured by TV stu­dios?” But we need hard­ly look that far into the future. The very things our screens insist to us are hap­pen­ing in the world right now, far beyond the walls of the homes few­er and few­er of us leave these days — what do we tru­ly know of their exis­tence apart from this dig­i­tal bliz­zard of signs? If Bau­drillard were alive to hear our spec­u­la­tion about the pos­si­bil­i­ty that we live in anoth­er being’s sim­u­la­tion, he’d sure­ly point out that we’ve already cre­at­ed the sim­u­la­tion our­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

French Philoso­pher Jean Bau­drillard Reads His Poet­ry, Backed By All-Star Arts Band (1996)

Hear the Writ­ing of French The­o­rists Jacques Der­ri­da, Jean Bau­drillard & Roland Barthes Sung by Poet Ken­neth Gold­smith

The Sim­u­la­tion The­o­ry Explained In Three Ani­mat­ed Videos

McLuhan Said “The Medi­um Is The Mes­sage”; Two Pieces Of Media Decode the Famous Phrase

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Roland Barthes’s Mytholo­gies and How He Used Semi­otics to Decode Pop­u­lar Cul­ture

Is Mod­ern Soci­ety Steal­ing What Makes Us Human?: A Glimpse Into Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathus­tra by The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life

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

Watch the Famous James Baldwin-William F. Buckley Debate in Full, With Restored Audio (1965)

When James Bald­win took the stage to debate William F. Buck­ley at Cam­bridge in 1965, it was to have “a debate we shouldn’t need,” writes Gabrielle Bel­lot at Lit­er­ary Hub, and yet it’s one that is still “as impor­tant as ever.” The propo­si­tion before the two men—famed prophet­ic nov­el­ist of the black expe­ri­ence in Amer­i­ca and the con­ser­v­a­tive founder of the Nation­al Review—was this: “The Amer­i­can Dream is at the Expense of the Amer­i­ca Negro.”

The state­ment should not need defend­ing, Bald­win argued, because it is so obvi­ous­ly true. The wealth cre­at­ed by hun­dreds of years of slav­ery has passed down through gen­er­a­tions of fam­i­lies. So too has the pover­ty. These divi­sions have been stren­u­ous­ly main­tained by Jim Crow, redlin­ing, and racist polic­ing. “Prof­its from slav­ery,” write Stephen Smith and Kate Ellis at APM Reports, “helped fund some of the most pres­ti­gious schools in the North­east, includ­ing Har­vard, Colum­bia, Prince­ton and Yale,” which hap­pened to be Buckley’s alma mater and was found­ed by an actu­al slave trad­er.

Slave labor fund­ed, built, and main­tained near­ly every part of the for­ma­tive uni­ver­si­ty sys­tem in the ear­ly U.S., and built the wealth of many oth­er pow­er­ful insti­tu­tions. Bald­win says it is “awk­ward” to have to point out these facts. Rather than recite them, he per­son­al­izes, speak­ing, he says, as “a kind of Jere­mi­ah” in nam­ing crimes gone unre­dressed for too long: “I am stat­ing very seri­ous­ly, and this is not an over­state­ment. I picked the cot­ton, I car­ried it to the mar­ket, and I built the rail­roads under some­one else’s whip for noth­ing. For noth­ing…. The Amer­i­can soil is full of the corpses of my ances­tors. Why is my free­dom or my cit­i­zen­ship, or my right to live there, how is it con­ceiv­ably a ques­tion now?”

Buckley’s response drips with con­de­scen­sion and con­tempt. He begins with a stan­dard con­ser­v­a­tive line: deplor­ing the acts of a few “indi­vid­ual Amer­i­can cit­i­zens” who “per­pet­u­ate dis­crim­i­na­tion,” but deny­ing that his­toric, sys­temic racism still exists. He then cites “the fail­ure of the Negro com­mu­ni­ty itself to make cer­tain exer­tions, which were made by oth­er minor­i­ty groups dur­ing the Amer­i­can expe­ri­ence.” He damns an entire group of peo­ple with plat­i­tudes about hard work while also declar­ing loud­ly that race has noth­ing to do with it.

This contradiction—engaging in racist scape­goat­ing while claim­ing not to see race—was part of the strat­e­gy of “col­or­blind” con­ser­vatism the Nation­al Review adopt­ed after the pas­sage the Civ­il Rights Act. Pri­or to the ear­ly six­ties, how­ev­er, Buck­ley had been a stri­dent seg­re­ga­tion­ist who pub­licly defend­ed insti­tu­tion­al­ized white suprema­cy rather than claim­ing it had dis­ap­peared. In 1957, he wrote an edi­to­r­i­al titled “Why the South Must Pre­vail” and argued that white south­ern politi­cians must “take such mea­sures as are nec­es­sary to pre­vail, polit­i­cal­ly and cul­tur­al­ly” over black cit­i­zens.

