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How Egon Schiele Made Enduring Art from His Troubled Life and Times

“May you live in inter­est­ing times,” goes the apoc­ryphal but nev­er­the­less much-invoked “Chi­nese curse.” Egon Schiele, born in the Aus­tria-Hun­gary of 1890, cer­tain­ly did live in inter­est­ing times, and his work, as fea­tured in the new Great Art Explained video above, can look like the cre­ations of a cursed man. That’s espe­cial­ly true of those of his many self-por­traits that, as host James Payne puts it, ren­der his own body “more ema­ci­at­ed than it actu­al­ly was, rad­i­cal­ly dis­tort­ed and twist­ed, some­times face­less or limb­less, some­times in abject ter­ror.” Here Schiele worked at “an inter­sec­tion of suf­fer­ing and sex, as if he is dis­gust­ed by his own body.”

Such a pre­oc­cu­pa­tion, as Payne sug­gests, may not seem com­plete­ly unrea­son­able in a man who wit­nessed his own father’s death from syphilis — caught from a pros­ti­tute, on the night of his wed­ding to Schiele’s moth­er — when he was still in ado­les­cence.

But what tends to occu­py most dis­cus­sions of Schiele’s art is less his famil­ial or psy­cho­log­i­cal back­ground than his line: the “thin line between beau­ty and suf­fer­ing” that clear­ly obsessed him, yes, but also the line cre­at­ed by the hand with which he drew and paint­ed. His art remains imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­niz­able today because “his line has a par­tic­u­lar rhythm: angu­lar, tense, and eco­nom­i­cal­ly placed. It’s not just a means of describ­ing form; it’s a voice.”

In this voice, Schiele com­posed not like­ness­es but “psy­cho­log­i­cal por­traits, a search for the self or the ego, a pre­oc­cu­pa­tion of the time.” The fig­ure of Sig­mund Freud loomed large over fin-de-siè­cle Vien­na, of course, and into the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, the city and its civ­i­liza­tion were “caught between the old impe­r­i­al order and mod­ern demo­c­ra­t­ic move­ments.” A “lab­o­ra­to­ry for psy­cho­analy­sis, rad­i­cal art, music, and taboo-break­ing lit­er­a­ture,” Vien­na had also giv­en rise to the career of Schiele’s men­tor Gus­tav Klimt. By the time Schiele hit his stride, he could express in his work “not just per­son­al dis­com­fort, but the sick­ness and fragili­ty of an entire soci­ety” — before he fell vic­tim to the Span­ish flu pan­dem­ic of 1918 at just 28 years old, along with his wife and unborn child. In a sense, he was unlucky to live when and where he did. But as his art also reminds us, we don’t mere­ly inhab­it our time and place; we’re cre­at­ed by them.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Dig­i­tal Archive Will Fea­ture the Com­plete Works of Egon Schiele: Start with 419 Paint­ings, Draw­ings & Sculp­tures

How Art Gets Stolen: What Hap­pened to Egon Schiele’s Paint­ing Boats Mir­rored in the Water After Its Theft by the Nazis

The Life & Art of Gus­tav Klimt: A Short Art His­to­ry Les­son on the Aus­tri­an Sym­bol­ist Painter and His Work

Gus­tav Klimt’s Icon­ic Paint­ing The Kiss: An Intro­duc­tion to Aus­tri­an Painter’s Gold­en, Erot­ic Mas­ter­piece (1908)

Great Art Explained: Watch 15 Minute Intro­duc­tions to Great Works by Warhol, Rothko, Kahlo, Picas­so & More

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

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A Live Studio Cover of Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon, Played from Start to Finish

Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon is such a work of art that to split it up into nine tracks—like clas­sic rock radio has done for years—always sounds non­sen­si­cal. How can you just end “Breathe” on that final chord and not fol­low it with the ana­log drones of “On the Run”? How can you play “Brain Dam­age” and not end with “Eclipse”? And how dare you fade the long coda of “Mon­ey” and segue into a car com­mer­cial?

You can’t, moral­ly speak­ing, I’m telling you.

So that’s why I like the cut of the jib of the Mar­tin Miller Ses­sion Band, who com­mit to cov­er­ing the entire­ty of Dark Side of the Moon in this one long stu­dio per­for­mance. Accord­ing to Miller’s Patre­on page, this is the only full album they’ve cov­ered so far, and they pull through admirably.

