Search Results for "anal"

Yoko Ono Lets Audience Cut Up Her Clothes in Conceptual Art Performance (Carnegie Hall, 1965)

Back before it was com­mon prac­tice to pref­ace one’s web posts with the phrase “trig­ger warn­ing” (which, BTW, might well apply here)…

Before the Inter­net…

And slight­ly before the pub­lic rev­e­la­tion of her rela­tion­ship with John Lennon turned a Japan­ese avant-garde artist into an Amer­i­can house­hold name…

Yoko Ono main­tained an aura of imper­vi­ous­ness onstage at Carnegie Hall, as audi­ence mem­bers accept­ed the chal­lenge to cut away her cloth­ing one piece at a time.

This now-famous con­cep­tu­al per­for­mance was doc­u­ment­ed by film­mak­ers Albert and David Maysles, who cap­tured ner­vous laugh­ter and audi­ence com­men­tary along with the onstage action. (Ono had pre­vi­ous­ly per­formed the piece twice in Japan where—with the excep­tion of one man who wield­ed the scis­sors as if intend­ing to stab her—audiences proved ret­i­cent and respect­ful.)

What does Cut Piece mean?

The motion­less­ness Ono imposed upon her­self (and all sub­se­quent per­form­ers of the work) keeps things open to inter­pre­ta­tion.

It’s been hailed as a deeply sym­bol­ic fem­i­nist work and rep­re­sent­ed in the press of the time as an unin­hib­it­ed, inter­ac­tive strip show. Many an aca­d­e­m­ic paper has been writ­ten.

With so much con­trol ced­ed to the audi­ence, even the per­former could­n’t pre­dict for cer­tain whether the inten­tion of the piece would synch with the real­i­ty.

Cut Piece can­not be mis­tak­en for pure impro­vi­sa­tion, how­ev­er. Like John Cage’s 4’33”, it has a score, com­plete with vari­a­tions:

 Cut Piece 

First Ver­sion for sin­gle per­former: 

Per­former sits on stage with a pair 

of scis­sors placed in front of him. 

It is announced that mem­bers of the audi­ence 

may come on stage–one at 

a time–to cut a small piece of the 

performer’s cloth­ing to take with them. 

Per­former remains motion­less 

through­out the piece. 

Piece ends at the performer’s 

option.

Ono has said that the impulse for Cut Piece came from the desire to cre­ate art free from ego, the “men­tal­i­ty of say­ing, ‘here you are, take any­thing you want, any part you want,’ rather than push­ing some­thing you chose on some­one else.”

She also took inspi­ra­tion from a famil­iar child­hood sto­ry about the Bud­dha self­less­ly giv­ing his own body to pro­vide food for a hun­gry tiger. It seems an apt metaphor, giv­en the facial expres­sions of cer­tain audi­ence par­tic­i­pants. Were they fak­ing a con­fi­dence they didn’t feel, or were they just jerks?

Did I men­tion the trig­ger warn­ing?

Doc­u­men­ta­tion, as any per­for­mance artist will tell you, is not quite the same as being there. Reen­act­ments, too, may fall short of the orig­i­nal.

Ono reprised the work in 2003, at the age of 70, not­ing that her moti­va­tion had shift­ed from rage to love, and a desire for world peace.

When artist Jon Hen­dricks per­formed it in 1968, he did so in a thrift store suit, thus ignor­ing its cre­ator’s con­vic­tion that part of its pow­er came from start­ing out in one’s best clothes.

It’s all very ball­sy, and hor­ri­fy­ing, and com­pelling, and a lit­tle hard to watch.

Would you con­sid­er try­ing it in your local library, com­mu­ni­ty hall, or as part of a school fundrais­er?

A longer analy­sis and his­to­ry of Yoko Ono’s Cut Piece can be found here cour­tesy of Kevin Con­can­non.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Yoko Ono, Age 80, Still Has Moves, Dances with The Beast­ie Boys, Ira Glass, Rober­ta Flack & Friends

Down­load the John Lennon/Yoko Ono “War is Over (If You Want It)” Poster in 100+ Lan­guages

John Lennon & Yoko Ono’s Two Appear­ances on The Dick Cavett Show in 1971 and 72

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

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6 Political Theorists Introduced in Animated “School of Life” Videos: Marx, Smith, Rawls & More

“It may come as a sur­prise to some aca­d­e­mics,” writes left­ist polit­i­cal the­o­rist Michael Par­en­ti in his sprawl­ing text­book Democ­ra­cy for the Few, “but there is a marked rela­tion­ship between eco­nom­ic pow­er and polit­i­cal pow­er.” Par­en­ti exaggerates—I have nev­er met such an aca­d­e­m­ic in a human­i­ties depart­ment, though it may be true in the worlds of polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy and polit­i­cal sci­ence.