Buck­ley had not fun­da­men­tal­ly changed in 1965, though he posi­tioned him­self as a mod­er­ate mid­dle ground between lib­er­als and seg­re­ga­tion­ists like Strom Thur­mond, whom he con­sid­ered crude. His posi­tion amounts to lit­tle more than a defense of dom­i­na­tion, couched in what his­to­ri­an Joshua Tait calls the “racial inno­cence of intel­lec­tu­al con­ser­vatism” that delib­er­ate­ly ignores or dis­torts his­tor­i­cal truths and present real­i­ties. “Bristling at Baldwin’s claim that the Amer­i­can econ­o­my was built by the unre­mu­ner­at­ed labour of Black peo­ple,” writes Joss Har­ri­son, “Buck­ley cries: ‘My great grand­par­ents worked too!’”

The debate “now stands as one of the arche­typ­al artic­u­la­tions of the divid­ing line between US pro­gres­sives and con­ser­v­a­tives on ques­tions of race, jus­tice and his­to­ry,” writes Aeon, who bring us the full ver­sion above with restored audio by Adam D’Arpino. Buck­ley responds to Baldwin’s pow­er­ful rhetoric with insults, out of con­text “facts and fig­ures – as well as an ad hominem shot at Baldwin’s speak­ing voice.” He pro­pos­es that one road to equal­i­ty lies in dis­en­fran­chis­ing poor South­ern whites as well as black cit­i­zens.

Buck­ley dis­plays a “com­plete igno­rance of the prob­lems faced by black Amer­i­cans in soci­ety,” writes Har­ri­son. Such igno­rance, “allied with pow­er,” Bald­win said else­where, con­sti­tutes “the most fero­cious ene­my jus­tice can have.” For Bald­win, Buck­ley’s atti­tude sim­ply con­firmed the “great shock,” that he mov­ing­ly describes in his debate state­ment, “around the age of five, or six, or sev­en, to dis­cov­er that the flag to which you have pledged alle­giance, along with every­body else, has not pledged alle­giance to you.”

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why James Baldwin’s Writ­ing Stays Pow­er­ful: An Art­ful­ly Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Author of Notes of a Native Son

Great Cul­tur­al Icons Talk Civ­il Rights: James Bald­win, Mar­lon Bran­do, Har­ry Bela­fonte & Sid­ney Poiti­er (1963)

James Bald­win: Wit­ty, Fiery in Berke­ley, 1979

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

Buddhist Monk Covers Judas Priest’s “Breaking the Law,” Then Breaks Into Meditation

Back in April, we intro­duced you to Kos­san, a Japan­ese Bud­dhist monk who has a pen­chant for per­form­ing cov­ers of rock anthems–everything from The Ramones’ “Teenage Lobot­o­my,” to “Queen’s “We Will Rock You” and The Bea­t­les’ “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine.” Now he returns with Judas Priest’s “Break­ing the Law.” It’s a curi­ous cov­er, not least because he ends the song and breaks seam­less­ly into med­i­ta­tion. Met­al? Med­i­ta­tion? Sure, why not.

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:

Japan­ese Bud­dhist Monk Cov­ers Ramones’ “Teenage Lobot­o­my,” “Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” Bea­t­les’ “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine” & More

Japan­ese Priest Tries to Revive Bud­dhism by Bring­ing Tech­no Music into the Tem­ple: Attend a Psy­che­del­ic 23-Minute Ser­vice

Med­i­ta­tion for Begin­ners: Bud­dhist Monks & Teach­ers Explain the Basics

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Does Every Picture Tell a Story? A Conversation with Artist Joseph Watson for Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #51

Sto­ry­telling is an essen­tial part of Las Vegas artist Joseph Wat­son’s paint­ing method­ol­o­gy, whether he’s cre­at­ing city scenes or pub­lic sculp­ture or chil­dren’s illus­tra­tions. So how does the nar­ra­tive an author may have in mind affect the view­er, and is this dif­fer­ent for dif­fer­ent types of art?

Joseph is per­haps best known as the illus­tra­tor of the Go, Go, GRETA! book series and does online stream­ing of draw­ing ses­sions through Insta­gram and Face­book. On this episode of Pret­ty Much Pop, he joins your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt to explore the pic­ture-nar­ra­tive con­nec­tion and more gen­er­al­ly how know­ing about the cre­ation of an image affects our recep­tion of it, touch­ing on Guer­ni­ca, Where the Wild Things Are, Dr. Seuss, The Chron­i­cles of Nar­nia, and more.

