5,000+ Photographs by Minor White, One of the 20th Century’s Most Important Photographers, Now Digitized and Available Online

Barn + Corn (Vicin­i­ty of Dans­ville, New York), 1955. From The Minor White Archive, Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty Art.

When the pho­tog­ra­ph­er Minor White died in 1976, after a pro­lif­ic career and an epic jour­ney of a life, he left his archives to Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty. But it took about forty years before that insti­tu­tion could make the col­lec­tion tru­ly avail­able to the world in the form of the Minor White Archive online. He became “one of the most impor­tant pho­to­graph­ic artists of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry” and “a key fig­ure in shap­ing a dis­tinct­ly mod­ern Amer­i­can pho­to­graph­ic style,” as the archive’s “About” page puts it, by cap­tur­ing the images of humans, land­scapes urban and rur­al, and even abstract sub­jects, all the while pur­su­ing new and ever more per­son­al ways to cap­ture them.

In his end­less search for inspi­ra­tions with which to refine his pho­to­graph­ic prac­tice, White seemed to turn down no poten­tial source. Not only did he put in time with such colos­sal pre­de­ces­sors in Amer­i­can pho­tog­ra­phy as Alfred Stieglitz, Edward West­on, and Ansel Adams (who taught him, among oth­er things, his reli­able “visu­al­iza­tion” tech­nique), he also drew deeply from less con­ven­tion­al wells: the I Ching, Zen med­i­ta­tion, mythol­o­gy, astrol­o­gy, Gestalt psy­chol­o­gy, and the mys­tic phi­los­o­phy of G. I. Gur­d­ji­eff (who also had an influ­ence on the com­ic per­sona of Bill Mur­ray).

“To some in the 1960s and ‘70s,” remem­bers one­time asso­ciate John Weiss, “Minor White was a deity. Every word was an invo­ca­tion. To oth­ers he was a self-pro­mot­er, a fraud, talk­ing non­sense.”

Chi­na­town 1953. From The Minor White Archive, Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty Art.

Either way, White was above all a pho­tog­ra­ph­er. Prince­ton’s dig­i­tal archive fea­tures more than 5,000 of his pho­tographs (and oth­er mate­ri­als like proof cards, con­tact sheets, and even jour­nals) free to view online.  It offers “a com­pre­hen­sive sur­vey of White’s career,” as Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Claire Voon writes, “from his ear­ly cap­tures of Port­land, Ore­gon in 1938 to his lat­est work in 1974 of por­traits and land­scapes tak­en around the US.” Have a look through the archive, start­ing at its search page and, once there, either enter­ing search terms or brows­ing by sub­ject or loca­tion, and you’ll see why, when it comes to Amer­i­can pho­to­graph­ic art, Minor was very much major.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dis­cov­er Ansel Adams’ 226 Pho­tos of U.S. Nation­al Parks (and Anoth­er Side of the Leg­endary Pho­tog­ra­ph­er)

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

Alfred Stieglitz: The Elo­quent Eye, a Reveal­ing Look at “The Father of Mod­ern Pho­tog­ra­phy”

Yale Launch­es an Archive of 170,000 Pho­tographs Doc­u­ment­ing the Great Depres­sion

200,000 Pho­tos from the George East­man Muse­um, the World’s Old­est Pho­tog­ra­phy Col­lec­tion, Now Avail­able Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities 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 or on Face­book.

1,600 Rare Color Photographs Depict Life in the U.S During the Great Depression & World War II

The title of Walk­er Evans and James Agee’s extra­or­di­nary work of lit­er­ary pho­to­jour­nal­ism, Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, may have lost some of its iron­ic edge with sub­se­quent acclaim and the fame of its writer and pho­tog­ra­ph­er. First begun in 1936 as a project doc­u­ment­ing the large­ly invis­i­ble lives of white share­crop­ping fam­i­lies in rur­al Alaba­ma, when the book appeared in print in 1941 it only sold about 600 copies. But over time, writes Mal­colm Jones at Dai­ly Beast, “it has estab­lished itself as a unique and endur­ing mashup of report­ing, con­fes­sion, and orac­u­lar prose.” As essen­tial as Agee’s doc­u­men­tary prose poet­ics is to the book’s appeal, Evans’ pho­tographs, like those of his many Depres­sion-era con­tem­po­raries, have served as mod­els for gen­er­a­tions of pho­tog­ra­phers in decades hence.

Evans “pho­tographs are not illus­tra­tive,” wrote Agee in the Pref­ace. “They, and the text, are coequal, mutu­al­ly inde­pen­dent, and ful­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive.” If “the text was writ­ten with read­ing aloud in mind,” and Agee want­ed us to hear, not sim­ply see the lan­guage, per­haps we are also meant to see the indi­vid­u­als Evans cap­tured, rather than just gaze at weath­ered faces and bat­tered cloth­ing, and view their bear­ers col­lec­tive­ly as for­lorn objects of pity.

