Search Results for "anal"

The Oldest Known Globe to Depict the New World Was Engraved on an Ostrich Egg, Maybe by Leonardo da Vinci (1504)

Image by Davidguam via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Every time you think you’ve got a han­dle on Leonar­do da Vinci’s genius (which is to say, you think you’ve heard about the most impor­tant things he paint­ed, wrote, and invent­ed), yet more evi­dence comes to light of the many ways he meets the stan­dard for the adjec­tive “genius”.… Recent­ly, Leonar­do re-appeared not only as an inven­tor of futur­is­tic mil­i­tary tech­nol­o­gy or dis­cov­er­er of com­plex human anato­my, but also as the first Euro­pean to depict the “New World” on a globe–proving he knew about Colum­bus’ voy­ages when the globe was made in 1504.

The dis­cov­ery “marks the first time ever that the names of coun­tries such as Brazil, Ger­ma­nia, Ara­bia and Judea have appeared on a globe,” notes Cam­bridge Schol­ars Pub­lish­ing, who released a book by the globe’s dis­cov­er­er and pri­ma­ry researcher, Ste­faan Missinne. The arti­fact attrib­uted to Leonar­do is engraved, “with immac­u­late detail,” writes Meeri Kim at The Wash­ing­ton Post, “on two con­joined halves of ostrich eggs.” And it fea­tures a sin­gle sen­tence, in Latin, above South­east Asia: Hic Sunt Dra­cones–“Here be drag­ons.”

We’ll notice oth­er unique fea­tures of the engraved egg Missinne calls, sim­ply, “the Da Vin­ci Globe,” such as the fact that in place of Cen­tral and North Amer­i­ca are the islands of Colum­bus’ “dis­cov­ery,” sur­round­ed by a vast ocean in which Pacif­ic and Atlantic join. Why ostrich eggs? Humans have used them for dec­o­ra­tive pur­pos­es for mil­len­nia. Also, “in that time peri­od,” says Thomas Sander, edi­tor of the Wash­ing­ton Map Society’s jour­nal, Por­tolan, “the ostrich was quite the ani­mal, and it was a big thing for the noble peo­ple to have ostrich­es in their back gar­dens.”

Missinne, a real estate devel­op­er, col­lec­tor, and globe expert orig­i­nal­ly from Bel­gium, dis­cov­ered the globe in 2012 at the Lon­don Map Fair. It was pur­chased “from a deal­er who said it had been part of an impor­tant Euro­pean col­lec­tion for decades,” and its buy­er and own­er remain anony­mous. After the globe appeared, Missinne “con­sult­ed more than 100 schol­ars and experts in his year-long analy­sis,” putting “about five years of research into one year,” says Sander, call­ing the research “an incred­i­ble detec­tive sto­ry.”

Missinne’s inves­ti­ga­tion seems to sub­stan­ti­ate his claims that the globe was made by Leonar­do or his work­shop. The evi­dence, some of which you can find on the Cam­bridge Schol­ars Pub­lish­ing site, includes a 1503 prepara­to­ry map in da Vinci’s papers; the pres­ence of arsenic, which only Leonar­do was known to use at the time in cop­per to keep it from los­ing its lus­tre; “The use of chiaroscuro, pen­ti­en­ti, tri­an­gu­lar shapes, the math­e­mat­ics of the scale reflect­ing Leonardo’s writ­ten dimen­sion of plan­et earth”; and a 1504 let­ter from Leonar­do him­self stat­ing, “my world globe I want returned back from my friend Gio­van­ni Ben­ci.”

Missinne and Geert Ver­ho­even, of the Lud­wig Boltz­mann Insti­tute for Archae­o­log­i­cal Prospec­tion & Vir­tu­al Arche­ol­o­gy, have pub­lished a paper on the “unfold­ing” of Leonardo’s globe into the two-dimen­sion­al image above (see an inter­ac­tive ver­sion here). “This minia­ture egg globe is not only the old­est extant engraved globe,” the authors write, “but it is also the old­est post-Columbian globe of the world and the first ever to depict New­found­land and many oth­er ter­ri­to­ries.” Pre­vi­ous­ly, the Hunt-Lenox Globe, a small cop­per globe, was thought to be the old­est known such arti­fact. Dat­ed to around 1510, this globe, Missinne dis­cov­ered, is actu­al­ly a copy made from a cast of the old­er, orig­i­nal ostrich-egg globe.

Missinne’s find­ings have their detrac­tors, includ­ing John W. Hessler of the Library of Con­gress, who claims Missinne him­self is the anony­mous own­er of the globe, which rais­es issues of con­flict of inter­est. “Where this thing comes from needs to be clar­i­fied,” says Renais­sance car­tog­ra­phy expert Chet Van Duzer of the John Carter Brown Library in Prov­i­dence, R.I., though he adds, “It is an excit­ing dis­cov­ery, no ques­tion.” Missinne’s claims for the egg’s prove­nance are more mod­est than his mar­ket­ing. He “spec­u­lates,” writes Kim, “ the egg could have loose con­nec­tions to the work­shop of Leonar­do da Vin­ci.” Hessler’s view is less equiv­o­cal: “The Leonar­do con­nec­tion is pure non­sense.”