You can browse Joseph’s work at josephwatsonart.com, and you’re real­ly going to want in par­tic­u­lar to look at a cou­ple of the works that we con­sid­er explic­it­ly:

Oth­er sources we looked at in prepa­ra­tion for this dis­cus­sion include:

Fol­low Joseph on Insta­gram @josephwatsonart; also Twit­ter and Face­book.

Learn more at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This week, it includes a par­tic­u­lar­ly philo­soph­i­cal con­sid­er­a­tion of the notion of escapism and how dif­fer­ent that is from so-called seri­ous pur­suits. Is this just a ver­sion of the high-low cul­ture dis­tinc­tion that we large­ly reject­ed in episode one? This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

Explore the Beautiful Pages of the 1902 Japanese Design Magazine Shin-Bijutsukai: European Modernism Meets Traditional Japanese Design

We read much about the role of Japanism in the art of late 19th Europe and North Amer­i­ca. “The craze for all things Japan­ese,” writes the Art Insti­tute of Chica­go, “was launched in 1854 when Amer­i­can Com­modore Matthew Per­ry forced Japan to recom­mence inter­na­tion­al trade after two cen­turies of vir­tu­al iso­la­tion.” Britain, the Con­ti­nent, and the U.S. were awash in Japan­ese art and arti­facts and ideas about the pre-indus­tri­al puri­ty of Japan­ese forms pro­lif­er­at­ed. “West­ern­ers were… drawn to tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese artis­tic expres­sion because of its ties to the nat­ur­al world. Japan­ese artists in all media treat­ed the sub­jects of birds, flow­ers, land­scapes, and the sea­sons.”

West­ern­ers like Louis Com­fort Tiffany emu­lat­ed these pat­terns in their designs, and they appeared in the work of van Gogh and Gau­guin. We may be famil­iar with how much the admi­ra­tion for Japan­ese wood­cuts, fur­ni­ture, archi­tec­ture, and poet­ry influ­enced Impres­sion­ism, the Arts and Crafts Move­ment, and ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry Mod­ernism.

We may not know that the influ­ence was mutu­al, with Japan­ese artists devel­op­ing their own forms of Art Deco, Euro­pean-influ­enced Mod­ernism and a nation­al­ist Japan­ese Arts and Crafts Move­ment called “Mingei” that was heav­i­ly inspired by ear­li­er British artists who had them­selves been inspired by the Japan­ese.

An ear­li­er exam­ple of the cross-cul­tur­al exchange in the arts between Europe and Japan can be seen here in these prints from Shin-Bijut­sukai (新美術海)… a Japan­ese design mag­a­zine that was edit­ed by illus­tra­tor and design­er Korin Furuya (1875–1910),” notes Spoon and Tam­a­go. These images come from a col­lec­tion of issues from 1901 to 1902, bound togeth­er in a huge 353-page design book (view it online at the Inter­net Archive or the Pub­lic Domain Review). We can see in the tra­di­tion­al images of flow­ers and birds the influ­ence of indus­tri­al design as well as “hints of art nou­veau and oth­er influ­ences of the time” from Euro­pean graph­ic arts.

There was a reluc­tance among many Japan­ese artists to acknowl­edge their debts to West­ern artists, a symp­tom, writes Wendy Jones Nakan­ishi, pro­fes­sor at Shikoku Gakuin Uni­ver­si­ty, of “the ambiva­lence felt by many Japan­ese towards the rapid west­ern­iza­tion of their coun­try at the cost of the loss of indige­nous cul­tur­al prac­tices.” Despite the enor­mous pop­u­lar­i­ty of Japan­ese art in Europe, “the ambiva­lence was mutu­al.” Many appeared to feel that “the sub­tle beau­ty of the Japan­ese art threat­ened Euro­pean claims to cul­tur­al suprema­cy” when it appeared in Vic­to­ri­an exhi­bi­tions in Lon­don and else­where.