More­over, we shouldn’t look at these indi­vid­u­als only as mem­bers of a par­tic­u­lar nation­al group. In the book’s first para­graph, Agee writes:

The world is our home. It is also the home of many, many oth­er chil­dren, some of whom live in far-away lands. They are our world broth­ers and sis­ters….

We are meant to see the sub­jects of Evans’ pho­tographs and Agee’s exquis­ite descrip­tions as dis­tinc­tive parts who make up the whole of humanity—or, more pre­cise­ly, the world’s labor­ing peo­ple. Agee opens with a famous epi­graph from The Com­mu­nist Man­i­festo: “Work­ers of the world, unite and fight. You have noth­ing to lose but your chains, and a world to win.” (With a can­ny qual­i­fy­ing foot­note explain­ing these words and their author as poten­tial­ly “the prop­er­ty of any polit­i­cal par­ty, faith, or fac­tion”).

Sev­er­al pho­tog­ra­phers employed, like Evans, by the Farm Secu­ri­ty Admin­is­tra­tion dur­ing the Great Depres­sion shared these sen­si­bil­i­ties. The sym­pa­thies of Dorothea Lange, for exam­ple, lay with work­ing peo­ple, not with the noblesse oblige of mid­dle-class audi­ences who might sup­port relief efforts but who had lit­tle desire to min­gle with the great Amer­i­can unwashed. Many viewers—disconnected from rur­al life—stared at the pho­tographs, writes Car­rie Melis­sa Jones, “in issues of the now-defunct Life mag­a­zine, Time, For­tune, Forbes, and more,” and “took a pater­nal­is­tic view of the south, ask­ing: ‘How do we save them from them­selves?’”

Can view­ers of Depres­sion-era pho­tographs today put aside their implic­it or explic­it sense of moral supe­ri­or­i­ty? Per­haps see­ing pho­tos of the era in col­or brings their sub­jects more imme­di­a­cy and vivid­ness, and you can see them by the hun­dreds at the Library of Congress’s online col­lec­tion of work com­mis­sioned by the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment dur­ing the Depres­sion and World War II. Evans him­self may have thought col­or pho­tog­ra­phy “gar­ish” and “vul­gar,” Jor­dan G. Teich­er notes at Slate (though Evans began tak­ing his own col­or images in 1946). But con­tem­po­raries like Rus­sell Lee, Mar­i­on Post Wol­cott, Jack Delano, and John Vachon proved him wrong.

At the top of the post, see two pho­tos from Lee—of two home­stead­ers in New Mex­i­co (1940) and a shep­herd with his horse and dog in Mon­tana (1942). Beneath that, we have Wolcott’s strik­ing pho­to of a rur­al cab­in some­where “in South­ern U.S.,” cir­ca 1940. Fur­ther up, see Delano’s image of share­crop­pers chop­ping cot­ton in White Plains, Geor­gia (1941), which resem­bles the hero­ic fig­ures in a Diego Rivera mur­al. And just above we have John Vachon’s image of rur­al school chil­dren in San Augus­tine Coun­ty, Texas (1943). As we scan these faces and places, we might con­sid­er again Agee’s pref­ace: “The gov­ern­ing instrument—which is also one of the cen­ters of the subject—is indi­vid­ual, anti-author­i­ta­tive human con­scious­ness.” His instruc­tions invite us to both empa­thy for each per­son we see and to broad human sym­pa­thy for all of them.

Once the U.S. entered the war, many Farm Secu­ri­ty Admin­is­tra­tion pho­tog­ra­phers were reas­signed to make pro­pa­gan­da for the Office of War Infor­ma­tion (and a few, like Lange, also received com­mis­sions to pho­to­graph the Japan­ese Intern­ment Camps). The nature of doc­u­men­tary pho­tog­ra­phy began to change, large­ly reflect­ing small town Amer­i­can indus­tri­ous­ness and civic pride, rather than rur­al des­per­a­tion and strug­gle. Images like Fen­no Jacobs’ patri­ot­ic demon­stra­tion in Southing­ton Con­necti­cut (1942) above, are typ­i­cal. Quaint rows of hous­es and store­fronts dom­i­nate dur­ing the war years. We also find inter­est­ing images like that of the woman below work­ing on a “Vengeance” dive bomber in Ten­nessee, tak­en by Alfred T. Palmer in 1943. Aside from the dat­ed cloth­ing and machin­ery, her pho­to­graph seems as fresh and com­pelling as the day it first appeared.