A layper­son like Missinne, what­ev­er his per­son­al invest­ment, might be inclined to over­in­ter­pret evi­dence or make ten­u­ous con­nec­tions a trained schol­ar would avoid. The many schol­ars he cites in sup­port of his claims for the globe are also vul­ner­a­ble to these charges, how­ev­er, though to a less­er degree. What do we make of French Mona Lisa expert Pas­cal Cotte’s tes­ti­mo­ni­al, “I here­by con­firm the evi­dence of the left-hand­ed­ness of the engrav­ings on the Ostrich Egg Globe. As Leonar­do was the only left-hand­ed artist in his work­shop, I here­by endorse the hypoth­e­sis of Leonar­do da Vinci’s author­ship”? As in all such aca­d­e­m­ic debates, “Here be drag­ons.” Weigh the case in full in Missinne’s 2018 book, The Da Vin­ci Globe.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leonar­do da Vinci’s Ele­gant Stud­ies of the Human Heart Were 500 Years Ahead of Their Time

Leonar­do da Vin­ci Draws Designs of Future War Machines: Tanks, Machine Guns & More

Leonar­do da Vinci’s Ear­li­est Note­books Now Dig­i­tized and Made Free Online: Explore His Inge­nious Draw­ings, Dia­grams, Mir­ror Writ­ing & More

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

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

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

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

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

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

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

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

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Alan Watts Reads “One of the Greatest Things Carl Jung Ever Wrote”

Carl Jung found­ed the field of ana­lyt­i­cal psy­chol­o­gy more than a cen­tu­ry ago, and many ref­er­ence his insights into the human mind and con­di­tion still today. Alan Watts cer­tain­ly did his bit to keep the Jun­gian flame alive, what­ev­er the out­ward dif­fer­ences between a Swiss psy­chi­a­trist and an Eng­lish inter­preter of Tao­ism, Hin­duism, and Bud­dhism, espe­cial­ly of the Zen vari­ety. Both men believed in cast­ing a wide spir­i­tu­al net, all the bet­ter to expose the com­mon core ele­ments of seem­ing­ly dis­parate ancient tra­di­tions. And in so doing they could hard­ly afford to ignore the reli­gious under­pin­nings of the Euro­pean civ­i­liza­tion, broad­ly speak­ing, from which they emerged. In fact, Watts became an ordained Epis­co­pal priest at the age of 30 — though, owing to the com­plex­i­ties of his beliefs as well as his per­son­al life, he resigned the min­istry by age 35.

But Watts’ invest­ment in cer­tain tenets of Chris­tian­i­ty endured, and he named as one of Jung’s great­est writ­ings a lec­ture deliv­ered to a Swiss cler­gy group. “Peo­ple for­get that even doc­tors have moral scru­ples and that cer­tain patient’s con­fes­sions are hard even for a doc­tor to swal­low,” begins the speech as Watts reads it aloud in the video above. “Yet the patient does not feel him­self accept­ed unless the very worst in him is accept­ed too. No one can bring this about by mere words. It comes only through reflec­tion and through the doctor’s atti­tude towards him­self and his own dark side.” To help anoth­er per­son, in oth­er words, one must first accept that per­son as he is; but to accept anoth­er per­son as he is first requires tak­ing one­self straight, less-than-admirable qual­i­ties and all.

Accord­ing to Watts, Jung him­self demon­strat­ed this rare self-aware­ness. “He knew and rec­og­nized what I some­times call the ele­ment of irre­ducible ras­cal­i­ty in him­self,” says Watts in a talk of his own pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture. “He knew it so strong­ly and so clear­ly, and in a way so lov­ing­ly, that he would not con­demn the same thing in oth­ers, and would there­fore not be led into those thoughts, feel­ings, and acts of vio­lence towards oth­ers which are always char­ac­ter­is­tic of the peo­ple who project the dev­il in them­selves upon the out­side, upon some­body else, upon the scape­goat.” As Jung puts it to his cler­i­cal audi­ence, “In the sphere of social or nation­al rela­tions, the state of suf­fer­ing may be civ­il war, and this state is to be cured by the Chris­t­ian virtue of for­give­ness and love of one’s ene­mies.”

What Chris­tian­i­ty holds as true of the out­er world goes just as well, Jung argues, for the inner one. “This is why mod­ern man has heard enough about guilt and sin. He is sore­ly beset by his own bad con­science and wants, rather, to know how he is to rec­on­cile him­self with his own nature, how he is to love the ene­my in his own heart and call the wolf his broth­er.” He “does not want to know in what way he can imi­tate Christ, but in what way he can live his own indi­vid­ual life, how­ev­er mea­gre and unin­ter­est­ing it may be.” Only by being allowed to fol­low this “ego­ism” to its con­clu­sion of “com­plete iso­la­tion” can he “get to know him­self and learn what an invalu­able trea­sure is the love of his fel­low beings”; it is only “in the state of com­plete aban­don­ment and lone­li­ness that we expe­ri­ence the help­ful pow­ers of our own natures.” With­out know­ing our own natures, we can hard­ly expect even the most time-test­ed belief sys­tems to put an end to the civ­il wars inside us.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Zen Mas­ter Alan Watts Explains What Made Carl Jung Such an Influ­en­tial Thinker

Carl Jung Explains His Ground­break­ing The­o­ries About Psy­chol­o­gy in a Rare Inter­view (1957)

Alan Watts On Why Our Minds And Tech­nol­o­gy Can’t Grasp Real­i­ty

Face to Face with Carl Jung: ‘Man Can­not Stand a Mean­ing­less Life’ (1959)

The Wis­dom of Alan Watts in Four Thought-Pro­vok­ing Ani­ma­tions

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

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Watch a Korean Master Craftsman Make a Kimchi Pot by Hand, All According to Ancient Tradition

The South Kore­an cap­i­tal of Seoul, where I live, has in the 21st cen­tu­ry aston­ished vis­it­ing West­ern­ers with its tech­nol­o­gy, its infra­struc­ture, and its sheer urban vital­i­ty. It strikes many of those West­ern­ers (and I include myself among them) as con­sid­er­ably more devel­oped than any­where in the coun­tries they came from. But how­ev­er much Seoul may feel like the future, nowhere in Korea has the past whol­ly van­ished. Take the bul­bous earth­en­ware jars still vis­i­ble on more than a few of the coun­try’s ter­races and rooftops, meant to hold condi­ments like soy­bean and red pep­per paste as well as that world-famous sym­bol of not just Kore­an cui­sine but Kore­an cul­ture itself, the fer­ment­ed cab­bage known as kim­chi.