These fears aside, the meet­ing of many cul­tures in the exchanges between Europe and Japan helped to revi­tal­ize the arts and shake off stag­nant clas­si­cal tra­di­tions while respond­ing in dynam­ic ways to rapid indus­tri­al­iza­tion. The empha­sis on folk and dec­o­ra­tive art, brought into the realm of fine art, was cul­tur­al­ly trans­for­ma­tive in Europe. In Japan, the styl­iza­tions of mod­ernist paint­ing dis­rupt­ed tra­di­tion­al scenes and tech­niques, as in the wood­block prints here and in the sev­er­al hun­dred more in var­i­ous issues of the month­ly mag­a­zine. See them all at Pub­lic Domain Review.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Full Issues of MAVO, the Japan­ese Avant-Garde Mag­a­zine That Announced a New Mod­ernist Move­ment (1923–1925)

Down­load Vin­cent van Gogh’s Col­lec­tion of 500 Japan­ese Prints, Which Inspired Him to Cre­ate “the Art of the Future”

1,000+ His­toric Japan­ese Illus­trat­ed Books Dig­i­tized & Put Online by the Smith­son­ian: From the Edo & Meji Eras (1600–1912)

Down­load 2,500 Beau­ti­ful Wood­block Prints and Draw­ings by Japan­ese Mas­ters (1600–1915)

Adver­tise­ments from Japan’s Gold­en Age of Art Deco

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

A Chilling Time-Lapse Video Documents Every COVID-19 Death on a Global Map: From January to June 2020

The sto­ry of the Coro­n­avirus, at least in the US, has swung between a num­ber of rhetor­i­cal tics now com­mon to all of our dis­course. Called a “hoax,” then giv­en sev­er­al racist nick­names and dis­missed as a “noth­ing burg­er,” the pandemic—currently at around 3 mil­lion cas­es in the coun­try, with a U.S. death toll over 130,000—has now become the “new nor­mal,” a phrase that pops up every­where you look.

“This fram­ing is invit­ing,” writes Chime Asonye at the World Eco­nom­ic Forum. It con­veys “the idea that our present is okay because nor­mal is reg­u­lar,” and we’re all sup­posed to be get­ting back to reg­u­lar life, accord­ing to the pow­ers that be, who don’t seem par­tic­u­lar­ly trou­bled by the dead, sick, and dying or the con­tin­ued threat to pub­lic health.

But pre­tend­ing things are nor­mal is sim­ply a form of a denial, a mal­adap­tive and unhealthy response to trau­ma as much as to dis­ease. “Allow­ing our­selves to cope means not nor­mal­iz­ing our sit­u­a­tion,” writes Asonye, “but giv­ing our­selves the time to tru­ly process it.” We are all liv­ing in the midst of pro­found loss—of loved ones, liveli­hoods, future plans and present joys. Asonye adds:

Psy­chol­o­gists advise that it’s impor­tant to iden­ti­fy the loss­es we are feel­ing and to hon­our the grief sur­round­ing us through meth­ods like med­i­ta­tion, com­mu­ni­cat­ing our strug­gle, and express­ing our­selves through art or by keep­ing a jour­nal. In uncer­tain times, the ‘new nor­mal’ frame rein­forces an under­stand­ing that the world and our emo­tions should by now have set­tled. Sur­round­ed by uncer­tain­ty, it’s okay to admit that things are not nor­mal. It’s okay to allow our­selves to grieve or to be scared. It’s okay not to be com­fort­able with what is going on.

How do we process if we can­not admit that there is a problem—a mas­sive prob­lem that requires our lives to change, even if we’re feel­ing fatigued and worn out? Though we may have grown cyn­i­cal­ly accus­tomed to the cal­lous, cor­rupt response of cer­tain gov­ern­ments to human suf­fer­ing, the “over­whelm­ing scale” of the pan­dem­ic, as James Beck­with writes on YouTube, marks the coro­n­avirus as decid­ed­ly not nor­mal. It may be the kind of cat­a­stro­phe the world has not wit­nessed in over a cen­tu­ry.

Inspired by artist Isao Hashimoto’s “Time-Lapse Map of Every Nuclear Explo­sion Since 1945,” which we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here, Beck­with used the same visu­al pre­sen­ta­tion to map the over 500,000 lives lost to the virus since the first Jan­u­ary out­break in Chi­na. “The virus grows, con­tin­u­ing to work its way through­out the world until the end of June—where this piece ends but the real virus has not,” he writes. “It is like­ly a sequel will need to be made.” Though he admits the ani­ma­tion “may be upset­ting to some peo­ple,” Beck­with, like Asonye, rec­og­nizes the impor­tance of admit­ting the full scope.