“In col­or,” writes Emory University’s Jesse Karls­berg, “these images present them­selves as rel­e­vant to the present, rather than con­signed to the past. By dis­play­ing the prob­lems they depict—such as seg­re­ga­tion, pover­ty, and envi­ron­men­tal degradation—in a con­tem­po­rary form, the images imply that such prob­lems may con­tin­ue to be crit­i­cal today.” They are indeed crit­i­cal today. And may become even more so. And one hopes that writ­ers, pho­tog­ra­phers, and artists, though they will not do so under the aegis of New Deal agen­cies, can find ways to doc­u­ment what is hap­pen­ing as they did decades ago. Such work car­ries glob­al sig­nif­i­cance. And, as a recent Taschen book that col­lects New Deal pho­tog­ra­phy from 1935 to 1943 describes it, pho­tographs like those you see here “intro­duced Amer­i­ca to Amer­i­cans.” They also intro­duced Americans—who have been as divid­ed in the past as they are today—to each oth­er.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Found: Lost Great Depres­sion Pho­tos Cap­tur­ing Hard Times on Farms, and in Town

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

Yale Launch­es an Archive of 170,000 Pho­tographs Doc­u­ment­ing the Great Depres­sion

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

Woody Guthrie Creates a Doodle-Filled List of 33 New Year’s Resolutions (1943): Beat Fascism, Write a Song a Day, and Keep the Hoping Machine Running

On Jan­u­ary 1, 1943, the Amer­i­can folk music leg­end Woody Guthrie jot­ted in his jour­nal a list of 33 “New Years Rulin’s.” Nowa­days, we’d call them New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions. Adorned by doo­dles, the list is down to earth by any mea­sure. Fam­i­ly, song, tak­ing a polit­i­cal stand, per­son­al hygiene — they’re the val­ues or aspi­ra­tions that top his list. You can click the image above to view the list in a larg­er for­mat. Below, we have pro­vid­ed a tran­script of Guthrie’s Rulin’s.

1. Work more and bet­ter
2. Work by a sched­ule
3. Wash teeth if any
4. Shave
5. Take bath
6. Eat good — fruit — veg­eta­bles — milk
7. Drink very scant if any
8. Write a song a day
9. Wear clean clothes — look good
10. Shine shoes
11. Change socks
12. Change bed cloths often
13. Read lots good books
14. Lis­ten to radio a lot
15. Learn peo­ple bet­ter
16. Keep ran­cho clean
17. Dont get lone­some
18. Stay glad
19. Keep hop­ing machine run­ning
20. Dream good
21. Bank all extra mon­ey
22. Save dough
23. Have com­pa­ny but dont waste time
24. Send Mary and kids mon­ey
25. Play and sing good
26. Dance bet­ter
27. Help win war — beat fas­cism
28. Love mama
29. Love papa
30. Love Pete
31. Love every­body
32. Make up your mind
33. Wake up and fight

We wish you all a hap­py 2018.

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!

Note: This fine list orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site back in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pow­er­ful Mes­sages That Woody Guthrie & Pete Seeger Inscribed on Their Gui­tar & Ban­jo: “This Machine Kills Fas­cists” and “This Machine Sur­rounds Hate and Forces it to Sur­ren­der”

Hear Two Leg­ends, Lead Bel­ly & Woody Guthrie, Per­form­ing on the Same Radio Show (1940)

Woody Guthrie’s Fan Let­ter To John Cage and Alan Hov­haness (1947)

Seeger: To Hear Your Ban­jo Play

The Alan Lomax Sound Archive Now Online: Fea­tures 17,000 Record­ings

The David Bowie Book Club Gets Launched by His Son: Read One of Bowie’s 100 Favorite Books Every Month


Cast as the star of 1976’s The Man Who Fell to Earth, David Bowie trav­eled to New Mex­i­co for the shoot, meet­ing with direc­tor Nico­las Roeg soon upon arrival. “I took with me hun­dreds and hun­dreds of books,” Bowie said to The Face mag­a­zine a few years lat­er. “And I had these cab­i­nets” — a mod­ern­ized Jacobean trav­el­ing library — “and they were rather like the box­es that ampli­fiers get packed up in, and I was going through all these books and they were pour­ing out all over the floor — there were just moun­tains of books. And Nick was sit­ting there watch­ing me and he said, ‘Your great prob­lem, David, is that you don’t read enough.’ ”

Due to Bowie’s hyper-seri­ous state of mind in those days, he went on to recall, “it did­n’t occur to me at the time that it was a joke.” Though he changed his ways of think­ing and even dropped the trav­el­ing library, Bowie seems to have main­tained his for­mi­da­ble read­ing habits for the rest of his life. (In 1987, he even posed for one of the Amer­i­can Library Asso­ci­a­tion’s “READ” posters.) A few years ago we fea­tured his Top 100 Book List, whose vari­ety encom­pass­es every­thing from The Out­sider to Sex­u­al Per­son­ae to A Con­fed­er­a­cy of Dunces.