Com­mon­ly called hangari, or more tra­di­tion­al­ly ong­gi, these jars essen­tial to the fer­men­ta­tion of kim­chi and oth­er Kore­an foods are today pro­duced in large num­bers with indus­tri­al meth­ods. But there are also Kore­an pot­ters who’ve stuck to the old ways — and in a select few cas­es, the very old ways indeed. Take Jin-Gyu, the sub­ject of the video above, a short doc­u­men­tary from Eater’s “Hand­made” series.

“I’m the youngest of the intan­gi­ble cul­tur­al assets in Korea,” he says, refer­ring to the offi­cial list of Impor­tant Intan­gi­ble Cul­tur­al Prop­er­ties intro­duced to pro­tect long-stand­ing tra­di­tions in music, dance, and craft just as the coun­try began its unprece­dent­ed surge into moder­ni­ty. The mak­ing of ong­gi itself, a process Jin-Gyu demon­strates from start to fin­ish in the video, is Impor­tant Intan­gi­ble Cul­tur­al Prop­er­ty No. 96.

After pound­ing his clay into shape while describ­ing how its soil first flows down from the moun­tains, Jin-gyu places it onto his wheel and gives it the dis­tinc­tive shape rec­og­niz­able from all those ter­races and rooftops. This requires con­stant use of his hands, occa­sion­al use of his feet, and even the appli­ca­tion of tra­di­tion­al tools that he also made him­self. The con­trast with tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese pot­tery, its empha­sis on small-scale ele­gance and near-exis­ten­tial­ist atti­tude toward the final prod­uct, is instruc­tive: the Kore­an vari­ety, as Jin-gyu prac­tices it, has a dif­fer­ent ener­gy, more of an emo­tion­al and phys­i­cal rus­tic­i­ty. “This makes me so hap­py,” he says after remov­ing fin­ished jar from the kiln orig­i­nal­ly built by his ong­gi-pot­ter father. “After 300 years, it’ll return to the soil.” But there are plen­ty of hearty meals to be had in the mean­time, none of them with­out kim­chi.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How a Kore­an Pot­ter Found a “Beau­ti­ful Life” Through His Art: A Short, Life-Affirm­ing Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of the Japan­ese Teapot: Watch a Mas­ter Crafts­man at Work, from the Begin­ning Until the Star­tling End

How Soy Sauce Has Been Made in Japan for Over 220 Years: An Inside View

Mod­ern Artists Show How the Ancient Greeks & Romans Made Coins, Vas­es & Arti­sanal Glass

“Prim­i­tive Pot­ter” Trav­els into the Back­coun­try for 10 Days with Only a Knife & Buck­skin and Makes Anasazi Pot­tery

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

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How Quentin Tarantino Shoots a Film at 3 Different Budget Levels: Reservoir Dogs ($1 Million), Pulp Fiction ($8 Million), and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood ($95 Million)

Quentin Taran­ti­no has nev­er shied away from talk­ing, at length and at a rapid clip, about his process. “In anoth­er life,” Col­in Mar­shall writes in a pre­vi­ous post on the sub­ject, he might have become a “fore­most prac­ti­tion­er” of the video essay on cin­e­ma. His metic­u­lous analy­ses of not only his own films but also the hun­dreds he references–or out­right steals from–can be dizzy­ing, the rav­ings of an over­ac­tive cre­ative mind that seems impos­si­ble to rein in.

Taran­ti­no has also giv­en us sig­nif­i­cant insight into his screen­writ­ing process, say­ing “I was put on Earth to face the blank page” and claim­ing that he watch­es the entire film in his mind’s eye before putting pen to paper. He wrote Pulp Fic­tion “off and on,” Mark Seal notes at Van­i­ty Fair, “in a one-room apart­ment with no phone or fax” in Ams­ter­dam. Then he sought out vet­er­an Hol­ly­wood typ­ist Lin­da Chen, who agreed to type, and edit, the man­u­script for free.

“His hand­writ­ing is atro­cious,” says Chen. “He’s a func­tion­al illit­er­ate. I was aver­ag­ing about 9,000 gram­mat­i­cal errors per page. After I would cor­rect them, he would try to put back the errors, because he liked them.”

As a writer, Tarantino’s quirks don’t actu­al­ly seem out of place. As a direc­tor, his process would not seem to lend itself to the most dis­ci­plined pro­duc­tion. The final prod­uct of that error-rid­den script, how­ev­er, became what Roger Ebert called “the most influ­en­tial” movie of the 90s, “so well writ­ten in a scruffy, fanzine way that you want to rub noses in it—the noses of those zom­bie writ­ers who take ‘screen­writ­ing’ class­es that teach them the for­mu­las for ‘hit films.’” Of course, great writ­ing is an indis­pens­able part of mak­ing a great film, but so too is great film­mak­ing.…

How did Taran­ti­no go from fever­ish­ly hand-scrib­bled script to a “most influ­en­tial” film as a direc­tor? He has worked with­in strict lim­i­ta­tions, as on his direc­to­r­i­al debut, Reser­voir Dogs, with larg­er bud­gets and bet­ter sets, as on Pulp Fic­tion, and on his most recent film, the $95 mil­lion Once Upon a Time in Hol­ly­wood. But he has always main­tained a con­sis­tent visu­al style eas­i­ly rec­og­niz­able across all nine of his films.