Watch­ing the virus spread, and kill, over the past six months hits much hard­er than read­ing the dry facts. The video is ded­i­cat­ed to “every per­son that trag­i­cal­ly lost their lives to COVID-19.” Beck­with would like it “to be under­stood and seen by as many peo­ple around the world as pos­si­ble,” so that we can all have a shared under­stand­ing of what we’re fac­ing togeth­er (and maybe come to an agree­ment that this can­not be the “new nor­mal”). “Some­times there are no words for ter­ri­ble events like this,” Beck­with writes, but he would like help trans­lat­ing the video descrip­tion into oth­er lan­guages. You can con­tact him via his YouTube or Insta­gram chan­nels to vol­un­teer.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

The His­to­ry of the 1918 Flu Pan­dem­ic, “The Dead­liest Epi­dem­ic of All Time”: Three Free Lec­tures from The Great Cours­es

Watch “Coro­n­avirus Out­break: What You Need to Know,” and the 24-Lec­ture Course “An Intro­duc­tion to Infec­tious Dis­eases,” Both Free from The Great Cours­es

Inter­ac­tive Web Site Tracks the Glob­al Spread of the Coro­n­avirus: Cre­at­ed and Sup­port­ed by Johns Hop­kins

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

Salvador Dalí Explains Why He Was a “Bad Painter” and Contributed “Nothing” to Art (1986)

Not so very long ago, Sal­vador Dalí was the most famous liv­ing painter in the world. When the BBC’s Are­na came to shoot an episode about him in 1986, they asked him what that exalt­ed state felt like. “I don’t know if I am the most famous painter in the world,” Dalí responds, “because lots of the peo­ple who ask for my auto­graph in the street don’t know if I’m a singer, a film star, a mad­man, a writer — they don’t know what I am.” He was, in one sense or anoth­er, most of those things and oth­ers besides. But we can safe­ly say, more than thir­ty years after his death, that Dalí will be remem­bered first for his visu­al art, with its vast seas and skies, its impos­si­ble beasts, its melt­ing clocks. And what did Dalí him­self believe he had con­tributed to art?

“Noth­ing,” he says. “Absolute­ly noth­ing, because, as I’ve always said, I’m a very bad painter. Because I’m too intel­li­gent to be a good painter. To be a good painter you’ve got to be a bit stu­pid, with the excep­tion of Velázquez, who is a genius, whose tal­ent sur­pass­es the art of paint­ing.” In oth­er words, when Dalí’s ever-present detrac­tors said he was no Velázquez, Dalí’s whole­heart­ed­ly agreed.

Over the past few decades, appre­ci­a­tion of the dis­tinc­tive com­bi­na­tion of vision and tech­nique on dis­play in Dalí’s paint­ings has won him more offi­cial respect (as well as a lav­ish new col­lec­tion pub­lished in book form by Taschen), but the debate about to what extent he was a true artist and to what extent a cal­cu­lat­ed­ly eccen­tric self-pro­mot­er will nev­er ful­ly sim­mer down.

Dalí also claimed to owe his life to paint­ing bad­ly. “The day Dalí paints a pic­ture as good as Velázquez, Ver­meer, or Raphael, or music like Mozart,” he says, “the next week he’ll die. So I pre­fer to paint bad pic­tures and live longer.” That he had already entered his ninth decade by the time Are­na came call­ing sug­gests that this strat­e­gy might have been effec­tive, though he was­n’t with­out his health trou­bles. In his first pub­lic appear­ance after hav­ing had a pace­mak­er implant­ed that same year, he declared that “When you are a genius, you do not have the right to die, because we are nec­es­sary for the progress of human­i­ty.” Dalí’s kept his askew arro­gance to the end, even through the con­tro­ver­sial final years that saw him sign off on the large-scale pro­duc­tion of shod­dy lith­o­graphs of his paint­ings. About the peo­ple who made them and the peo­ple who bought them, Dalí had only this to say: “They deserve each oth­er.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Q: Sal­vador Dalí, Are You a Crack­pot? A: No, I’m Just Almost Crazy (1969)

Sal­vador Dalí Strolls onto The Dick Cavett Show with an Anteater, Then Talks About Dreams & Sur­re­al­ism, the Gold­en Ratio & More (1970)

When Sal­vador Dali Met Sig­mund Freud, and Changed Freud’s Mind About Sur­re­al­ism (1938)

When The Sur­re­al­ists Expelled Sal­vador Dalí for “the Glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of Hit­ler­ian Fas­cism” (1934)

A Soft Self-Por­trait of Sal­vador Dali, Nar­rat­ed by the Great Orson Welles

The Most Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Sal­vador Dalí’s Paint­ings Pub­lished in a Beau­ti­ful New Book by Taschen: Includes Nev­er-Seen-Before Works

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

Ennio Morricone (RIP) and Sergio Leone Pose Together in Their Primary School Year Book, 1937

Lit­tle did they know where life would take them–and how their futures would be inter­twined.