“My dad was a beast of a read­er,” Bowie’s son Dun­can Jones, an avid Twit­ter user, tweet­ed last week. “One of his true loves was Peter Ackroyd’s sojourns into the his­to­ry of Britain & its cities. I’ve been feel­ing a build­ing sense of duty to go on the same lit­er­ary marathon in trib­ute to dad.” And so Jones’ infor­mal David Bowie book club begins with Ack­roy­d’s 1985 post­mod­ern nov­el Hawksmoor, which tells the par­al­lel sto­ries of an ear­ly 18th-cen­tu­ry Lon­don archi­tect and a late 20th-cen­tu­ry Lon­don detec­tive and which Joyce Car­ol Oates called “a wit­ty and macabre work of the imag­i­na­tion, intri­cate­ly plot­ted, obses­sive in its much-reit­er­at­ed con­cerns with mankind’s fall­en nature.”

Jones calls the book “an amuse cerveau before we get into the heavy stuff,” the “heavy stuff” pre­sum­ably includ­ing oth­er such Bowie picks as White NoiseA Clock­work Orange and Last Exit to Brook­lyn. If you’d like to par­tic­i­pate in the Jones-led dis­cus­sion of Hawksmoor on his Twit­ter page, you’ve got until the first of Feb­ru­ary to get it read. If you feel like you don’t read enough, con­sid­er this the Bowiest pos­si­ble way to ful­fill a new year’s res­o­lu­tion to do more of it.

Note: Sep­a­rate­ly you can also check out The Bowie Book Club Pod­cast where two friends spend a month read­ing a book on Bowie’s list. Find those episodes here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie’s Top 100 Books

David Bowie Urges Kids to READ in a 1987 Poster Spon­sored by the Amer­i­can Library Asso­ci­a­tion

Bri­an Eno Lists 20 Books for Rebuild­ing Civ­i­liza­tion & 59 Books For Build­ing Your Intel­lec­tu­al World

Dis­cov­er the Jacobean Trav­el­ing Library: The 17th Cen­tu­ry Pre­cur­sor to the Kin­dle

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities 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 or on Face­book.

Ian McKellen Recites Shakespeare’s Sonnet 20, Backed by Garage Rock Band, the Fleshtones, on Andy Warhol’s MTV Variety Show (1987)

80s revival­ism can be done bad­ly and it can be done well. Those old enough to remem­ber the decade seem best placed to recre­ate it, but the suc­cess of Stranger Things offers an excel­lent coun­terex­am­ple. The mil­len­ni­al Duf­fer broth­ers did a mar­velous job of con­jur­ing the look and feel of mid-80s mise-en-scène by stitch­ing togeth­er close view­ings of a dozen or so films—from the mas­sive­ly pop­u­lar E.T. to more obscure flicks like made-for-TV Mazes and Mon­sters (not to men­tion such pre­cious archival footage as this.)

When it comes to music how­ev­er, 80s retro tends to con­fine them­selves to ear­ly hip and hop and elec­tro, the syn­th­pop of Gary Numan and Duran Duran or the cheesy hair met­al of Möt­ley Crüe. But this lens miss­es the sig­nif­i­cant 60s revival­ism that emerged at the time. Garage, surf, and psych rock and the jan­g­ly sounds of The Byrds inspired R.E.M., the B52s, the Replace­ments, the House of Love, and the Flesh­tones, a much less­er-known NYC band who may nev­er have got­ten their com­mer­cial due, but who cer­tain­ly appealed to 60s art star Andy Warhol.

When Warhol remade him­self as a TV per­son­al­i­ty in the 80s with his MTV vari­ety show Andy Warhol’s 15 Min­utes he cast the Flesh­tones as the back­ing band for ris­ing the­ater and film star Ian McK­ellen, a match-up that rep­re­sents anoth­er hall­mark of 80s pop culture—the post­mod­ern jux­ta­po­si­tion of gen­res, styles, and reg­is­ters which Warhol helped pio­neer 20 years ear­li­er when he brought kitschy silk-screened soup cans, sexy street hus­tlers, and the Vel­vet Under­ground into the art scene.