And the thing that is refresh­ing here is that the band cov­ers the album up to a point, but not slav­ish­ly. It’s not the Flam­ing Lips’ decon­struc­tion or the sur­pris­ing­ly still lis­ten­able 8‑Bit ver­sion, but nei­ther is it the kind of trib­ute band like Brit Floyd (below). When Miller solos, he’s not aping David Gilmour. The key­boardist Mar­ius Leicht has his own knobs to twid­dle, so to speak. And drum­mer Felix Lehrmann will nev­er ever be con­fused for Nick Mason. (In fact, he gets a lot of grief in the com­ments for being too flash, but when you watch Miller’s oth­er videos and see him giv­ing Stew­art Copeland a run for his mon­ey on their Police med­ley, you see where he’s com­ing from.)

Know­ing what you’re in for, ques­tions arise: are they going to include the var­i­ous spo­ken sam­ples sprin­kled through­out (“I don’t know I was real­ly drunk at the time,” “There is no dark side of the moon real­ly…”). Answer: yes indeed, and fun­ny they are too. Does a sax­o­phon­ist turn up for “Mon­ey” and “Us and Them”? Answer: Yes, and it’s Michal Skul­s­ki. Who can pos­si­bly match Clare Torry’s pipes on “The Great Gig in the Sky”? Jen­ny Marsala does, thank you very much.

So I would set­tle in and try to unlearn your mem­o­ry of every note and beat on the 1973 clas­sic. By doing so, you’ll hear the album anew.

And after that, if you’re still han­ker­ing for that “even bet­ter than the real thing” vibe, enjoy this full con­cert, cir­cu­lar pro­jec­tion screen and all, by the afore­men­tioned Brit Floyd, play­ing Liv­er­pool in 2011.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2020.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dark Side of the Moon Project: Watch an 8‑Part Video Essay on Pink Floyd’s Clas­sic Album

Clare Torry’s Rare Live Per­for­mances of “Great Gig in the Sky” with Pink Floyd

Pink Floyd Films a Con­cert in an Emp­ty Audi­to­ri­um, Still Try­ing to Break Into the U.S. Charts (1970)

Bea­t­les Trib­ute Band “The Fab Faux” Per­forms Live an Amaz­ing­ly Exact Repli­ca of the Orig­i­nal Abbey Road Med­ley

A Deep, Track-by-Track Analy­sis of The Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd’s Musi­cal Jour­ney Through the Stress­es & Anx­i­eties of Mod­ern Exis­tence

Pink Floyd Plays in Venice on a Mas­sive Float­ing Stage in 1989; Forces the May­or & City Coun­cil to Resign

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts.

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Hundreds of Medieval Medical Manuscripts with Strange Cures Get Digitized & Put Online: From Leeches to Crushed Weasel Testicles

If any dis­cus­sion of medieval med­i­cine gets going, it’s only a mat­ter of time before some­one brings up leech­es. And it turns out that the cen­tral­i­ty of those squirm­ing blood-suck­ers to the treat­ment of dis­ease in the Mid­dle Ages isn’t much over­stat­ed, at least judg­ing by a look through Curi­ous Cures. A Well­come Research Resources Award-fund­ed project of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge Libraries, it has recent­ly fin­ished con­serv­ing, dig­i­tiz­ing, and mak­ing avail­able online 190 man­u­scripts con­tain­ing more than 7,000 pages of medieval med­ical recipes. These books con­tain a wealth of infor­ma­tion even beyond the text on their pages: a mul­ti-spec­tral imag­ing analy­sis of one of them, for exam­ple, revealed that it was once owned by a cer­tain “Thomas Word, leche” — or leech, i.e., a heal­er who made inten­sive use of the tools you might imag­ine.

Not that the prac­tice of medieval med­i­cine came down to apply­ing leech­es and noth­ing more. In the man­u­scripts dig­i­tized by Curi­ous Cures (which include not just strict­ly med­ical texts but also bibles, law texts, and books of hours), one finds a won­der­land of dove feces, fox lungs, salt­ed owl, eel grease, weasel tes­ti­cles, quick­sil­ver (i.e. mer­cury) — a won­der­land for read­ers curi­ous about medieval forms of knowl­edge, if not for the actu­al patients who had to under­go these dubi­ous treat­ments.

But as any schol­ar of the sub­ject would be quick to remind us, med­ical doc­u­ments in the Mid­dle Ages may have wan­ton­ly mixed folk and “offi­cial” knowl­edge, but they were hard­ly repos­i­to­ries of pure super­sti­tion: rather, they rep­re­sent the best efforts of intel­li­gent peo­ple to under­stand their own bod­ies and the world they inhab­it­ed, with­in the dom­i­nant world­view of their time and place.