A great find by @ddoniolvalcroze.…

The Film Music of Ennio Morricone (RIP) Beautifully Performed by the Danish National Symphony Orchestra Play: “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” & Much More

What we think of as “film music” today is a cre­ation of only a few inven­tive and orig­i­nal com­posers, one few­er of whom walks the Earth as of yes­ter­day. Though Ennio Mor­ri­cone will be remem­bered first for his asso­ci­a­tion with spaghet­ti west­ern mas­ter Ser­gio Leone, his career in film scores spanned half a cen­tu­ry and encom­passed work for some of the most acclaimed direc­tors of that peri­od: his coun­try­men like Michelan­ge­lo Anto­nioni, Bernar­do Bertoluc­ci, Pier Pao­lo Pasoli­ni, but also such com­mand­ing Hol­ly­wood film­mak­ers as John Hus­ton, Ter­rence Mal­ick, and Quentin Taran­ti­no. Mor­ri­cone did­n’t just write music to add to their films; he became a col­lab­o­ra­tor, with­out whose work their films would be dif­fi­cult to imag­ine.

The result, in pic­tures from L’Avven­tu­ra to Salò to Days of Heav­en to The Untouch­ables to The Hate­ful Eight, is a union of the arts that tran­scends indi­vid­ual cul­tures. It does­n’t mat­ter what coun­try you come from, what gen­er­a­tion you belong to, whether you enjoy West­erns or indeed cin­e­ma itself: you know the theme music Mor­ri­cone wrote for Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly the moment you hear it. 

Whether or not you’ve seen the movie, you’ll appre­ci­ate the espe­cial­ly rich per­for­mance by the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra at the top of the post, part of a 2018 con­cert called The Mor­ri­cone Duel, a cel­e­bra­tion of “a wide range of west­ern movies and mafia movies reflect­ing dif­fer­ent per­spec­tives on an Ital­ian-Amer­i­can movie and film music style.”

The Mor­ri­cone Duel’s Youtube playlist includes the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra’s ren­di­tions of pieces from oth­er Mor­ri­cone-Leone col­lab­o­ra­tions like A Fist­ful of Dol­lars, For a Few Dol­lars MoreOnce Upon a Time in the West, and Once Upon a Time in Amer­i­ca. Though the evening also includ­ed pieces from The Untouch­ables and Hen­ri Verneuil’s The Sicil­ian Clan, many in the audi­ence must have thrilled most when the musi­cians launched into the over­ture from The Hate­ful Eight. They could hardy be more ardent Mor­ri­cone fans than Taran­ti­no him­self, who used pieces from Mor­ri­cone’s exist­ing Spaghet­ti-west­ern sound­tracks in Kill Bill and Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds before mak­ing a west­ern of his own, which would­n’t have been com­plete with­out orig­i­nal Mor­ri­cone music. The Hate­ful Eight turned out to be Mor­ri­cone’s penul­ti­mate film score, but his influ­ence will res­onate through gen­er­a­tions of cin­e­ma to come — and out­last, no doubt, the west­ern and gang­ster gen­res them­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 5 Hours of Ennio Morricone’s Scores for Clas­sic West­ern Films: From Ser­gio Leone’s Spaghet­ti West­erns to Tarantino’s The Hate­ful Eight

How Ser­gio Leone Made Music an Actor in His Spaghet­ti West­erns, Cre­at­ing a Per­fect Har­mo­ny of Sound & Image

Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic Song, “The Ecsta­sy of Gold,” Spell­bind­ing­ly Arranged for Theremin & Voice

Ukulele Orches­tra Per­forms Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic West­ern Theme Song, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” And It’s Pret­ty Bril­liant

The Music in Quentin Tarantino’s Films: Hear a 5‑Hour, 100-Song Playlist

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

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

Vintage Science Face Masks: Conquer the Pandemic with Science, Courtesy of Maria Popova’s BrainPickings

If you don’t floss or brush your teeth, they will rot and fall out. If you don’t eat fruits and veg­eta­bles, you will get scurvy or some oth­er hor­ri­ble dis­ease. If you don’t use pro­tec­tion… well, you know the rest. These are facts of life we most­ly accept if we care about our­selves and oth­ers because they are beyond dis­put­ing. But the idea of wear­ing a cloth mask when in pub­lic dur­ing a viral pan­dem­ic spread through droplets from the nose and mouth—a prac­tice endorsed by the CDC, the World Health Orga­ni­za­tion, sci­en­tists at Stan­ford, Johns Hop­kins, and pret­ty much every oth­er research uni­ver­si­ty—has become some kind of bizarre cul­ture war.