In the video essay above from In Depth Cine, you can learn more of the sto­ry of how Taran­ti­no accom­plished his direc­to­r­i­al visions, and how that style fol­lowed him from film to film. The video gets into tech­ni­cal details like the choice of 35mm cam­eras and the light­ing place­ment. It also tells the sto­ry of how three films—Reser­voir DogsPulp Fic­tion, and Once Upon a Time in Hol­ly­wood—used their vast­ly dif­fer­ent bud­get lev­els, while all remain­ing true to each oth­er and to their writer and direc­tor’s inten­tions.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Analy­sis of Quentin Tarantino’s Films Nar­rat­ed (Most­ly) by Quentin Taran­ti­no

Quentin Tarantino’s Copy­cat Cin­e­ma: How the Post­mod­ern Film­mak­er Per­fect­ed the Art of the Steal

Quentin Taran­ti­no Explains How to Write & Direct Movies

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

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Brâncuși Captures His Sculpture & Life on Film: Watch Rare Footage Shot Between 1923–1939

Here in the ear­ly 21st cen­tu­ry, even the non-artists among us car­ry dig­i­tal video cam­eras in our pock­ets. Back in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, the abil­i­ty to film your own life and work, or that of your coterie, was­n’t so close at hand — unless, of course, you ran with the avant-garde. Con­stan­tin Brân­cuși did, hav­ing been brought into the artis­tic and intel­lec­tu­al scene of the Paris of the 1910s, to which he’d made his way from his native Roma­nia. He even­tu­al­ly count­ed among his friends the likes of Pablo Picas­so, Ezra Pound, Mar­cel Duchamp, Guil­laume Apol­li­naire, Tris­tan Tzara, and Man Ray, who got the inno­v­a­tive, hard­work­ing and famous­ly low-tech sculp­tor prac­tic­ing cin­e­ma.

“In the ear­ly 1920s, Man Ray, who had pre­vi­ous­ly taught Con­stan­tin Brân­cuși how to han­dle a still cam­era, intro­duced him to the movie cam­era,” says Ubuweb in a descrip­tion of “fifty min­utes of film, shot between 1923 and 1939,” that rep­re­sents “the sum total of all the images ever filmed by Brân­cuși.”

The artist “makes use of fram­ing, shad­ows, inci­den­tal light and refrac­tion in order to acti­vate the plas­tic prop­er­ties of his sculp­tures, and opens up this visu­al analy­sis to move­ment and to time.” Pieces such as Leda and the scan­dalous Princess X become the sub­jects of their own sequences; lat­er, we wit­ness “Bran­cusi’s jour­ney to Roma­nia and the con­struc­tion of the End­less Col­umn in Târ­gu Jiu.”

These End­less Col­umn pas­sages, as art crit­ic Blake Gop­nik sees them, show “Brân­cuși obsessed with how his soar­ing sculp­ture comes to life in the open air.” From all this footage Gop­nik gets the sense that Brân­cuși was “less inter­est­ed in mak­ing fan­cy muse­um objects than in putting new kinds of almost-liv­ing things into the world,” and indeed draw­ing inspi­ra­tion from the liv­ing things of the world: “In one of the clips, Brân­cuși turns his cam­era on a pac­ing hawk, which comes across as a close, nat­ur­al ana­log to the many ‘birds’ he cre­at­ed as sculp­tures.” Anoth­er “shows one of his stone pedestals, which meant as much to him as the sculp­tures set on them, sup­port­ing a live flap­per doing an ecsta­t­ic dance” — cap­ti­vat­ing evi­dence of his inter­est in forms of life beyond the avian.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Film of Sculp­tor Auguste Rodin Work­ing at His Stu­dio in Paris (1915)

Man Ray’s Por­traits of Ernest Hem­ing­way, Ezra Pound, Mar­cel Duchamp & Many Oth­er 1920s Icons

Watch Dreams That Mon­ey Can Buy, a Sur­re­al­ist Film by Man Ray, Mar­cel Duchamp, Alexan­der Calder, Fer­nand Léger & Hans Richter

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

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Wilhelm Reich’s Orgone Energy Accumulator Was Beloved by William S. Burroughs and Banned by the FDA: Find Plans to Build the Controversial Device Online

Was Aus­tri­an Marx­ist psy­cho­an­a­lyst Wil­helm Reich a tren­chant socio-polit­i­cal thinker or a total crank? A fraud or a prophet? Maybe a lit­tle from each col­umn, at dif­fer­ent times dur­ing the course of his bizarre career. An enthu­si­as­tic stu­dent of Sig­mund Freud, Reich applied his teacher’s the­o­ries of repressed libido to the fright­en­ing polit­i­cal the­ater of the 1930s, writ­ing against the spread of Nazism in his pre­scient 1933 book The Mass Psy­chol­o­gy of Fas­cism. Here, Reich brought Marx and Freud togeth­er to argue that sex­u­al inhi­bi­tion and fear led to arrest­ed devel­op­ment and sub­mis­sion to author­i­tar­i­an­ism.