That was a time in which health was thought to be deter­mined by the “four humors,” black bile, yel­low bile, blood and phlegm; a time when cer­tain parts of plants or ani­mals were believed to be in “sym­pa­thet­ic” cor­re­spon­dence with cer­tain parts of the human body; a time when repeat­ed­ly pray­ing while clip­ping one’s fin­ger­nails, then bury­ing those clip­pings in an elder tree, could plau­si­bly cure a toothache. And now, it’s eas­i­er than ever to get a sense of what it must have been like, thanks to Curi­ous Cures’ tran­scribed, trans­lat­ed, and search­able archive of all these man­u­scripts. The more out­landish reme­dies aside, what’s remark­able is how these books also acknowl­edge the impor­tance of what we would now call a good night’s sleep, reg­u­lar exer­cise, and a bal­anced, var­ied diet. Medievals may have under­stood their own health bet­ter than we imag­ine, but regard­less, we’re prob­a­bly not bring­ing back leechcraft any­time soon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Urine Wheels in Medieval Man­u­scripts: Dis­cov­er the Curi­ous Diag­nos­tic Tool Used by Medieval Doc­tors

1,000-Year-Old Illus­trat­ed Guide to the Med­i­c­i­nal Use of Plants Now Dig­i­tized & Put Online

Dis­cov­er the Per­sian 11th Cen­tu­ry Canon of Med­i­cine, “The Most Famous Med­ical Text­book Ever Writ­ten”

Down­load 100,000+ Images From The His­to­ry of Med­i­cine, All Free Cour­tesy of The Well­come Library

Behold the Medieval Wound Man: The Poor Soul Who Illus­trat­ed the Injuries a Per­son Might Receive Through War, Acci­dent or Dis­ease

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

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Archaeologists Discover a 2,400-Year-Old Skeleton Mosaic That Urges People to “Be Cheerful and Live Your Life”

Image by Dosse­man, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In 2012, archae­ol­o­gists dis­cov­ered in South­ern Turkey a well-pre­served mosa­ic fea­tur­ing a skele­ton savor­ing a loaf of bread and a pitch­er of wine, sur­round­ed by the Greek words “Be cheer­ful and live your life.” Dat­ing back to the 3rd cen­tu­ry BCE, the mosa­ic like­ly adorned the din­ing room of a wealthy vil­la in the ancient Gre­co-Roman city of Anti­och. It’s a kind of memen­to mori, a reminder that life is short and you should enjoy it while you can. Or so that’s how many have inter­pret­ed the mes­sage of the mosa­ic.

If you would like to delve deep­er, it’s worth read­ing the analy­sis and back­ground infor­ma­tion pro­vid­ed by The His­to­ry Blog. Mean­while, this sep­a­rate post on Tum­blr high­lights oth­er trans­la­tions and inter­pre­ta­tions of the mosaic’s key inscrip­tion.

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 Red­dit

Relat­ed Con­tent 

19th-Cen­tu­ry Skele­ton Alarm Clock Remind­ed Peo­ple Dai­ly of the Short­ness of Life: An Intro­duc­tion to the Memen­to Mori

A Rab­bit Rides a Char­i­ot Pulled by Geese in an Ancient Roman Mosa­ic (2nd cen­tu­ry AD)

How a Mosa­ic from Caligula’s Par­ty Boat Became a Cof­fee Table in a New York City Apart­ment 50 Years Ago

How to Make the 2000-Year-Old “Piz­za” Dis­cov­ered on a Pom­peii Fres­co

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The Real Science Experiments That Inspired Frankenstein

With the Hal­loween sea­son mere months away, the time has come to start think­ing about what fright­en­ing reads to line up for our­selves this year. Some of us may reach for Mary Shel­ley’s Franken­stein; or, The Mod­ern Prometheus, a sto­ry we all think we know. But a look into its con­text reveals that what’s now regard­ed as a time­less clas­sic was, in its day, quite a top­i­cal nov­el. Intro­duc­ing the 1931 James Whale film adap­ta­tion, the reg­u­lar hor­ror-movie play­er Edward Van Sloan describes Franken­stein as deal­ing with “the two great mys­ter­ies of cre­ation: life and death” — which, when Shel­ley’s nov­el was pub­lished more than a cen­tu­ry ear­li­er, were yet more mys­te­ri­ous still.

“Wor­ried by the poten­tial inabil­i­ty to dis­tin­guish between the states of life and death, two doc­tors, William Hawes and Thomas Cogan, set up the Roy­al Humane Soci­ety in Lon­don in 1774,” writes Sharon Rus­ton at The Pub­lic Domain Review. At the time, it was actu­al­ly called the Soci­ety for the Recov­ery of Per­sons Appar­ent­ly Drowned, a name that would’ve dou­bled neat­ly as a mis­sion state­ment. Falling into the rivers and canals of Lon­don was, it seems, a com­mon occur­rence in those days, and few mem­bers of the pub­lic pos­sessed the swim­ming skills to save them­selves. Thus the Soci­ety’s mem­bers took it upon them­selves to devise meth­ods of reviv­ing those “per­sons appar­ent­ly drowned,” whether their plunges were acci­den­tal­ly or delib­er­ate­ly tak­en.