Maybe some walk around mask-less because they’ve inter­nal­ized the idea that the coro­n­avirus is “over,” despite the fact it’s spread­ing at around 50,000 new cas­es per day in the US, and poten­tial­ly head­ing toward dou­ble that num­ber. Maybe some feel it won’t affect them because they aren’t elder­ly or immuno­com­pro­mised, nev­er mind that virus­es mutate, and that the nov­el (mean­ing “new”) coro­n­avirus has already demon­strat­ed that it is far less dis­crim­i­nat­ing (in pure­ly bio­log­i­cal terms) than pre­vi­ous­ly thought. (In Flori­da, the medi­an age for COVID-19 has dropped from 65 to 37 years old.) Nev­er mind that spread­ing the virus, even if one is not per­son­al­ly at high risk, com­pro­mis­es every­body else.

Are masks uncom­fort­able, espe­cial­ly in hot, humid weath­er? Do they muf­fle speech and make it hard to have sat­is­fy­ing face-to-face inter­ac­tions? Well, yes. But con­sid­er your hour­long masked trip to the gro­cery store against the 12 or 24 or 48 or what­ev­er hour-long shifts med­ical per­son­nel are pulling in emer­gency depart­ments across the coun­try.

It real­ly is the least we can do. And we can do it in style—masks went from scarce, with armies of home­bound neigh­bors sewing home­ly stacks of them, to tru­ly over­abun­dant and fash­ion­able, on the rack of every gro­cery, phar­ma­cy, and con­ve­nience store. It couldn’t be eas­i­er.

If you’re con­cerned about look­ing like every oth­er masked weirdo out there, con­sid­er these masks cre­at­ed by Maria Popo­va of Brain Pick­ings, which she intro­duces with ref­er­ences to Rebec­ca Elson’s poem, “Anti­dotes to Fear of Death.” The sci­ence of pub­lic health may demand that we are grim­ly prac­ti­cal at the moment, but Popo­va wants to remind us that sci­en­tif­ic think­ing is equal­ly invest­ed in the expe­ri­ence of awe and the love of life. By wear­ing these masks, we can com­mu­ni­cate to oth­ers, those who may be feel­ing despon­dent over the sea of masked faces in pub­lic places, that there is beau­ty in the world and we can ful­ly expe­ri­ence if we get through this. Popova’s masks, print­ed and sold by Society6, illus­trate the won­ders of sci­en­tif­ic curios­i­ty with “won­drous cen­turies-old astro­nom­i­cal art and nat­ur­al his­to­ry illus­tra­tions.”

These include “trea­sures like the Solar Sys­tem quilt Ella Hard­ing Bak­er spent sev­en years craft­ing… gor­geous 18th-cen­tu­ry illus­tra­tions from the world’s first ency­clo­pe­dia of med­i­c­i­nal plantsaston­ish­ing draw­ings of celes­tial objects and phe­nom­e­na…trail­blaz­ing 18th-cen­tu­ry artist Sarah Stone’s stun­ning illus­tra­tions of exot­ic, endan­gered, and now-extinct ani­mals; some graph­i­cal­ly spec­tac­u­lar depic­tions of how nature works from a 19th-cen­tu­ry French physics text­book; Ernst Haeckel’s heart­break-foment­ed draw­ings of the oth­er­world­ly beau­ty of jel­ly­fish…William Sav­ille Kent’s pio­neer­ing artis­tic-sci­en­tif­ic effort to bring the world’s aware­ness and awe to the crea­tures of the Great Bar­ri­er Reef; and art from the Ger­man marine biol­o­gist Carl Chun’s epoch-mak­ing Cephalo­pod Atlas — the world’s first ency­clo­pe­dia of crea­tures of the deep.”

Society6 is donat­ing a por­tion of its pro­ceeds to World Cen­ter Kitchen, and Popo­va is donat­ing to The Nature Con­ser­van­cy. You can pur­chase your own vin­tage sci­ence illus­tra­tion mask here and see some of these illus­tra­tions in their orig­i­nal con­text at the links fur­ther down.

Anti­dotes to Fear of Death

Some­times as an anti­dote
To fear of death,
I eat the stars.

Those nights, lying on my back,
I suck them from the quench­ing dark
Til they are all, all inside me,
Pep­per hot and sharp.