Reich was “a sex­u­al evan­ge­list,” Christop­er Turn­er writes at The Guardian, “who held that sat­is­fac­to­ry orgasm made the dif­fer­ence between sick­ness and health.” His work was banned and burned by the Nazis, and he fled to a suc­ces­sion of Scan­di­na­vian coun­tries, then to the U.S. in 1939, “by which time his for­mer psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic col­leagues were ques­tion­ing his san­i­ty.” The pri­ma­ry rea­son for their sus­pi­cion: Reich’s devo­tion to what he called “orgone,” an all-per­va­sive sex­u­al ener­gy that per­me­ates the uni­verse… accord­ing to Reich. Orgone and relat­ed con­cepts appear in his ear­ly work, but by the end of the 1930s, they came to entire­ly dom­i­nate his think­ing.

“In the strange and col­or­ful his­to­ry of pseu­do­science, Wil­helm Reich’s ‘dis­cov­ery’ of orgone—a sub­stance that’s not only a life force, but indeed makes up the very fab­ric of space—must sure­ly be a water­shed,” writes Matt Simon at Wired. Reich inten­si­fied his belief in the glow­ing blue ener­gy of orgone with the inven­tion of the Orgone Ener­gy Accu­mu­la­tor, an iso­la­tion box that sup­pos­ed­ly charged those who sat inside it with the pow­er of orgone. The device went through a few iter­a­tions (see the use of the “orgone blan­ket, above), until its final form of a met­al-lined box rough­ly the size of a wardrobe or tele­phone booth.

Reich’s influ­ence on 20th cen­tu­ry cul­ture goes far beyond the cre­ation of this weird device. He might be said to have pre­dict­ed and pre­cip­i­tat­ed what he him­self called the “sex­u­al rev­o­lu­tion.” (“No pow­er on earth will stop it,” Reich wrote in the 30s.) Crit­ics dis­missed his belief in the lib­er­at­ing poten­tial of free love as a “geni­tial utopia.” Their scorn mat­tered lit­tle to the coun­ter­cul­tur­al fig­ures who picked up and dis­sem­i­nat­ed his work. “Almost a cen­tu­ry” after Reich’s inven­tion of orgone, writes Simon, “his bonkers ideas live on,” includ­ing the notion that near­ly every health con­di­tion can be traced to an imbal­ance of orgone ener­gy.

The Orgone Accu­mu­la­tor was pop­u­lar­ized by William S. Bur­roughs, a true believer—as he was in many things, from Sci­en­tol­ogy to Shamanism—and an enthu­si­as­tic pro­mot­er of “life in orgone box­es.” (Jack Ker­ouac called Bur­roughs’ accu­mu­la­tor a “mys­ti­cal out­house” in On the Road.) Bur­roughs swore by the accu­mu­la­tor and wrote a 1977 arti­cle for Oui mag­a­zine in which he defend­ed Reich’s claims that time spent in the sealed box might cure cancer—a claim that prompt­ed the FDA to file an injunc­tion against Reich in 1954 to stop use of the device and lit­er­a­ture per­tain­ing to it.

“Reich con­tin­ued prof­it­ing from the accu­mu­la­tors,” writes Simon, “and the court found him in con­tempt of the injunc­tion. He was sen­tenced to fed­er­al prison, where he died in 1957.” Devo­tees of his work have defend­ed him ever since. (“Who is the FDA,” wrote Bur­roughs indig­nant­ly, “to deprive can­cer patients of any treat­ment that could be effi­ca­cious?”). James DeMeo, Ph.D., direc­tor of the Orgone Bio­phys­i­cal Research Lab­o­ra­to­ry in Ash­land Ore­gon, has recent­ly released the 3rd, revised and expand­ed, edi­tion of his Orgone Accu­mu­la­tor Hand­book, a thor­ough ref­er­ence guide, “with con­struc­tion plans.”

Should you have the desire to build your own “mys­ti­cal out­house,” DeMeo’s text would seem to be a defin­i­tive ref­er­ence. Pro­ceed at your own risk. Wil­helm Reich’s orgone ther­a­py remains square­ly on a list of treat­ments unap­proved by the FDA. The FBI, on the oth­er hand, who “have a whole sec­tion on their web­site ded­i­cat­ed to Wil­helm Reich,” notes Mary Bel­lis, found no cause to pros­e­cute the Aus­tri­an psy­chol­o­gist. “In 1947,” they note, “a secu­ri­ty inves­ti­ga­tion con­clud­ed that nei­ther the Orgone Project nor any of its staff were engaged in sub­ver­sive activ­i­ties.” But what could have been more sub­ver­sive to the post-war U.S. estab­lish­ment than main­tain­ing the world’s ills could be cured by real­ly good sex? Down­load a free copy of DeMeo’s book here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

William S. Bur­roughs’ Man­i­festo for Over­throw­ing a Cor­rupt Gov­ern­ment with Fake News and Oth­er Prophet­ic Meth­ods: It’s Now Pub­lished for the First Time

A Look Inside William S. Bur­roughs’ Bunker

The Famous Break Up of Sig­mund Freud & Carl Jung Explained in a New Ani­mat­ed Video

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

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Take a New Virtual Reality Tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

You can go to the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art today, and in real life at that. This isn’t true of all the world’s great art insti­tu­tions, still shut down as many are by mea­sures in response to the past year’s coro­n­avirus pan­dem­ic. But then, none of them have offered a dig­i­tal vis­it­ing expe­ri­ence quite like The Met Unframed, recent­ly launched in part­ner­ship with cell­phone ser­vice provider Ver­i­zon. For a peri­od of five weeks, any­one can join and freely roam a vir­tu­al recon­struc­tion, or rather reimag­in­ing, of the Met and its gal­leries. There they’ll encounter paint­ings by Pol­lock, Van Gogh, and Rem­brandt, as well as work by cur­rent artists and majes­tic arti­facts from antiq­ui­ty.