Yet in cen­turies past, philoso­phers and schol­ars had no trou­ble draw­ing con­clu­sions about the inter­twin­ing of the polit­i­cal and the eco­nom­ic. One may imme­di­ate­ly think of Karl Marx, who—according to the above video from a new School of Life series on famous polit­i­cal theorists—was “capitalism’s most famous and ambi­tious crit­ic.” The prac­ti­cal effects of Marx’s polit­i­cal ideas may be anath­e­ma for good rea­son, Alain de Bot­ton admits, but his eco­nom­ic analy­sis deserves con­tin­ued atten­tion.

“Cap­i­tal­ism is going to have to be reformed,” de Bot­ton says, “and Marx’s analy­ses are going to be part of any answer.” One might imag­ine many aca­d­e­mics object­ing to his cer­tain­ty. Marx’s rel­e­vance is in ques­tion across the polit­i­cal spec­trum, in part because the kind of cap­i­tal­ism he so painstak­ing­ly doc­u­ment­ed is hard­ly rec­og­niz­able to us now.

70 years before Marx diag­nosed the social and eco­nom­ic ills of Vic­to­ri­an cap­i­tal­ism, Scot­tish philoso­pher Adam Smith made sim­i­lar obser­va­tions of its 18th cen­tu­ry pre­cur­sor. Reg­u­lar­ly cit­ed in defense of so-called free mar­ket prin­ci­ples, Smith’s Wealth of Nations as often shows how lit­tle free­dom actu­al­ly exists in cap­i­tal­ist soci­eties because of the undue influ­ence of “the mas­ters” and the hyper-spe­cial­iza­tion of the work force, who were unable in Smith’s time, and often in ours, to orga­nize for their mutu­al inter­ests.

Smith may not have gone as far as Marx in his con­clu­sions, but he did advo­cate pro­gres­sive tax­a­tion and a robust wel­fare state. In the 20th cen­tu­ry, John Rawls argued for a stricter stan­dard of polit­i­cal and eco­nom­ic equal­i­ty than Smith’s appeal to sym­pa­thy. Rawls’ 1971 The­o­ry of Jus­tice intro­duced a “sim­ple, eco­nom­i­cal, and polem­i­cal way to show peo­ple how their soci­eties were unfair”: the “veil of igno­rance.”

This thought exper­i­ment asks us to elim­i­nate unfair­ness by pre­sum­ing we might poten­tial­ly have been born into the cir­cum­stances of any oth­er liv­ing per­son on earth. Though it may not be par­tic­u­lar­ly appar­ent, Rawls’ ideas have had some influ­ence on pol­i­cy. As de Bot­ton points out above, he dined reg­u­lar­ly at the Clin­ton White House. But his prin­ci­ples haven’t much changed the way we live our eco­nom­ic lives, in part because of his cri­tique of the rags-to-rich­es sto­ry, almost a sacred myth in Amer­i­can soci­ety.

Like Adam Smith, Hen­ry David Thoreau’s pol­i­tics seem a lit­tle hard­er to pin down. A con­tem­po­rary of Marx, Thore­au thought in terms of the indi­vid­ual, pen­ning per­haps a found­ing text for both hip­pie home­stead­ers and sur­vival­ists. In Walden—writ­ten while he lived alone in a cab­in on land owned by his friend and patron Ralph Wal­do Emerson—Thoreau makes the case for near total self-reliance. In his Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence, he writes, “I hearti­ly accept the motto—‘That gov­ern­ment is best which gov­erns least.’”

Thore­au also believed “That gov­ern­ment is best which gov­erns not at all.” Yet, despite its author’s fierce lib­er­tar­i­an bent (he refused to pay his tax­es on prin­ci­ple), Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence has served a found­ing text of pro­gres­sive social and envi­ron­men­tal move­ments world­wide. Speak­ing “prac­ti­cal­ly and as a cit­i­zen, unlike those who call them­selves no-gov­ern­ment men,” Thore­au went on, “I ask for, not at once no gov­ern­ment, but at once a bet­ter gov­ern­ment.”

De Botton’s series on polit­i­cal the­o­ry pro­files two more Vic­to­ri­an-era thinkers—poet and writer on polit­i­cal econ­o­my William Mor­ris, above, and art and lit­er­ary crit­ic John Ruskin, below. Both thinkers—with rar­i­fied focus on craft and aesthetics—made their own cri­tiques of cap­i­tal­ism from posi­tions of rel­a­tive lux­u­ry. Though the School of Life series doesn’t say so direct­ly, it seems as though the six philoso­phers it surveys—very cur­so­ri­ly, I should add—were cho­sen as his­tor­i­cal coun­terex­am­ples to the idea that polit­i­cal the­o­rists don’t observe the rela­tion­ship between the polit­i­cal and the eco­nom­ic. It may be the case today in cer­tain aca­d­e­m­ic depart­ments, but it cer­tain­ly was not for over the first two hun­dred years of cap­i­tal­is­m’s exis­tence.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Harvey’s Course on Marx’sCapital: Vol­umes 1 & 2 Now Avail­able Free Online