Some­times, instead, I stir myself
Into a uni­verse still young,
Still warm as blood:

No out­er space, just space,
The light of all the not yet stars
Drift­ing like a bright mist,
And all of us, and every­thing
Already there
But uncon­strained by form.

And some­time it’s enough
To lie down here on earth
Beside our long ances­tral bones:

To walk across the cob­ble fields
Of our dis­card­ed skulls,
Each like a trea­sure, like a chrysalis,
Think­ing: what­ev­er left these husks
Flew off on bright wings.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Solar Sys­tem Quilt: In 1876, a Teacher Cre­ates a Hand­craft­ed Quilt to Use as a Teach­ing Aid in Her Astron­o­my Class

Ernst Haeckel’s Sub­lime Draw­ings of Flo­ra and Fau­na: The Beau­ti­ful Sci­en­tif­ic Draw­ings That Influ­enced Europe’s Art Nou­veau Move­ment (1889)

The Phe­nom­e­na of Physics Illus­trat­ed with Psy­che­del­ic Art in an Influ­en­tial 19th-Cen­tu­ry Text­book

The Bril­liant Col­ors of the Great Bar­ri­er Revealed in a His­toric Illus­trat­ed Book from 1893

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

The Ayn Rand Institute Takes a Loan from Paycheck Protection Program: Like Rand Herself, Her Followers Don’t Walk the Talk

ayn-rand-social-security

Image via YouTube, 1959 inter­view with Mike Wal­lace

Final­ly bow­ing to pub­lic pres­sure, the Trump admin­is­tra­tion has revealed which com­pa­nies received loans from the Pay­check Pro­tec­tion Pro­gram (PPP) cre­at­ed to sup­port small busi­ness­es dur­ing COVID-19. To no one’s sur­prise, the pub­lished list report­ed­ly includes a host of priv­i­leged enti­ties: the ship­ping busi­ness owned by Mitch McConnel­l’s wife Trans­porta­tion Sec­re­tary Elaine Chao; busi­ness­es asso­ci­at­ed with mem­bers of Con­gress (from both par­ties); the law firm of David Boies; elite pri­vate schools like Sid­well Friends and Saint Ann’s; Grover Norquist’s Anti-Tax Group; the law firm run by Trump’s long­time per­son­al lawyer, Marc E. Kasowitz; bil­lion­aire Kanye West’s com­pa­ny, Yeezy; the fine art stu­dio for mil­lion­aire sculp­tor Jeff Koons, a ven­ture that rais­es mon­ey for Trump’s cam­paign and the RNC, etc.

Add to the list the Ayn Rand Insti­tute–an orga­ni­za­tion named after Ayn Rand, the Russ­ian writer who exalt­ed the self-reliant indi­vid­ual and crit­i­cized social wel­fare pro­grams that sup­port the vul­ner­a­ble. As she wrote in The Virtue of Self­ish­ness, “The right to life means that a man has the right to sup­port his life by his own work (on any eco­nom­ic lev­el, as high as his abil­i­ty will car­ry him); it does not mean that oth­ers must pro­vide him with the neces­si­ties of life.” In short, if you can’t make it, you’re on your own.

Rand’s polit­i­cal the­o­ry col­laps­es when it con­fronts every­day real­i­ty. At the end of her own life, Rand, suf­fer­ing from lung can­cer, had to grudg­ing­ly rely on social secu­ri­ty and medicare to make ends meet. Now, reports Reuters, the insti­tute bear­ing her name has request­ed (and appar­ent­ly received) “a Pay­check Pro­tec­tion Pro­gram (PPP) loan of up to $1 mil­lion.” All while show­ing no grat­i­tude to the Amer­i­can tax­pay­er. The Ayn Rand Insti­tute deemed the loan “par­tial resti­tu­tion for gov­ern­ment-inflict­ed loss­es.” (Also see their lat­est jus­ti­fi­ca­tion here.) Some will con­sid­er that spin–a way to jus­ti­fy accept­ing gov­ern­ment largesse.

Watch­ing Ayn Rand talk below, it seems like a prin­ci­pled Ran­di­an would have gone, hat in hand, to a pri­vate char­i­ty instead.

via Lithub

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When Ayn Rand Col­lect­ed Social Secu­ri­ty & Medicare, After Years of Oppos­ing Ben­e­fit Pro­grams

Christo­pher Hitchens Dis­miss­es the Cult of Ayn Rand: There’s No “Need to Have Essays Advo­cat­ing Self­ish­ness Among Human Beings; It Requires No Rein­force­ment”

The Simp­sons Take on Ayn Rand: See the Show’s Satire of The Foun­tain­head and Objec­tivist Phi­los­o­phy

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