One such attempt­ed sui­cide, writes Rus­ton, “seems to have been Mary Shelley’s moth­er, the fem­i­nist, Mary Woll­stonecraft,” who lat­er com­plained about how, after leap­ing into the Thames, she was “inhu­man­ly brought back to life and mis­ery.” That inci­dent could well have done its part to inspire Franken­stein, though notions of reviv­ing the dead were very much in the air at the time, not least due to the atten­tion being paid to the prac­tice of “Gal­vanism,” which involved stim­u­lat­ing the mus­cles of dead ani­mals and human bod­ies to move­ment using the then-nov­el phe­nom­e­non of elec­tric­i­ty. In the Eng­land of that his­tor­i­cal moment, it was­n’t entire­ly far-fetched to believe that the dead real­ly could be brought back to life.

You can learn more about the sci­en­tif­ic devel­op­ments, social changes, and human anx­i­eties (includ­ing about the pos­si­bil­i­ty of being buried alive) that formed Franken­stein’s cul­tur­al back­ground from the Vox His­to­ry Club video above. In a way, it seems inevitable that some­one in the ear­ly nine­teenth cen­tu­ry would write about a sci­en­tist avant la let­tre who dares to cre­ate life from death. It just hap­pened to be the teenage Shel­ley, to whom the idea came while engaged in a com­pe­ti­tion with Lord Byron, the writer-physi­cian John Poli­dori, and her soon-to-be hus­band Per­cy Bysshe Shel­ley to see who could write the scari­est sto­ry. Two cen­turies lat­er, the sto­ry of Franken­stein may no longer scare us, but as told by Shel­ley, it still has a way of sound­ing strange­ly plau­si­ble.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Read­ing Mary Shelley’s Franken­stein on Its 200th Anniver­sary: An Ani­mat­ed Primer to the Great Mon­ster Sto­ry & Tech­nol­o­gy Cau­tion­ary Tale

Read a Huge Anno­tat­ed Online Edi­tion of Franken­stein: A Mod­ern Way to Cel­e­brate the 200th Anniver­sary of Mary Shelley’s Clas­sic Nov­el

Mary Shelley’s Hand­writ­ten Man­u­script of Franken­stein: This Is “Ground Zero of Sci­ence Fic­tion,” Says William Gib­son

The Very First Film Adap­ta­tion of Mary Shelley’s Franken­stein, a Thomas Edi­son Pro­duc­tion (1910)

The First Muse­um Ded­i­cat­ed to Mary Shel­ley & Her Lit­er­ary Cre­ation Franken­stein Opens in Bath, Eng­land

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

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Tomorrow Never Knows: How The Beatles Invented the Future With Studio Magic, Tape Loops & LSD

“Tomor­row Nev­er Knows” could­n’t be made today, and not just because the Bea­t­les already made it in 1966. Mark­ing per­haps the sin­gle biggest step in the group’s artis­tic evo­lu­tion, that song is in every sense a prod­uct of its time. The use of psy­che­del­ic drugs like LSD was on the rise in the coun­ter­cul­ture, as was the aware­ness of the reli­gion and music of far­away lands such as India. At the same moment, devel­op­ments in record­ing-stu­dio tech­nol­o­gy were mak­ing new approach­es pos­si­ble, involv­ing sounds that musi­cians nev­er would have imag­ined try­ing before — and, when brought togeth­er, pro­duced a result that many lis­ten­ers of just a few years ear­li­er would hard­ly have rec­og­nized as music at all.

In the new You Can’t Unhear This video above, host Ray­mond Schillinger explains all that went into the record­ing of “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows,” which he calls “arguably the most piv­otal song of the Bea­t­les’ career.” It seems that John had under­gone some con­sid­er­able expe­ri­ences dur­ing the group’s five-month-long break after Rub­ber Soul, giv­en that he turned up to EMI Stu­dios after­ward with a song that “defied pret­ty much every con­ven­tion of pop music at the time: the lyrics did­n’t rhyme, the chord pro­gres­sion did­n’t real­ly progress, and instead of roman­tic love, the sub­ject mat­ter was expand­ing one’s psy­chic con­scious­ness through ego death.” A young Geoff Emer­ick, who’d just been pro­mot­ed to the role of the Bea­t­les’ record­ing engi­neer, rose to the chal­lenge of facil­i­tat­ing an equal­ly non-stan­dard stu­dio process.