Niet­zsche, Wittgen­stein & Sartre Explained with Mon­ty Python-Style Ani­ma­tions by The School of Life

Alain de Botton’s School of Life Presents Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tions to Hei­deg­ger, The Sto­ics & Epi­cu­rus

East­ern Phi­los­o­phy Explained with Three Ani­mat­ed Videos by Alain de Botton’s School of Life

Leo Strauss: 15 Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es Online

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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

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Do Not Track: Interactive Film Series Reveals the Personal Information You’re Giving Away on the Web

If Face­book knows every­thing about you, it’s because you hand­ed it the keys to your king­dom.  You post­ed a pho­to, liked a favorite child­hood TV show, and will­ing­ly vol­un­teered your birth­day. In oth­er words, you hand­ed it all the data it needs to annoy you with tar­get­ed adver­tis­ing.

(In my case, it’s an ancient secret that helped a mid­dle aged mom shave 5 inch­es off her waist­line. Let me save you a click: acai berries.)

Film­mak­er Brett Gay­lor (a “lefty Cana­di­an dad who reads sci­ence fic­tion) seeks to set the record straight regard­ing the web economy’s impact on per­son­al pri­va­cy.

Watch­ing his inter­ac­tive doc­u­men­tary web series, Do Not Track, you’ll inevitably arrive at a cross­roads where you must decide whether or not to share your per­son­al infor­ma­tion. No big­gie, right? It’s what hap­pens every time you con­sent to “log in with Face­book.”

Every time you choose this con­ve­nience, you’re allow­ing Google and oth­er big time track­ers to stick a har­poon (aka cook­ie) in your side. Swim all you want, lit­tle fishy. You’re not exact­ly get­ting away, par­tic­u­lar­ly if you’re logged in with a mobile device with a com­pul­sion to reveal your where­abouts.

You say you have noth­ing to hide? Bul­ly for you! What you may not have con­sid­ered is the impact your dig­i­tal easy-breezi­ness has on friends. Your net­work. And vice ver­sa. Tag away!

In this are­na, every “like”—from an acquaintance’s recent­ly launched organ­ic skin­care line to Star Trekhelps track­ers build a sur­pris­ing­ly accu­rate por­trait, one that can be used to deter­mine how insur­able you are, how wor­thy of a loan. Gen­der and age aren’t the only fac­tors that mat­ter here. So does your demon­strat­ed extra­ver­sion, your degree of open­ness.

(Ha ha, and you thought it cost you noth­ing to “like” that acquaintance’s smelly straw­ber­ry-scent­ed mois­tur­iz­er!)

To get the most out of Do Not Track, you’ll want to sup­ply its pro­duc­ers with your email address on your first vis­it. It’s a lit­tle counter-intu­itive, giv­en the sub­ject mat­ter, but doing so will pro­vide you with a unique con­fig­u­ra­tion that promis­es to lift the veil on what the track­ers know about you.

What does it say about me that I couldn’t get my Face­book log-in to work? How dis­ap­point­ing that this fail­ure meant I would be view­ing results tai­lored to Episode 3’s star, Ger­man jour­nal­ist Richard Gut­jahr?

(Your pro­file… says that your age is 42 and your gen­der is male. But the real gold mine is your Face­book data over time. By ana­lyz­ing the at least 129 things you have liked on Face­book, we have used our advanced algo­rithm tech­niques to assess your per­son­al­i­ty and have found you scored high­est in Open­ness which indi­cates you are cre­ative, imag­i­na­tive, and adven­tur­ous. Our per­son­al­i­ty eval­u­a­tion sys­tem uses Psy­cho-demo­graph­ic trait pre­dic­tions pow­ered by the Apply Mag­ic Sauce API devel­oped at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge Psy­cho­met­rics Cen­tre.)

I think the take­away is that I am not too on top of my pri­va­cy set­tings. And why would I be? I’m an extro­vert with noth­ing to hide, except my spend­ing habits, brows­ing his­to­ry, race, age, mar­i­tal sta­tus…

Should we take a tip from our high school brethren, who evade the scruti­ny of col­lege admis­sions coun­selors by adopt­ing some ridicu­lous, evoca­tive pseu­do­nym? Expect upcom­ing episodes of Do Not Track to help us nav­i­gate these and oth­er dig­i­tal issues.

Tune in to Do Not Track here. You can find episodes 1, 2 and 3 cur­rent­ly online. Episodes 4–6 will roll out between May 12 and June 9.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Internet’s Own Boy: New Doc­u­men­tary About Aaron Swartz Now Free Online

A Threat to Inter­net Free­dom: Film­mak­er Bri­an Knap­pen­berg­er Explains Why Net Neu­tral­i­ty Mat­ters

How Brew­ster Kahle and the Inter­net Archive Will Pre­serve the Infi­nite Infor­ma­tion on the Web

Ayun Hal­l­i­day an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine invites you to look into her very soul @AyunHalliday

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High-Tech Japanese Camera Proves That the Shape of a Wine Glass Affects the Flavor of Wines

Japan­ese sci­en­tists have devel­oped a cam­era that con­firms what we’ve long sensed: “wine glass shape has a very sophis­ti­cat­ed func­tion­al design for tast­ing and enjoy­ing wine.” That’s what Kohji Mit­sub­ayashi, a researcher at the Tokyo Med­ical and Den­tal Uni­ver­si­ty, told Chem­istry World.