“Upon enter­ing the web­site, vis­i­tors are wel­comed to the museum’s Great Hall with a view of Kent Monkman’s dip­tych mist­ikôsi­wak: Wood­en Boat Peo­ple (2019),” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Hakim Bishara. “From there, ban­ners offer broad the­mat­ic con­cepts — Pow­er, Home, Nature, and Jour­ney — through which vis­i­tors can explore the gal­leries.”

Embed­ded in cer­tain pieces of art, you’ll find not just his­tor­i­cal details and audio-tour expla­na­tions but mini-games, which “include triv­ia ques­tions and rid­dles that encour­age close obser­va­tion of the art­works and labels. A game called ‘Analy­sis’ uses the Met’s infrared and X‑ray con­ser­va­tion scans of paint­ings to reveal under­draw­ings and oth­er hid­den details of well-known paint­ings.”

Win enough such games, and you’ll get the chance to “bor­row” the art­work you’ve clicked to dis­play, through aug­ment­ed real­i­ty, in your space of choice — for fif­teen min­utes, at least. At Art­net, crit­ic Ben Davis writes of plac­ing here and there around his apart­ment Fred­er­ic Edwin Church’s Heart of the Andes, Jacob Lawrence’s The Pho­tog­ra­ph­er, and a Baby Yoda-scaled ver­sion of Rem­brandt’s Self-Por­trait. He even makes a seri­ous if ulti­mate­ly frus­trat­ed effort to win dig­i­tal bor­row­ing rights to the ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple of Den­dur, one of the Met’s pièces de résis­tance since the late 1970s.

To expe­ri­ence The Met Unframed for your­self, just head over to its web site and use your phone to scan the QR code that comes up (if you’re not brows­ing on your phone in the first place). You’ll then be tak­en straight to the vir­tu­al Great Hall, which you can nav­i­gate by swip­ing in any direc­tion — or phys­i­cal­ly mov­ing your phone around, if you’ve enabled gyro­scope mode — and tap­ping the icons glow­ing along the ground or on the walls. The com­bi­na­tion of high tech­nol­o­gy, his­tor­i­cal ref­er­ence, depop­u­lat­ed but ele­gant­ly designed set­tings, puz­zle chal­lenges, and a score in which syn­the­siz­ers meet ambi­ent noise will remind vis­i­tors of a cer­tain age of noth­ing so much as the adven­ture games of the ear­ly 1990s, espe­cial­ly Myst and its clones. But then, what does a muse­um do if not unite the past and the present?

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Unbe­liev­ably Detailed, Hand-Drawn Map Lets You Explore the Rich Col­lec­tions of the Met Muse­um

Down­load 584 Free Art Books from The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Puts 400,000 High-Res Images Online & Makes Them Free to Use

Down­load 50,000 Art Books & Cat­a­logs from the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art’s Dig­i­tal Col­lec­tions

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of 30 World-Class Muse­ums & Safe­ly Vis­it 2 Mil­lion Works of Fine Art

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

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A Look Inside William S. Burroughs’ Bunker

When every­body had one or two vod­kas and smoked a few joints, it was always the time for the blow­gun. —John Giorno

From 1974 to 1982, writer William S. Bur­roughs lived in a for­mer lock­er room of a 19th-cen­tu­ry for­mer-YMCA on New York City’s Low­er East Side.

When he moved on, his stuff, includ­ing his worn out shoes, his gun mags, the type­writer on which he wrote Cities of the Red Night, and half of The Place of Dead Roads, a well-worn copy of The Med­ical Impli­ca­tions of Karate Blows, and a lamp made from a work­ing Civ­il war-era rifle, remained.

His friend, neigh­bor, tour­mate, and occa­sion­al lover, poet John Giorno pre­served “The Bunker” large­ly as Bur­roughs had left it, and seems to delight in rehash­ing old times dur­ing a 2017 tour for the Louisiana Chan­nel, above.

It’s hard to believe that Bur­roughs found Giorno to be “patho­log­i­cal­ly silent” in the ear­ly days of their acquain­tance:

He just would­n’t say any­thing. You could be there with him the whole evening, he wouldn’t say a word. It was not the shy­ness of youth, it was much more than that, it was a very deep lack of abil­i­ty to com­mu­ni­cate. Then he had can­cer and after the oper­a­tion that was com­plete­ly reversed and now he is at times a com­pul­sive talk­er, when he gets going there is no stop­ping him.

Accord­ing to Bur­roughs’ com­pan­ion, edi­tor and lit­er­ary execu­tor, James Grauer­holz, dur­ing this peri­od in Bur­roughs’ life, “John was the per­son who con­tributed most to William’s care and upkeep and friend­ship and loved him.”

Giorno also pre­pared Bur­roughs’ favorite dishbacon wrapped chick­enand joined him for tar­get prac­tice with the blow­gun and a BB gun whose pro­jec­tiles were force­ful enough to pen­e­trate a phone­book.

Prox­im­i­ty meant Giorno was well acquaint­ed with the sched­ules that gov­erned Bur­roughs’ life, from wak­ing and writ­ing, to his dai­ly dose of methadone and first vod­ka-and-Coke of the day.