The whol­ly new son­ic tex­ture that result­ed owes in large part to the use of mul­ti­ple tape loops, lit­er­al sec­tions of audio tape con­nect­ed at the begin­ning and end to allow the­o­ret­i­cal­ly infi­nite rep­e­ti­tion of their con­tent. This was a fair­ly new musi­cal tech­nol­o­gy at the time, and the Bea­t­les made use of it with gus­to, cre­at­ing loops of all man­ner of sped-up sounds — an orches­tra play­ing, a Mel­lotron, a reversed Indi­an sitar, Paul sound­ing like a seag­ull — and orches­trat­ing them “live” dur­ing record­ing. (Ringo’s drum track, despite what sounds like a super­hu­man reg­u­lar­i­ty in this con­text, was not, in fact a loop.) Oth­er tech­no­log­i­cal­ly nov­el ele­ments includ­ed John’s dou­ble-tracked vocals run through a revolv­ing Leslie speak­er and a back­wards gui­tar solo about whose author­ship Bea­t­les enthu­si­asts still argue.

What John had called “The Void,” was reti­tled after one of Ringo’s sig­na­ture askew expres­sions (“a hard day’s night” being anoth­er) in order to avoid draw­ing too much atten­tion as a “drug song.” But lis­ten­ers tapped into the LSD scene would have rec­og­nized lyri­cal inspi­ra­tion drawn from The Tibetan Book of the Dead, the ancient work that also informed The Psy­che­del­ic Expe­ri­ence, the guide­book by Tim­o­thy Leary and Richard Alpert (lat­er Baba Ram Dass) with which John direct­ed his own first trip. But even for the least turned-on Bea­t­le fan, “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows” was “like step­ping from a black-and-white world into full col­or,” as Schillinger puts it. The Bea­t­les might have gone the way of the Rolling Stones and cho­sen to record in an Amer­i­can stu­dio rather than their home-away-from-home on Abbey Road, the uncon­ven­tion­al use of its less-than-cut­ting-edge gear result­ed in what remains a vivid­ly pow­er­ful dis­patch from the ana­log era — even here in the twen­ty-twen­ties, when con­scious­ness expan­sion itself has gone dig­i­tal.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How John Lennon Wrote the Bea­t­les’ Best Song, “A Day in the Life”

The Amaz­ing Record­ing His­to­ry of The Bea­t­les’ “Here Comes the Sun”

The Exper­i­men­tal Move­ment That Cre­at­ed The Bea­t­les’ Weird­est Song, “Rev­o­lu­tion 9”

How “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” Con­tains “the Cra­zi­est Edit” in Bea­t­les His­to­ry

Hear Bri­an Eno Sing The Bea­t­les’ “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows” as Part of The Best Live Album of the Glam/Prog Era (1976)

The Bea­t­les’ 8 Pio­neer­ing Inno­va­tions: A Video Essay Explor­ing How the Fab Four Changed Pop Music

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

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How Jackson Pollock Redefined Modern Art: An Introduction

In his life­time, Jack­son Pol­lock had only one suc­cess­ful art show. It took place at the Bet­ty Par­sons Gallery in New York in Novem­ber 1949, and after­ward, his fel­low abstract expres­sion­ist Willem de Koon­ing declared that “Jack­son has final­ly bro­ken the ice.” Per­haps, accord­ing to Louis Menand’s book The Free World: Art and Thought in the Cold War, he meant that “Pol­lock was the first Amer­i­can abstrac­tion­ist to break into the main­stream art world, or he might have meant that Pol­lock had bro­ken through a styl­is­tic log­jam that Amer­i­can painters felt blocked by.” What­ev­er its intent, de Koon­ing’s remark annoyed art crit­ic and major Pol­lock advo­cate Clement Green­berg, who “thought that it reduced Pol­lock to a tran­si­tion­al fig­ure.”

It was­n’t nec­es­sar­i­ly a reduc­tion: as Menand sees it, “all fig­ures are tran­si­tion­al. Not every fig­ure, how­ev­er, is a hinge, some­one who rep­re­sents a moment when one mode of prac­tice swings over to anoth­er.” Pol­lock was such a hinge, as, in his way, was Green­berg: “After Pol­lock, peo­ple paint­ed dif­fer­ent­ly. After Green­berg, peo­ple thought about paint­ing dif­fer­ent­ly.”