Warhol’s tele­vi­sion work turned this impulse into a mul­ti­me­dia cir­cus fea­tur­ing “The high and the low. The rich and the famous. The strug­gling artists and the ris­ing stars,” as Warhol Muse­um cura­tor Ger­a­lyn Hux­ley puts it. In this par­tic­u­lar­ly fit­ting exam­ple, McK­ellen and the Flesh­tones bring Shake­speare’s racy Son­net 20 to young, hip MTV audi­ences in 1987. L.A. Week­ly lists a few of the “cool points” from the clip:

  • A young, hot, already insane­ly tal­ent­ed Ian McK­ellen
  • Wear­ing awe­some New Wave fash­ions
  • At Andy Warhol’s Fac­to­ry in 1987
  • Backed by cult group the Flesh­tones
  • Recit­ing a Shake­speare Son­net

What’s not to love? Start your 2018 with some Shake­speare-meets-garage-rock cool­ness from 31 years ago—and revis­it more of Warhol’s MTV vari­ety show at our pre­vi­ous post. For seri­ous stu­dents of the decade, this is essen­tial view­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andy Warhol’s 15 Min­utes: Dis­cov­er the Post­mod­ern MTV Vari­ety Show That Made Warhol a Star in the Tele­vi­sion Age (1985–87)

Ian McK­ellen Reads a Pas­sion­ate Speech by William Shake­speare, Writ­ten in Defense of Immi­grants

Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour Sings Shakespeare’s Son­net 18

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

How to “Hijack” Amazon Prime for Good: Short Video Shows How Prime & Other Instant Delivery Services Can Easily Help the Homeless

Today, it’s 18 degrees in New York City, 4 degrees in Chica­go, and 13 degrees in Boston. It’s damn cold, espe­cial­ly for the home­less.

Keep this in mind as you watch Rob Bliss’ short video above. In a poignant video, he points out how ser­vices offer­ing the imme­di­ate deliv­ery of prod­ucts and ser­vices could eas­i­ly help the home­less. While he uses Ama­zon Prime as an exam­ple, the same idea could be extend­ed to ser­vices like Door­Dash, Grub­Hub, and UberEats (which is appar­ent­ly now out­grow­ing the taxi busi­ness in some cities).

via Swiss Miss

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!

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 5 ) |

Listen to Glenn Gould’s Shockingly Experimental Radio Documentary, The Idea of North (1967)

If genius is an infi­nite capac­i­ty for tak­ing pains, Glenn Gould mer­its each and every one of the many appli­ca­tions of the word “genius” to his name. The world knows that name pri­mar­i­ly as one of a genius of the piano, of course, espe­cial­ly when inter­pret­ing the genius of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach, but he also made an impres­sion in his home­land of Cana­da as a genius of the radio edit­ing suite. Hav­ing record­ed for the Cana­di­an Broad­cast­ing Cor­po­ra­tion’s clas­si­cal-and-jazz record label CBC Records placed him well to real­ize his ideas on the CBC’s air­waves, most mem­o­rably in the form of The Idea of North, an hour­long med­i­ta­tion on the vast, cold expanse that con­sti­tutes the top third of the coun­try, which first aired on Decem­ber 28, 1967.

The broad­cast’s fifti­eth anniver­sary has prompt­ed Cana­di­ans and non-Cana­di­ans alike to have anoth­er lis­ten to Gould’s best-known radio project, back then shock­ing­ly exper­i­men­tal and still bold­ly uncon­ven­tion­al today. “The pianist used a tech­nique he called ‘con­tra­pun­tal radio,’ lay­er­ing speak­ing voic­es on top of each oth­er to cre­ate a unique son­ic envi­ron­ment sit­u­at­ed in the space between con­ver­sa­tion and music,” says the site of CBC’s Ideas, which recent­ly aired a new episode about the mak­ing of The Idea of North called Return to North.

The page quotes Gould biog­ra­ph­er Geof­frey Payzant as describ­ing it and Gould’s sub­se­quent doc­u­men­taries as “hybrids of music, dra­ma, and sev­er­al oth­er strains, includ­ing essay, jour­nal­ism, anthro­pol­o­gy, ethics, social com­men­tary, [and] con­tem­po­rary his­to­ry.”

One might might well com­pare The Idea of North’s form to that of a fugue, the type of com­plex con­tra­pun­tal com­po­si­tion so close­ly asso­ci­at­ed with Bach and thus with Gould as well. But the form also serves the sub­stance, “that incred­i­ble tapes­try of tun­dra and taiga which con­sti­tutes the Arc­tic and sub-Arc­tic of our coun­try,” as Gould him­self puts it in the broad­cast’s intro­duc­tion. “I’ve read about it, writ­ten about it, and even pulled up my par­ka once and gone there,” he con­tin­ues, but like most Cana­di­ans remained ever “an out­sider” to the North, “and the North has remained for me, a con­ve­nient place to dream about, spin tall tales about, and, in the end, avoid.”