It’s a lit­tle com­pli­cat­ed, and I’d encour­age you to read this Chem­istry World arti­cle, but the upshot is this: Mitsubayashi’s team used a spe­cial cam­era to ana­lyze “dif­fer­ent wines, in dif­fer­ent glass­es – includ­ing dif­fer­ent shaped wine glass­es, a mar­ti­ni glass and a straight glass – at dif­fer­ent tem­per­a­tures.” And they found that “dif­fer­ent glass shapes and tem­per­a­tures can bring out com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent bou­quets and fin­ish­es from the same wine.”

In the video above, you can see the new-fan­gled cam­era in action, demon­strat­ing how wines at dif­fer­ent tem­per­a­tures (some­thing that’s affect­ed by the geom­e­try of the glass) release dif­fer­ent vapors. And those trans­late into dif­fer­ent fla­vors. Get more on this at Chem­istry World.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Open a Wine Bot­tle with Your Shoe for the DIY Con­nois­seur

The Physics of Guin­ness Beer Demys­ti­fied

The Physics of Cof­fee Rings Final­ly Explained

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Watch Björk’s 6 Favorite TED Talks, From the Mushroom Death Suit to the Virtual Choir

Björk_-_Hurricane_Festival

Image by Zach Klein

Singer-song­writer Björk, cur­rent­ly enjoy­ing a career ret­ro­spec­tive at the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art, cel­e­brat­ed TED’s bil­lionth video view with a playlist of six trea­sured TED Talks. What do her choic­es say about her?

In this talk, artist Jae Rhim Lee mod­els her Mush­room Death Suit, a kicky lit­tle snug­gy designed to decom­pose and reme­di­ate tox­ins from corpses before they leech back into the soil or sky. Despite Björk’s fond­ness for out­ré fash­ion, I’m pret­ty sure this choice goes beyond the mere­ly sar­to­r­i­al.

For more infor­ma­tion, or to get in line for a mush­room suit of your own, see the Infin­i­ty Bur­ial Project.

Con­tin­u­ing with the mush­room / fash­ion theme, Björk next turns to design­er Suzanne Lee, who demon­strates how she grows sus­tain­able tex­tiles from kom­bucha mush­rooms. The result­ing mate­r­i­al may var­i­ous­ly resem­ble paper or flex­i­ble veg­etable leather. It is extreme­ly recep­tive to nat­ur­al dyes, but not water repel­lent, so bring a non-kom­bucha-based change of clothes in case you get caught in the rain.

For more infor­ma­tion on Lee’s home­grown, super green fab­ric, vis­it Bio­Cou­ture.

Björk’s clear­ly got a soft spot for things that grow: mush­rooms, mush­room-based fab­ric, and now…building mate­ri­als? Pro­fes­sor of Exper­i­men­tal Archi­tec­ture Rachel Arm­strong’s plan for self-regen­er­at­ing build­ings involves pro­to­cols, or “lit­tle fat­ty bags” that behave like liv­ing things despite an absence of DNA. I’m still not sure how it works, but as long as the lit­tle fat­ty bags are not added to my own ever-grow­ing edi­fice, I’m down.

For more infor­ma­tion on what Dr. Arm­strong refers to as bot­tom up con­struc­tion (includ­ing a scheme to keep Venice from sink­ing) see Black Sky Think­ing.

Björk’s next choice takes a turn for the seri­ous… with games. Game Design­er Bren­da Romero began explor­ing the heavy duty emo­tion­al pos­si­bil­i­ties of the medi­um when her 9‑year-old daugh­ter returned from school with a less than nuanced under­stand­ing of the Mid­dle Pas­sage. The suc­cess of that exper­i­ment inspired her to cre­ate games that spur play­ers to engage on a deep­er lev­el with thorny his­tor­i­cal sub­jects. (The Trail of Tears required 50,000 indi­vid­ual red­dish-brown pieces).

Learn more about Romero’s ana­log games at The Mechan­ic is the Mes­sage.

Remem­ber those 50,000 indi­vid­ual pieces? As pho­tog­ra­ph­er Aaron Huey doc­u­ment­ed life on Pine Ridge Reser­va­tion, he was hum­bled by hear­ing him­self referred to as “wasichu,” a Lako­ta word that can be trans­lat­ed as “non-Indi­an.” Huey decid­ed not to shy away from its more point­ed trans­la­tion: “the one who takes the best meat for him­self.” His TED Talk is an impas­sioned his­to­ry les­son that begins in 1824 with the cre­ation of the Bureau of Indi­an Affairs and ends in an activist chal­lenge.