When they made their mark, “there was no going back.” Gal­lerist-YouTu­ber James Payne exam­ines the nature of that mark in the new Great Art Explained video above, the first of a mul­ti-part series on Pol­lock­’s art and the fig­ures that made its cul­tur­al impact pos­si­ble. Even more impor­tant than Green­berg, in Payne’s telling, is Pol­lock­’s fel­low artist — and, in time, wife — Lee Kras­ner, whose own work he also gives its due.

We also see the paint­ings of Amer­i­can region­al­ist Thomas Hart Ben­ton, Pol­lock­’s teacher; Mex­i­can mural­ist David Alfaro Siqueiros, in whose work­shop Pol­lock par­tic­i­pat­ed; and even Pablo Picas­so, who exert­ed sub­tle but detectable influ­ences of his own on Pol­lock­’s work. Oth­er, non-artis­tic sources of inspi­ra­tion Payne explores include the psy­cho­log­i­cal the­o­ry of Carl Gus­tav Jung, with whose school of ther­a­py Pol­lock engaged in the late nine­teen-thir­ties and ear­ly for­ties. It was in those ses­sions that he pro­duced the “psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic draw­ings,” one of sev­er­al cat­e­gories of Pol­lock­’s work that will sur­prise those who know him only through his large-can­vas, whol­ly abstract drip paint­ings. Each rep­re­sents one stage of a com­plex evo­lu­tion­ary process: Pol­lock may have been the ide­al artist for the new, post-war Amer­i­can world, but he hard­ly came ful­ly formed out of Wyoming.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Watch Por­trait of an Artist: Jack­son Pol­lock, the 1987 Doc­u­men­tary Nar­rat­ed by Melvyn Bragg

Watch “Jack­son Pol­lock 51,” a His­toric Short Film That Cap­tures Pol­lock Cre­at­ing Abstract Expres­sion­ist Art on a Sheet of Glass

How the CIA Secret­ly Used Jack­son Pol­lock & Oth­er Abstract Expres­sion­ists to Fight the Cold War

The MoMA Teach­es You How to Paint Like Pol­lock, Rothko, de Koon­ing & Oth­er Abstract Painters

Was Jack­son Pol­lock Over­rat­ed? Behind Every Artist There’s an Art Crit­ic, and Behind Pol­lock There Was Clement Green­berg

Anato­my of a Fake: Forgery Experts Reveal 5 Ways To Spot a Fake Paint­ing by Jack­son Pol­lock (or Any Oth­er Artist)

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

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The Genius of Brian Wilson (RIP) and How He Turned “Good Vibrations” Into the Beach Boys’ Pocket Symphony

This week, Bri­an Wil­son became the last of the Wil­son broth­ers to shuf­fle off this mor­tal coil. Den­nis, the first of the Wilsons to go, died young in 1983 — but not before offer­ing this mem­o­rable assess­ment of the fam­i­ly musi­cal project: “Bri­an Wil­son is the Beach Boys. He is the band. We’re his mes­sen­gers. He is all of it. Peri­od. We’re noth­ing.” That was a bit harsh: Den­nis may not have been a vir­tu­oso drum­mer, but Beach Boys enthu­si­asts all cred­it his faint­ly despair­ing songs with enrich­ing the band’s sig­na­ture emo­tion­al land­scape. Bri­an may have writ­ten “God Only Knows,” but he did so with his broth­er Car­l’s voice in mind. And could even Bri­an’s oth­er mas­ter­piece “Good Vibra­tions” have made the same impact with­out the par­tic­i­pa­tion of his much-resent­ed cousin Mike Love?

Still, with­out Bri­an’s orches­tra­tion, the oth­er Beach Boys’ voic­es would nev­er have come togeth­er in the pow­er­ful way they did, to say noth­ing of the con­tri­bu­tions of the count­less stu­dio musi­cians who played on their record­ings. Before “Good Vibra­tions,” nev­er had a pop song owed so much to so many musi­cians — and, at the same time, even more to the fer­tile and uncon­ven­tion­al son­ic imag­i­na­tion of just one man.

Labo­ri­ous­ly craft­ed over sev­en months in four dif­fer­ent stu­dios, it came out in Octo­ber of 1966 as the most expen­sive sin­gle ever pro­duced. Its then-epic length of 3:35 filled Capi­tol Records with doubts about its radio via­bil­i­ty, but that turned out to be an aston­ish­ing­ly brief run­ning time to con­tain the sheer com­po­si­tion­al inten­si­ty that soon got the song labeled a “pock­et sym­pho­ny.”