The North also offered Gould a pow­er­ful sym­bol of soli­tude, a con­di­tion which he sought through­out his life, espe­cial­ly after quit­ting live per­for­mance to focus exclu­sive­ly on the stu­dio short­ly before mak­ing The Idea of North. In the decade there­after he made two more for­mal­ly and the­mat­i­cal­ly sim­i­lar doc­u­men­taries, one on coastal New­found­lan­ders and anoth­er on Men­non­ites in Man­i­to­ba, and the three togeth­er make up his “Soli­tude Tril­o­gy.” A tele­vi­sion film of The Idea of North, co-pro­duced by the CBC and PBS, appeared in 1970, lay­er­ing images of the North atop of the words about the North Gould had col­lect­ed. It cer­tain­ly adds a dimen­sion to Gould’s painstak­ing­ly con­struct­ed audio col­lage, but some­how pure radio, the old “the­ater of the mind,” still suits it best: the images of the North he want­ed to evoke, one sens­es just as well now as half a cen­tu­ry ago, exist only in the mind.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Glenn Gould: Off and On the Record: Two Short Films About the Life & Music of the Eccen­tric Musi­cian

Glenn Gould Explains the Genius of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach (1962)

Glenn Gould Offers a Strik­ing­ly Uncon­ven­tion­al Inter­pre­ta­tion of 1806 Beethoven Com­po­si­tion

Watch a 27-Year-Old Glenn Gould Play Bach & Put His Musi­cal Genius on Dis­play (1959)

Glenn Gould Gives Us a Tour of Toron­to, His Beloved Home­town (1979)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities 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 or on Face­book.

What Happens When a Cat Watches Hitchcock’s Psycho

Let’s sus­pend dis­be­lief for a moment and watch Hitch­cock give new mean­ing to “scaredy cat.” Enjoy.

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:

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rules for Watch­ing Psy­cho (1960)

Hitch­cock­’s Secret Sauce for Cre­at­ing Sus­pense

Alfred Hitchcock’s 7‑Minute Mas­ter Class on Film Edit­ing

Alfred Hitch­cock Presents Ghost Sto­ries for Kids (1962)

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 2 ) |

What Is Procrastination & How Can We Solve It? An Introduction by One of the World’s Leading Procrastination Experts

I don’t know about you, but my ten­den­cy to pro­cras­ti­nate feels like a char­ac­ter flaw. And yet, no amount of mor­al­iz­ing with myself makes any dif­fer­ence. Feel­ing bad, in fact, only makes things worse. Per­haps that’s because—as Tim Pychyl, Asso­ciate Pro­fes­sor in Psy­chol­o­gy at Car­leton Uni­ver­si­ty argues—procrastination is not a moral fail­ing so much as a cop­ing mech­a­nism for painful feel­ings, a psy­cho­log­i­cal avoid­ance of tasks we fear for some rea­son: because we fear rejec­tion or fail­ure, or even the bur­dens of suc­cess.

Pychyl should know. He’s made study­ing pro­cras­ti­na­tion the basis of his career and runs the 20-year-old Pro­cras­ti­na­tion Research Group. Pro­cras­ti­na­tion is a “puz­zle,” he the­o­rizes (the title of one of his books is Solv­ing the Pro­cras­ti­na­tion Puz­zleA Con­cise Guide to Strate­gies for Change). Solv­ing it involves under­stand­ing how its pieces work, includ­ing our beliefs about how it oper­ates. Pychyl’s lec­ture above address­es grad­u­ate stu­dents charged with help­ing under­grad­u­ates who pro­cras­ti­nate, but its lessons apply to all of us. In his first slide, Pychyl out­lines four typ­i­cal beliefs about pro­cras­ti­na­tion:

It’s me

It’s the task

It’s the way I think

It’s my lack of willpow­er

Pychyl wants to debunk these notions, but he also argues that pro­cras­ti­na­tion is “some­thing we seem to under­stand very well” in pop­u­lar par­lance. One of his slides shows a typ­i­cal “successories”-type poster that reads, “Pro­cras­ti­na­tion: hard work often pays off after time, but lazi­ness always pays off now.” While Pychyl doesn’t use judg­men­tal lan­guage like “lazi­ness,” he does acknowl­edge that pro­cras­ti­na­tion results from ideas about short- ver­sus long-term gain. We want to feel good, right now, a dri­ve com­mon to every­one.

The next poster reads “if the job’s worth doing, it will still be worth doing tomor­row.” The notion of the “future self” plays a role—the you of tomor­row who still has to face the work your present self puts off. “What are we doing to ‘future self?’” Pychyl asks. “If we can just bring future self into clear­er vision, lots of times the pro­cras­ti­na­tion may go away.” This has been demon­strat­ed in research stud­ies, Ana Swan­son notes at The Wash­ing­ton Post, in which peo­ple made bet­ter deci­sions after view­ing dig­i­tal­ly-aged pho­tographs of them­selves. But in gen­er­al, we tend not to have much con­sid­er­a­tion for “future self.”