Proof that Björk is not entire­ly about the quirk.

See Huey’s pho­tos from the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic cov­er sto­ry, “In the Spir­it of Crazy Horse.”

Björk opts to close things on a musi­cal note with excerpts from com­pos­er Eric Whitacre’s “Lux Aurumque” and “Sleep” per­formed by a crowd­sourced vir­tu­al choir. Its members—they swell to 1999 for “Sleep”—record their parts alone at home, then upload them to be mixed into some­thing son­i­cal­ly and spir­i­tu­al­ly greater than the sum of its parts.

Lis­ten to “Sleep” in its entire­ty here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Album Björk Record­ed as an 11-Year-Old: Fea­tures Cov­er Art Pro­vid­ed By Her Mom (1977)

A Young Björk Decon­structs (Phys­i­cal­ly & The­o­ret­i­cal­ly) a Tele­vi­sion in a Delight­ful Retro Video

Björk and Sir David Atten­bor­ough Team Up in a New Doc­u­men­tary About Music and Tech­nol­o­gy

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

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Discover the Life & Work of Stanley Kubrick in a Sweeping Three-Hour Video Essay

For at least fifty years, the work of Stan­ley Kubrick has con­sti­tut­ed an ide­al object of study for seri­ous cinephiles. Now that the tech­no­log­i­cal democ­ra­ti­za­tion of the past decade has allowed some of the most seri­ous cinephiles to become video essay­ists, that study has flow­ered into a host of mini-doc­u­men­taries close­ly exam­in­ing the tech­niques of all of film his­to­ry’s most scru­ti­niz­able auteurs. The sub­field of Kubrick-themed video essay­ism recent­ly reached a new high water­mark with film­mak­er Cameron Beyl’s five-part, three-hour Direc­tors Series study of the man’s life and work.

“Every liv­ing film­mak­er today works under the shad­ow of Stan­ley Kubrick,” says Beyl in his nar­ra­tion toward the end of the series. “His roller-coast­er ride of a career last­ed 45 years and spanned two con­ti­nents, leav­ing four­teen fea­tures and count­less inno­va­tions in its wake.

In mak­ing his films, Kubrick ulti­mate­ly want­ed to change the form of cin­e­ma itself. His explo­ration of alter­na­tive sto­ry struc­tures and new forms of expres­sion result­ed in sev­er­al ground­break­ing con­tri­bu­tions to the devel­op­ment of the craft itself.”

If you want to find out much more about the nature of those ground­break­ing con­tri­bu­tions, block out the time and watch Beyl’s analy­ses of each peri­od of Kubrick­’s career: the time of his ear­ly inde­pen­dent fea­tures (Fear & DesireKiller’s KissThe Killing), the Kirk Dou­glas years (Paths of Glo­ry and Spar­ta­cus), the Peter Sell­ers come­dies (Loli­ta and Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Wor­ry­ing and Love the Bomb), the mas­ter­works (2001: A Space Odyssey, A Clock­work OrangeBar­ry Lyn­don, and The Shin­ing), and the final fea­tures (Full Met­al Jack­et and Eyes Wide Shut.)

The project leaves no aspect of Kubrick­’s mas­tery unmen­tioned: his painstak­ing research habits, his much-dis­cussed take-after-take-after-take shoot­ing method on set, his care­ful method of dis­cov­er­ing each film’s form in the edit­ing room, his eager­ness to incor­po­rate new tech­nol­o­gy into his pro­duc­tions, and his fin­ished pic­tures’ simul­ta­ne­ous embod­i­ment and sub­ver­sion of genre. It makes us ask the obvi­ous but seem­ing­ly unan­swer­able ques­tion: who’s the next Stan­ley Kubrick? But Beyl actu­al­ly has an answer, and one that has become the sub­ject of his next series, already in progress: David Finch­er. The direc­tor of The Game, Fight Club, and The Social Net­work has big shoes to fill —  or so he’ll real­ize even more clear­ly if he watch­es the Kubrick series him­self.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sig­na­ture Shots from the Films of Stan­ley Kubrick: One-Point Per­spec­tive

The Shin­ing and Oth­er Com­plex Stan­ley Kubrick Films Recut as Sim­ple Hol­ly­wood Movies

Lost Kubrick: A Short Doc­u­men­tary on Stan­ley Kubrick’s Unfin­ished Films

Napoleon: The Great­est Movie Stan­ley Kubrick Nev­er Made

Explore the Mas­sive Stan­ley Kubrick Exhib­it at the Los Ange­les Coun­ty Muse­um of Art

The Mak­ing of Stan­ley Kubrick’s A Clock­work Orange

Ter­ry Gilliam: The Dif­fer­ence Between Kubrick (Great Film­mak­er) and Spiel­berg (Less So)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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Read An Illustrated Book of Bad Arguments: A Fun Primer on How to Strengthen, Not Weaken, Your Arguments

bad arguments.jpg

The sci­ence of argu­men­ta­tion can seem com­pli­cat­ed, but in day-to-day terms, it quite often comes down to com­pet­ing emo­tions. Polit­i­cal dis­agree­ments thrive on dis­gust and fear; we shut down our rea­son­ing when we feel stressed or angry; and it is dif­fi­cult to get oppo­nents to hear us, whether they agree or not, if we do not exhib­it any sym­pa­thy for their posi­tion, hard as that may be.