“Good Vibra­tions” and its myr­i­ad intri­ca­cies are scru­ti­nized to this day, most recent­ly in video essays like the ones you see here. On his Youtube chan­nel Poly­phon­ic, Noah Lefevre calls it “dense enough that you could teach an entire music course on it.” David Hart­ley grants it the sta­tus of “prob­a­bly the most com­plex song ever record­ed,” and even “the first song ever cre­at­ed using copy and paste.” Long before the era of dig­i­tal audio work­sta­tions, Bri­an Wil­son used whol­ly ana­log stu­dio tech­nol­o­gy to string togeth­er “feels,” his name for the dis­parate frag­ments of music in his mind. His method con­tributed to the sym­phon­ic con­struc­tion of “Good Vibra­tions,” and his will­ing­ness to fol­low the mood wher­ev­er it led result­ed in the song’s dis­tinc­tive use of an Elec­tro-Theremin. Despite all this, some lis­ten­ers still ques­tion his cen­tral­i­ty to the Beach Boys’ music; for them, there will always be “Koko­mo.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

Watch Lost Stu­dio Footage of Bri­an Wil­son Con­duct­ing “Good Vibra­tions,” The Beach Boys’ Bril­liant “Pock­et Sym­pho­ny”

How the Beach Boys Cre­at­ed Their Pop Mas­ter­pieces: “Good Vibra­tions,” Pet Sounds, and More

The Beach Boys’ Bri­an Wil­son & Bea­t­les Pro­duc­er George Mar­tin Break Down “God Only Knows,” the “Great­est Song Ever Writ­ten”

Hear the Beach Boys’ Angel­ic Vocal Har­monies in Four Iso­lat­ed Tracks from Pet Sounds: “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” “God Only Knows,” “Sloop John B” & “Good Vibra­tions”

Enter Bri­an Wilson’s Cre­ative Process While Mak­ing The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds 50 Years Ago: A Fly-on-the Wall View

Paul McCart­ney vs. Bri­an Wil­son: A Rival­ry That Inspired Pet Sounds, Sgt. Pep­per, and Oth­er Clas­sic Albums

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

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They Study Authoritarianism. And They’re Leaving the U.S.: Why Three Yale Professors Have Moved to U. Toronto

Three Yale pro­fes­sors—Tim­o­thy Sny­der, Jason Stan­ley and Mar­ci Shore–have spent their careers study­ing fas­cism and author­i­tar­i­an­ism. They know the signs of emerg­ing author­i­tar­i­an­ism when they see it. Now, they’re see­ing those signs here in the Unit­ed States, and they’re not sit­ting by idly. They’ve moved to the Uni­ver­si­ty of Toron­to where they can speak freely, with­out fear­ing per­son­al or insti­tu­tion­al ret­ri­bu­tion. Above, they share their views in the NYTimes Op-Doc. It comes pref­aced with the text below:

Legal res­i­dents of the Unit­ed States sent to for­eign pris­ons with­out due process. Stu­dents detained after voic­ing their opin­ions. Fed­er­al judges threat­ened with impeach­ment for rul­ing against the administration’s pri­or­i­ties.

In this Opin­ion video, Mar­ci Shore, Tim­o­thy Sny­der and Jason Stan­ley, all pro­fes­sors at Yale and experts in author­i­tar­i­an­ism, explain why Amer­i­ca is espe­cial­ly vul­ner­a­ble to a demo­c­ra­t­ic back­slid­ing — and why they are leav­ing the Unit­ed States to take up posi­tions at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Toron­to.

Pro­fes­sor Stan­ley is leav­ing the Unit­ed States as an act of protest against the Trump administration’s attacks on civ­il lib­er­ties. “I want Amer­i­cans to real­ize that this is a demo­c­ra­t­ic emer­gency,” he said.

Pro­fes­sor Shore, who has spent two decades writ­ing about the his­to­ry of author­i­tar­i­an­ism in Cen­tral and East­ern Europe, is leav­ing because of what she sees as the sharp regres­sion of Amer­i­can democ­ra­cy. “We’re like peo­ple on the Titan­ic say­ing our ship can’t sink,” she said. “And what you know as a his­to­ri­an is that there is no such thing as a ship that can’t sink.”

She bor­rows from polit­i­cal and apo­lit­i­cal Slav­ic motifs and expres­sions, argu­ing that the Eng­lish lan­guage does not ful­ly cap­ture the demo­c­ra­t­ic regres­sion in this Amer­i­can moment.

Pro­fes­sor Snyder’s rea­sons are more com­pli­cat­ed. Pri­mar­i­ly, he’s leav­ing to sup­port his wife, Pro­fes­sor Shore, and their chil­dren, and to teach at a large pub­lic uni­ver­si­ty in Toron­to, a place he says can host con­ver­sa­tions about free­dom. At the same time, he shares the con­cerns expressed by his col­leagues and wor­ries that those kinds of con­ver­sa­tions will become ever hard­er to have in the Unit­ed States.