A final suc­ces­sories slide reads, “Pro­cras­ti­na­tion: by not doing what you should be doing, you could be hav­ing this much fun.” This is one of the most per­va­sive forms of self-delu­sion. We may con­vince our­selves that putting dif­fi­cult things off for tomor­row means more fun today. But the amount of guilt we feel ensures a dif­fer­ent expe­ri­ence. “Guilt is a par­a­lyz­ing emo­tion,” Pychyl says. When we put off an impor­tant task, we feel ter­ri­ble. And often, instead of enjoy­ing life, we cre­ate more work for our­selves that makes us feel pur­pose­ful, like cook­ing or clean­ing. This “task man­age­ment” game tem­porar­i­ly relieves guilt, but it does not address the cen­tral prob­lem. We sim­ply “man­age our emo­tions by man­ag­ing our tasks.”

The word pro­cras­ti­na­tion comes direct­ly from clas­si­cal Latin and trans­lates to “put for­ward” that which “belongs to tomor­row.” This sounds benign, giv­en that many a task does indeed belong to tomor­row. But pru­dent plan­ning is one thing, pro­cras­ti­na­tion is anoth­er. When we put off what we can or should accom­plish today, we invoke tomor­row as “a mys­ti­cal land where 98% of all human pro­duc­tiv­i­ty, moti­va­tion, and achieve­ment are stored.” The dis­tinc­tion between plan­ning or unavoid­able delay and pro­cras­ti­na­tion is impor­tant. When delays are either inten­tion­al or the con­se­quence of unpre­dictable life events, we need not con­sid­er them a prob­lem. “All pro­cras­ti­na­tion is delay, but not all delay is pro­cras­ti­na­tion.”

So, to sum up Pychyl’s research on our atti­tudes about pro­cras­ti­na­tion: “we think we’re hav­ing more fun, but we’re not”; “we think we’re not affect­ing future self, but we are”; and “it’s all about giv­ing in to feel good,” which—see point num­ber one—doesn’t actu­al­ly work that well.

While we might min­i­mize pro­cras­ti­na­tion as a minor issue, its per­son­al costs tell us oth­er­wise, includ­ing severe impacts to “per­for­mance, well-being, health, rela­tion­ships, regrets & bereave­ment.” Pro­cras­ti­na­tors get sick more often, report high­er rates of depres­sion, and suf­fer the somat­ic and psy­cho­log­i­cal effects of ele­vat­ed stress. Pro­cras­ti­na­tion doesn’t only affect our per­son­al well-being and integri­ty, but it has an eth­i­cal dimen­sion, affect­ing those around us who suf­fer “sec­ond-hand,” either because of the time we take away from them when we rush off to fin­ish things last-minute, or because the stress we put our­selves under neg­a­tive­ly affects the health of our rela­tion­ships.

But pro­cras­ti­na­tion begins first and fore­most with our rela­tion­ship to our­selves. Again, we put things off not because we are moral­ly defi­cient, or “lazy,” but because our emo­tion­al brains are try­ing to cope. We feel some sig­nif­i­cant degree of fear or anx­i­ety about the task at hand. The guilt and shame that comes with not accom­plish­ing the task com­pounds the prob­lem, and leads to fur­ther pro­cras­ti­na­tion. “The behav­ior,” writes Swan­son, turns into “a vicious, self-defeat­ing cycle.”

How do we get out of the self-made loop of pro­cras­ti­na­tion? Just as in the fail­ure of the “Just say No” cam­paign, sim­ply shak­ing our­selves by the metaphor­i­cal shoul­ders and telling our­selves to get to work isn’t enough. We have to deal with the emo­tions that set things in motion, and in this case, that means going easy on our­selves. “Research sug­gests that one of the most effec­tive things that pro­cras­ti­na­tors can do is to for­give them­selves for pro­cras­ti­nat­ing,” Swan­son reports.

Once we reduce the guilt, we can weak­en the pro­cliv­i­ty to pro­cras­ti­nate. Then, para­dox­i­cal­ly, we need to ignore our emo­tions. “Most of us seem to tac­it­ly believe,” Pychyl says, “that our emo­tion­al state has to match the task at hand.” For writ­ers and artists, this belief has a lofty pedi­gree in roman­tic ideas about inspi­ra­tion and mus­es. Irrel­e­vant, the pro­cras­ti­na­tion expert says. When approach­ing some­thing dif­fi­cult, “I have to rec­og­nize that I’m rarely going to feel like it, and it doesn’t mat­ter if I don’t feel like it.” Feel­ings of moti­va­tion and cre­ative inspi­ra­tion often strike us in the midst of a task, not before. Break­ing down daunt­ing activ­i­ties into small­er tasks, and approach­ing these one at a time, gives us a prac­ti­cal roadmap for con­quer­ing pro­cras­ti­na­tion. For more insights and research find­ings, watch Pychyl’s full lec­ture, and lis­ten to him dis­cuss his research on the Healthy Fam­i­ly pod­cast just above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Neu­ro­science & Psy­chol­o­gy of Pro­cras­ti­na­tion, and How to Over­come It

How Infor­ma­tion Over­load Robs Us of Our Cre­ativ­i­ty: What the Sci­en­tif­ic Research Shows

Why You Do Your Best Think­ing In The Show­er: Cre­ativ­i­ty & the “Incu­ba­tion Peri­od”

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

Where Are They Now? An Animated Mockumentary Reveals What Happened to Your Favorite 1980s Cartoon Characters After Their Heyday

It’s a cau­tion­ary tale about what hap­pens when the world you pre­pared your­self for changes and leaves you behind. Cold­ly, and some­times with­out warn­ing.