He was present for many din­ner par­ties with famous friends includ­ing Andy WarholLou ReedFrank Zap­paAllen Gins­bergDeb­bie Har­ryKei­th Har­ingJean-Michel Basquiat, and Pat­ti Smith, who recalled vis­it­ing the Bunker in her Nation­al Book Award-win­ning mem­oir, Just Kids:

It was the street of winos and they would often have five cylin­dri­cal trash cans to keep warm, to cook, or light their cig­a­rettes. You could look down the Bow­ery and see these fires glow­ing right to William’s door… he camped in the Bunker with his type­writer, his shot­gun and his over­coat.

All Giorno had to do was walk upstairs to enjoy Bur­roughs’ com­pa­ny, but all oth­er vis­i­tors were sub­ject­ed to strin­gent secu­ri­ty mea­sures, as described by Vic­tor Bock­ris in With William Bur­roughs: A Report from the Bunker:

To get into the Bunker one had to pass through three locked gates and a gray bul­let­proof met­al door. To get through the gates you had to tele­phone from a near­by phone booth, at which point some­one would come down and labo­ri­ous­ly unlock, then relock three gates before lead­ing you up the sin­gle flight of gray stone stairs to the omi­nous front door of William S. Bur­roughs’ head­quar­ters.

Although Bur­roughs lived sim­ply, he did make some mod­i­fi­ca­tions to his $250/month rental. He repaint­ed the bat­tle­ship gray floor white to coun­ter­act the lack of nat­ur­al light. It’s pret­ty impreg­nable.

He also installed an Orgone Accu­mu­la­tor, the inven­tion of psy­cho­an­a­lyst William Reich, who believed that spend­ing time in the cab­i­net would improve the sitter’s men­tal, phys­i­cal, and cre­ative well­be­ing by expos­ing them to a mys­te­ri­ous uni­ver­sal life force he dubbed orgone ener­gy.

(“How could you get up in the morn­ing with a hang­over and go sit in one of these things?” Giorno chuck­les. “The hang­over is enough!”)

Includ­ed in the tour are excerpts of Giorno’s 1997 poem “The Death of William Bur­roughs.” Take it with a bit of salt, or an open­ness to the idea of astral body trav­el.

As per biog­ra­ph­er Bar­ry Miles, Bur­roughs died in the Lawrence Memo­r­i­al Hos­pi­tal ICU in Kansas, a day after suf­fer­ing a heart attack. His only vis­i­tors were James Grauer­holz, his assis­tant Tom Pes­chio, and Dean Ripa, a friend who’d been expect­ed for din­ner the night he fell ill.

Poet­ic license aside, the poem pro­vides extra insight into the men’s friend­ship, and Bur­roughs’ time in the Bunker:

The Death of William Bur­roughs

by John Giorno

William died on August 2, 1997, Sat­ur­day at 6:01 in the
after­noon from com­pli­ca­tions from a mas­sive heart attack
he’d had the day before. He was 83 years old. I was with
William Bur­roughs when he died, and it was one of the best
times I ever had with him.  

Doing Tibetan Nying­ma Bud­dhist med­i­ta­tion prac­tices, I
absorbed William’s con­scious­ness into my heart. It seemed as
a bright white light, blind­ing but mut­ed, emp­ty. I was the
vehi­cle, his con­scious­ness pass­ing through me. A gen­tle
shoot­ing star came in my heart and up the cen­tral chan­nel,
and out the top of my head to a pure field of great clar­i­ty
and bliss. It was very powerful—William Bur­roughs rest­ing
in great equa­nim­i­ty, and the vast emp­ty expanse of
pri­mor­dial wis­dom mind.

I was stay­ing in William’s house, doing my med­i­ta­tion
prac­tices for him, try­ing to main­tain good con­di­tions and
dis­solve any obsta­cles that might be aris­ing for him at that
very moment in the bar­do. I was con­fi­dent that William had
a high degree of real­iza­tion, but he was not a com­plete­ly
enlight­ened being. Lazy, alco­holic, junkie William. I didn’t
allow doubt to arise in my mind, even for an instant,
because it would allow doubt to arise in William’s mind.

Now, I had to do it for him.

What went into William Bur­roughs’ cof­fin with his dead body:

About ten in the morn­ing on Tues­day, August 6, 1997,
James Grauer­holz and 
Ira Sil­ver­berg came to William’s
house to pick out the clothes for the funer­al direc­tor to put
on William’s corpse. His clothes were in a clos­et in my
room. And we picked the things to go into William’s cof­fin
and grave, accom­pa­ny­ing him on his jour­ney in the
under­world.

His most favorite gun, a 38 spe­cial snub-nose, ful­ly loaded
with five shots. He called it, “The Snub­by.” The gun was my
idea. “This is very impor­tant!” William always said you can
nev­er be too well armed in any sit­u­a­tion. Of his more than
80 world-class guns, it was his favorite. He often wore it on
his belt dur­ing the day, and slept with it, ful­ly loaded, on
his right side, under the bed sheet, every night for fif­teen
years.

Grey fedo­ra. He always wore a hat when he went out. We
want­ed his con­scious­ness to feel per­fect­ly at ease, dead.

His favorite cane, a sword cane made of hick­o­ry with a
light rose­wood fin­ish.

Sport jack­et, black with a dark green tint. We rum­maged
through the clos­et and it was the best of his shab­by clothes,
and smelling sweet of him.

Blue jeans, the least worn ones were the only ones clean.

Red ban­dana. He always kept one in his back pock­et.

Jock­ey under­wear and socks.  

Black shoes. The ones he wore when he per­formed. I
thought the old brown ones, that he wore all the time,
because they were com­fort­able. James Grauer­holz insist­ed,
“There’s an old CIA slang that says get­ting a new
assign­ment is get­ting new shoes.”