How­ev­er, sub­jects in tests told not to feel any­thing about an issue before view­ing media about it tend to be more sup­port­ive. They’ve had some oppor­tu­ni­ty to access high­er order think­ing skills and to over­ride knee-jerk reac­tions. Most argu­ments take place in the fray—family din­ners, online forum wars—but even in these cas­es, apply­ing the best of our rea­son­ing, before, dur­ing, or after, can put us in bet­ter stead. As Ali Almos­sawi, author of An Illus­trat­ed Book of Bad Argu­ments (read online ver­sion here) puts it in his pref­ace:

… for­mal­iz­ing one’s rea­son­ing [can] lead to use­ful ben­e­fits such as clar­i­ty of thought and expres­sion, objec­tiv­i­ty and greater con­fi­dence. The abil­i­ty to ana­lyze argu­ments also help[s] pro­vide a yard­stick for know­ing when to with­draw from dis­cus­sions that would most like­ly be futile.

Almossawi’s strat­e­gy to mit­i­gate bad, or wast­ed, think­ing comes in the form of an inoc­u­la­tion. He quotes Stephen King, who “describes his expe­ri­ence of read­ing a par­tic­u­lar­ly ter­ri­ble nov­el as, ‘the lit­er­ary equiv­a­lent of a small­pox vac­ci­na­tion.’” Rather than a Ciceron­ian trea­tise on what makes a good argu­ment, Almos­sawi presents us with nine­teen exam­ples of the bad: infor­mal log­i­cal fal­lac­i­es we may be famil­iar with—Appeal to Author­i­ty (below), Cir­cu­lar Rea­son­ing (fur­ther down), Slip­pery Slope (bottom)—as well as many we may not be.

Appeal to Authority

The twist here is in Ale­jan­dro Giraldo’s play­ful illus­tra­tions, and the mem­o­rable exam­ples that fol­low Almossawi’s descrip­tions. Inspired part­ly by “alle­gories such as Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm and part­ly by the humor­ous non­sense of works such as Lewis Carroll’s sto­ries and poems,” the draw­ings are also high­ly rem­i­nis­cent, if not very much inspired by, the baroque car­toons of Tony Mil­lion­aire. The art is rich and full of sur­pris­es; the sam­ple argu­ments sil­ly but effec­tive at mak­ing the point.

Circular Reasoning

The next time you find your­self melt­ing down over a dis­agree­ment, it will like­ly help to take a time out and refresh your­self with this use­ful primer. If noth­ing else, it will give you some insight into the short­com­ings of your own argu­ments, and maybe some mea­sure of when to drop the sub­ject alto­geth­er. As Richard Feynman—quoted in an epi­logue to the book—once remarked, “The first prin­ci­ple is that you must not fool your­self and you are the eas­i­est per­son to fool.”  Find the book online here, or pur­chase a copy here.

Slippery Slope

Relat­ed Con­tent:

130+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

A Guide to Log­i­cal Fal­lac­i­es: The “Ad Hominem,” “Straw­man” & Oth­er Fal­lac­i­es Explained in 2‑Minute Videos

Philoso­pher Daniel Den­nett Presents Sev­en Tools For Crit­i­cal Think­ing

Oxford’s Free Course Crit­i­cal Rea­son­ing For Begin­ners Will Teach You to Think Like a Philoso­pher

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

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How Can I Know Right From Wrong? Watch Philosophy Animations on Ethics Narrated by Harry Shearer

The his­to­ry of moral phi­los­o­phy in the West hinges prin­ci­pal­ly on a hand­ful of ques­tions: Is there a God of some sort? An after­life? Free will? And, per­haps most press­ing­ly for human­ists, what exact­ly is the nature of our oblig­a­tions to oth­ers? The lat­ter ques­tion has long occu­pied philoso­phers like Immanuel Kant, whose extreme formulation—the “cat­e­gor­i­cal imperative”—flatly rules out mak­ing eth­i­cal deci­sions depen­dent upon par­tic­u­lar sit­u­a­tions. Kant’s famous exam­ple, one that gen­er­al­ly gets repeat­ed with a nod to God­win, involves an axe mur­der­er show­ing up at your door and ask­ing for the where­abouts of a vis­it­ing friend. In Kant’s esti­ma­tion, telling a lie in this case jus­ti­fies telling a lie at any time, for any rea­son. There­fore, it is uneth­i­cal.