“I did not leave Yale because of Don­ald Trump or because of Colum­bia or because of threats to Yale — but that would be a rea­son­able thing to do, and that is a deci­sion that peo­ple will make,” he wrote in a Yale Dai­ly News arti­cle explain­ing his deci­sion to leave.

Their motives dif­fer but their analy­sis is the same: ignor­ing or down­play­ing attacks on the rule of law, the courts and uni­ver­si­ties spells trou­ble for our democ­ra­cy.

To delve deep­er into their work, see Stan­ley and Sny­der’s respec­tive works: How Fas­cism Works: The Pol­i­tics of Us and Them and On Tyran­ny: Twen­ty Lessons from the Twen­ti­eth Cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Actor John Lith­gow Reads 20 Lessons on Tyran­ny, Penned by His­to­ri­an Tim­o­thy Sny­der

Yale Pro­fes­sor Jason Stan­ley Iden­ti­fies 10 Tac­tics of Fas­cism: The “Cult of the Leader,” Law & Order, Vic­tim­hood and More

Umber­to Eco’s List of the 14 Com­mon Fea­tures of Fas­cism

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

Toni Mor­ri­son Lists the 10 Steps That Lead Coun­tries to Fas­cism (1995)

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How Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton & Harold Lloyd Pulled Off Their Spectacular Stunts During Silent Film’s Golden Age

It can be tempt­ing to view the box office’s dom­i­na­tion by visu­al-effects-laden Hol­ly­wood spec­ta­cle as a recent phe­nom­e­non. And indeed, there have been peri­ods dur­ing which that was­n’t the case: the “New Hol­ly­wood” that began in the late nine­teen six­ties, for instance, when the old stu­dio sys­tem hand­ed the reins to inven­tive young guns like Peter Bog­danovich, Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la, and Mar­tin Scors­ese. But lest we for­get, that move­ment met its end in the face of com­pe­ti­tion from late-1970s block­busters like Jaws and Star Wars, a new kind of block­buster that sig­naled a return to the sim­ple thrills of silent cin­e­ma.

Even a cen­tu­ry ago, many movie­go­ers expect­ed two expe­ri­ences above all: to be wowed, and to be made to laugh. No won­der that era saw visu­al come­di­ans like Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton, and Char­lie Chap­lin become not just the most famous actors in the world, but some of the most famous human beings in the world.

Stay­ing on top required not just seri­ous per­for­ma­tive skill, but also equal­ly seri­ous tech­ni­cal inge­nu­ity, as explained in the new Lost in Time video above. It breaks down just how Lloyd, Keaton, and Chap­lin pulled off some of their career-defin­ing stunts on film, putting the actu­al clips along­side CGI recon­struc­tions of the sets as they would have looked dur­ing shoot­ing.

When Lloyd hangs from the arms of a clock high above down­town Los Ange­les in Safe­ty Last! (1923), he’s real­ly hang­ing high above down­town Los Ange­les — albeit on a set con­struct­ed atop a build­ing, shot from a care­ful­ly cho­sen angle. When the entire façade of a house falls around Keaton in Steam­boat Bill, Jr. (1928), leav­ing him stand­ing unharmed in a win­dow frame, the façade actu­al­ly fell around him — in a pre­cise­ly chore­o­graphed man­ner, but with only a cou­ple of inch­es of clear­ance on each side. When a blind­fold­ed Chap­lin skates per­ilous­ly close to a mul­ti­sto­ry drop in Mod­ern Times (1936), he’s per­fect­ly safe, the edge of the floor being noth­ing more than a mat­te paint­ing: one of those ana­log tech­nolo­gies of movie mag­ic whose obso­les­cence is still bemoaned by clas­sic-film enthu­si­asts, from whom CGI, no mat­ter how expen­sive, nev­er quite thrills or amus­es in the same way.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Art of Cre­at­ing Spe­cial Effects in Silent Movies: Inge­nu­ity Before the Age of CGI

Watch the Only Time Char­lie Chap­lin & Buster Keaton Per­formed Togeth­er On-Screen (1952)

Safe­ty Last!, the 1923 Movie Fea­tur­ing the Most Icon­ic Scene from Silent Film Era, Just Went Into the Pub­lic Domain

30 Buster Keaton Films: “The Great­est of All Com­ic Actors,” “One of the Great­est Film­mak­ers of All Time”

How Char­lie Chap­lin Used Ground­break­ing Visu­al Effects to Shoot the Death-Defy­ing Roller Skate Scene in Mod­ern Times (1936)

Char­lie Chap­lin Does Cocaine and Saves the Day in Mod­ern Times (1936)

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

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