Above, watch Steve Cutts’ 2014 ani­mat­ed mock­u­men­tary, “Where Are They Now?”. Star­ring Roger and Jes­si­ca Rab­bit, and fea­tur­ing cameos by Garfield and The Smurfs, the short film revis­its car­toon char­ac­ters who had it all in the 1980s. Then hit the skids in the ear­ly 90s. Hard. “We had done our jobs,” says an aged Jes­si­ca Rab­bit. “Now we were for­got­ten about. Obso­lete.” It’s a bleak pic­ture that Cutts paints. But, it’s not all bad. He-Man became a wealthy lin­gerie design­er. We could all use a well-thought-out Plan B.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Look Inside Mel Blanc’s Throat as He Per­forms the Voic­es of Bugs Bun­ny and Oth­er Car­toon Leg­ends

Chuck Jones’ 9 Rules For Draw­ing Road Run­ner Car­toons, or How to Cre­ate a Min­i­mal­ist Mas­ter­piece

The Long Game of Cre­ativ­i­ty: If You Haven’t Cre­at­ed a Mas­ter­piece at 30, You’re Not a Fail­ure

Watch Russian Dancers Appear to Float Magically Across the Stage: A Mesmerizing Introduction to The Berezka Ensemble

As the Rock­ettes are to legs, Russia’s Berez­ka Ensem­ble, above, is to the seem­ing absence of them.

There are cer­tain sim­i­lar­i­ties between the two troops. Both are com­posed exclu­sive­ly of young women in peak phys­i­cal con­di­tion. The chore­og­ra­phy and cos­tum­ing daz­zle by way of uni­for­mi­ty. So many girls, all doing the exact same thing at the exact same time!

(On a per­son­al note, no one expects the Rock­ettes to out-fem­i­nist Bar­bie, but they could do a bet­ter job at diver­si­fy­ing their annu­al Christ­mas Spec­tac­u­lar cast’s racial make up—unlike the city in which it takes place, that kick line’s mighty white.)

The Berez­ka Ensem­ble, aka the Lit­tle Birch Tree Chore­o­graph­ic group’s whole­some­ness is more in keep­ing with the Wal­dorf School. Their cos­tumes are maid­en­ly folk art affairs—much bet­ter suit­ed to twirling birch branch­es than their Amer­i­can coun­ter­parts’ snug sequins…

But on to the sig­na­ture moves…

To mas­ter their famed float­ing step, the Berez­ka Ensemble’s dancers’ sub­mit to a train­ing reg­i­men every bit as gru­el­ing as the one the Rock­ettes under­go in pur­suit of their syn­chro­nized eye-high kicks.

The float­ing step was invent­ed in the 40’s by com­pa­ny founder Nadezh­da Nadezh­d­i­na, and enjoys a mys­ti­cal rep­u­ta­tion, despite var­i­ous how-to videos float­ing around online.

Con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries abound. What’s under­neath those hooped hem­lines? Roller skates?

Motor­ized heel­ies?

A hid­den track?

Calves of steel, as it turns out. A rehearsal video reveals many, many minc­ing steps, tak­en en demi-pointe.

But what real­ly sells the fric­tion­less illu­sion is the dancers’ placid above-waist facades, which one YouTube com­menter apt­ly com­pared to ducks glid­ing about on a pond, their feet pad­dling furi­ous­ly just below the water’s sur­face.

A recent LED-enhanced per­for­mance, below, shines some lit­er­al light on the fan­cy foot­work.

via Nerdist/Twist­ed­Sifter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch an Avant-Garde Bauhaus Bal­let in Bril­liant Col­or, the Tri­adic Bal­let First Staged by Oskar Schlem­mer in 1922

Watch a Step-by-Step Break­down of La La Land‘s Incred­i­bly Com­plex, Off Ramp Open­ing Num­ber

Sta­tis­tics Explained Through Mod­ern Dance: A New Way of Teach­ing a Tough Sub­ject

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


  • Great Lectures

  • Sign up for Newsletter

  • About Us

    Open Culture scours the web for the best educational media. We find the free courses and audio books you need, the language lessons & educational videos you want, and plenty of enlightenment in between.


    Advertise With Us

  • Archives

  • Search

  • Quantcast