In the video at the top of the post, Har­ry Shear­er nar­rates a script about Kant’s max­im writ­ten by philoso­pher Nigel War­bur­ton, with whim­si­cal illus­tra­tions pro­vid­ed by Cog­ni­tive. Part of the BBC and Open University’s “A His­to­ry of Ideas” series, the video—one of four deal­ing with moral philosophy—also explains how Kant’s approach to ethics dif­fers from those of util­i­tar­i­an­ism.

In the video above, Shear­er describes that most util­i­tar­i­an of thought exper­i­ments, the “Trol­ley Prob­lem.” As described by philoso­pher Philip­pa Foot, this sce­nario imag­ines hav­ing to sac­ri­fice the life of one for those of many. But there is a twist—the sec­ond ver­sion, which involves the added crime of phys­i­cal­ly mur­der­ing one per­son, up close and per­son­al, to save sev­er­al. An anal­o­gous but con­verse the­o­ry is that of Prince­ton philoso­pher Peter Singer (below) who pro­pos­es that our oblig­a­tions to peo­ple in per­il right in front of us equal our oblig­a­tions to those on the oth­er side of the world.

Final­ly, the last video sur­veys one of the thorni­est issues in moral philo­soph­i­cal history—the “is/ought” divide, as prob­lem­at­ic as the ancient Euthy­phro dilem­ma. How, asked David Hume, are we to deduce moral prin­ci­ples from facts about the world that have no moral dimen­sion? Par­tic­u­lar­ly when those facts are nev­er con­clu­sive, are sub­ject to revi­sion, and when new ones get uncov­ered all the time? The ques­tion intro­duces a seem­ing­ly unbridge­able chasm between facts and val­ues. Moral judg­ments found­ed on what is or isn’t “nat­ur­al” floun­der before our ter­ror of much of what nature does, and the very par­tial and fal­li­ble nature of our knowl­edge of it.

The prob­lem is as star­tling as Hume’s cri­tique of causal­i­ty, and in part caused Kant to remark that Hume had awak­ened him from a “dog­mat­ic slum­ber.” What may strike view­ers of the series is just how abstract these ques­tions and exam­ples are—how divorced from the messi­ness of real world pol­i­tics, with the excep­tion, per­haps, of Peter Singer. It may be instruc­tive that polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy forms a sep­a­rate branch in the West. While these prob­lems are cer­tain­ly dif­fi­cult enough to trou­ble the sleep of just about any thought­ful per­son, in our day-to-day lives, our deci­sion mak­ing process seems to be much messier, and much more sit­u­a­tion­al, than we’re prob­a­bly ever aware of.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

A His­to­ry of Ideas: Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain The­o­ries of Simone de Beau­voir, Edmund Burke & Oth­er Philoso­phers

How Did Every­thing Begin?: Ani­ma­tions on the Ori­gins of the Uni­verse Nar­rat­ed by X‑Files Star Gillian Ander­son

What Makes Us Human?: Chom­sky, Locke & Marx Intro­duced by New Ani­mat­ed Videos from the BBC

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

 

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The Talking Heads’ First TV Appearance Was on American Bandstand, and It Was a Little Awkward (1979)

“I guess he’s…organically shy.”–Tina Wey­mouth

As Talk­ing Heads went from CBG­Bs (see some vin­tage video) to col­lege radio to a Euro­pean tour open­ing for The Ramones in 1977, the band was slow­ly mak­ing its way out of New York City pover­ty while their art school rock was seep­ing into Amer­i­can cul­ture at large. When “Take Me To the Riv­er,” their airy, ner­vous but still funky Eno-pro­duced cov­er of the Al Green song became their first Bill­board Top 30 hit, the band took a step towards nation­al recog­ni­tion.

And that leads us to this awk­ward March 17, 1979 appear­ance of the band on ABC’s Amer­i­can Band­stand, their first on Amer­i­can TV. Long­time host Dick Clark was pret­ty square–rock crit­ic Nik Cohn described him as “a disc jock­ey who looked like an all-Amer­i­can choirboy”–but Amer­i­can Band­stand was a prime oppor­tu­ni­ty. In 1979, the New Wave and Post-Punk scenes were rag­ing at the show’s doors. Talk­ing Heads were one of the few acts that year from NYC’s cre­ative caul­dron of a music scene, apart from Blondie and Grace Jones, to make it onto Band­stand.

In the above clip, Clark apol­o­gizes for get­ting Tina Weymouth’s name wrong, then jumps in to inter­view David Byrne, who responds to Clark’s ques­tions by shut­ting them down with embar­rassed looks and mat­ter-of-fact answers. Clark then turns back to Tina for some psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic help. “Is he always this enthu­si­as­tic?” he asks. It crum­bles from there.
Wey­mouth remem­bered it slight­ly dif­fer­ent­ly in this recent (2014) inter­view in New York Mag­a­zine:

I couldn’t explain to the record-label peo­ple why David’s behav­ior could be so incred­i­bly odd. He had a freak-out on our first tele­vi­sion appear­ance, on Dick Clark, on Amer­i­can Band­stand. David sort of froze, and Dick Clark sort of whirled around, and hands the micro­phone to me. And there were oth­er things going on, too. I don’t think any per­son is one thing, or defined by a con­di­tion that they might have.