White shirt. We had bought it in a men’s shop in Bev­er­ly
Hills in 1981 on The Red Night Tour. It was his best shirt,
all the oth­ers were a bit ragged, and even though it had
become tight, he’d lost a lot of weight, and we thought it
would fit.  James said,” Don’t they slit it down the back
any­way.”

Neck­tie, blue, hand paint­ed by William.

Moroc­can vest, green vel­vet with gold bro­cade trim, giv­en
him by 
Brion Gysin, twen­ty-five years before.

In his lapel but­ton hole, the rosette of the French
gov­ern­men­t’s Com­man­deur des Arts et Let­tres, and the
rosette of the Amer­i­can Acad­e­my of Arts and Let­ters,
hon­ors which William very much appre­ci­at­ed.

A gold coin in his pants pock­et. A gold 19th Cen­tu­ry Indi­an
head five dol­lar piece, sym­bol­iz­ing all wealth. William
would have enough mon­ey to buy his way in the
under­world.

His eye­glass­es in his out­side breast pock­et.

A ball point pen, the kind he always used. “He was a
writer!”, and some­times wrote long hand.

A joint of real­ly good grass.

Hero­in. Before the funer­al ser­vice, Grant Hart slipped a
small white paper pack­et into William’s pock­et. “Nobody’s
going to bust him.” said Grant. William, bejew­eled with all
his adorn­ments, was trav­el­ing in the under­world.

I kissed him. An ear­ly LP album of us togeth­er, 1975, was
called 
Bit­ing Off The Tongue Of A Corpse. I kissed him on
the lips, but I did­n’t do it .  .  . and I should have.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Call Me Bur­roughs: Hear William S. Bur­roughs Read from Naked Lunch & The Soft Machine in His First Spo­ken Word Album (1965)

How William S. Bur­roughs Influ­enced Rock and Roll, from the 1960s to Today

William S. Bur­roughs’ Class on Writ­ing Sources (1976) 

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

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How Lava Lamps Help Secure the Internet

Try not to think too hard about the con­cept of ran­dom­ness — and espe­cial­ly about the ques­tion of how, exact­ly, one gen­er­ates a ran­dom num­ber. Most of us, of course, sim­ply ask a com­put­er to do it. But how can a com­put­er, which by its very nature fol­lows unam­bigu­ous direc­tions in a pre­dictable man­ner, come up with a tru­ly ran­dom num­ber, in the lit­er­al sense of the word? As far as the every­day pur­pos­es for which we might need “ran­dom” num­bers — set­ting the com­bi­na­tion on a lock, for instance — mere­ly unpre­dictable num­bers suf­fice. But where, exact­ly, can we draw the line between unpre­dictabil­i­ty and ran­dom­ness?

Albert Ein­stein famous­ly pro­nounced that “God does not play dice with the uni­verse,” draw­ing on a metaphor still cen­tral to human­i­ty’s con­cep­tion of ran­dom­ness. Dice pro­vide “ran­dom” num­bers in that, when thrown, they’re sub­ject to too many phys­i­cal fac­tors — an area of some inter­est for Ein­stein — for us to reli­ably guess which way they’ll land. And so we find our­selves again deliv­ered back from ran­dom­ness into unpre­dictabil­i­ty. But achiev­ing ever-greater unpre­dictabil­i­ty, which has proven invalu­able to fields like cryp­tog­ra­phy, has neces­si­tat­ed com­bin­ing com­put­ers with ana­log phys­i­cal phe­nom­e­na essen­tial­ly sim­i­lar to the rolling of dice.

Using a some­what less ancient tech­nol­o­gy, inter­net secu­ri­ty provider Cloud­flare has tak­en a step clos­er to gen­uine ran­dom­ness. “Every time you log in to any web­site, you’re assigned a unique iden­ti­fi­ca­tion num­ber,” explains Wired’s Ellen Airhart. “It should be ran­dom, because if hack­ers can pre­dict the num­ber, they’ll imper­son­ate you.” But who could pre­dict “the goopy mes­mer­ic swirlings of oil, water, and wax” with­in a lava lamp, let alone an entire wall cov­ered with them? “Cloud­flare films the lamps 24/7 and uses the ever-chang­ing arrange­ment of pix­els to help cre­ate a super­pow­ered cryp­to­graph­ic key.”

The­o­ret­i­cal­ly, Airhart acknowl­edges, “bad guys could sneak their own cam­era into Cloudflare’s lob­by to cap­ture the same scene,” but the com­pa­ny also “films the move­ments of a pen­du­lum in its Lon­don office and records the mea­sure­ments of a Geiger counter in Sin­ga­pore to add more chaos to the equa­tion. Crack that, Rus­sians.” Con­stant vig­i­lance against a threat from Rus­sia aid­ed by psy­che­del­ic bed­room light fix­tures? You’d be for­giv­en for feel­ing unstuck in time, par­tial­ly trans­port­ed to the real­i­ty of half a cen­tu­ry ago. But then, Cloud­flare is head­quar­tered in San Fran­cis­co — a city where the ground­break­ing and the groovy haven’t part­ed ways just yet.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Fry Explains Cloud Com­put­ing in a Short Ani­mat­ed Video

“The Bay Lights,” The World’s Largest LED Light Sculp­ture, Debuts in San Fran­cis­co

How Art Nou­veau Inspired the Psy­che­del­ic Designs of the 1960s

Visu­al­iz­ing WiFi Sig­nals with Light

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

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