It’s not exact­ly freez­ing, but it is odd…for rock front­men. And ask­ing Byrne “Do you flog your­self into this?” tells you a bit more about Clark’s state of mind than any­thing else.

You can see the mimed per­for­mance of their hit here:

The oth­er song they per­formed on the broad­cast “Thank You for Send­ing Me an Angel” has not popped up on YouTube…yet.

Part­ing note: The oth­er guest that night on Band­stand was twee, blue-eyed dis­co act Brook­lyn Dreams with their sin­gle Make It Last.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hear the Ear­li­est Known Talk­ing Heads Record­ings (1975)

Talk­ing Heads Live in Rome, 1980: The Con­cert Film You Haven’t Seen

Jim Jarmusch’s Anti-MTV Music Videos for Talk­ing Heads, Neil Young, Tom Waits & Big Audio Dyna­mite

The Talk­ing Heads Play CBGB, the New York Club that Shaped Their Sound (1975)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

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Umberto Eco’s How To Write a Thesis: A Witty, Irreverent & Highly Practical Guide Now Out in English

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Image by Uni­ver­sità Reg­gio Cal­abria, released under a C BY-SA 3.0 license.

In gen­er­al, the how-to book—whether on bee­keep­ing, piano-play­ing, or wilder­ness survival—is a dubi­ous object, always run­ning the risk of bor­ing read­ers into despair­ing apa­thy or hope­less­ly per­plex­ing them with com­plex­i­ty. Instruc­tion­al books abound, but few suc­ceed in their mis­sion of impart­ing the­o­ret­i­cal wis­dom or keen, prac­ti­cal skill. The best few I’ve encoun­tered in my var­i­ous roles have most­ly done the for­mer. In my days as an edu­ca­tor, I found abstract, dis­cur­sive books like Robert Scholes’ Tex­tu­al Pow­er or poet and teacher Marie Ponsot’s lyri­cal Beat Not the Poor Desk infi­nite­ly more salu­tary than more down-to-earth books on the art of teach­ing. As a some­time writer of fic­tion, I’ve found Milan Kundera’s idio­syn­crat­ic The Art of the Nov­el—a book that might have been titled The Art of Kun­dera—a great deal more inspir­ing than any num­ber of oth­er well-mean­ing MFA-lite pub­li­ca­tions. And as a self-taught audio engi­neer, I’ve found a book called Zen and the Art of Mix­ing—a clas­sic of the genre, even short­er on tech­ni­cal spec­i­fi­ca­tions than its name­sake is on motor­cy­cle maintenance—better than any oth­er dense, dia­gram-filled man­u­al.

How I wish, then, that as a one­time (long­time) grad stu­dent, I had had access to the Eng­lish trans­la­tion, just pub­lished this month, of Umber­to Eco’s How to Write a The­sis, a guide to the pro­duc­tion of schol­ar­ly work worth the name by the high­ly cel­e­brat­ed Ital­ian nov­el­ist and intel­lec­tu­al. Writ­ten orig­i­nal­ly in Ital­ian in 1977, before Eco’s name was well-known for such works of fic­tion as The Name of the Rose and Foucault’s Pen­du­lum, How to Write The­sis is appro­pri­ate­ly described by MIT Press as read­ing: “like a nov­el”: “opin­ion­at­ed… fre­quent­ly irrev­er­ent, some­times polem­i­cal, and often hilar­i­ous.”

For exam­ple, in the sec­ond part of his intro­duc­tion, after a rather dry def­i­n­i­tion of the aca­d­e­m­ic “the­sis,” Eco dis­suades a cer­tain type of pos­si­ble read­er from his book, those stu­dents “who are forced to write a the­sis so that they may grad­u­ate quick­ly and obtain the career advance­ment that orig­i­nal­ly moti­vat­ed their uni­ver­si­ty enroll­ment.” These stu­dents, he writes, some of whom “may be as old as 40” (gasp), “will ask for instruc­tions on how to write a the­sis in a month.” To them, he rec­om­mends two pieces of advice, in full knowl­edge that both are clear­ly “ille­gal”:

(a) Invest a rea­son­able amount of mon­ey in hav­ing a the­sis writ­ten by a sec­ond par­ty. (b) Copy a the­sis that was writ­ten a few years pri­or for anoth­er insti­tu­tion. (It is bet­ter not to copy a book cur­rent­ly in print, even if it was writ­ten in a for­eign lan­guage. If the pro­fes­sor is even min­i­mal­ly informed on the top­ic, he will be aware of the book’s exis­tence.

Eco goes on to say that “even pla­gia­riz­ing a the­sis requires an intel­li­gent research effort,” a caveat, I sup­pose, for those too thought­less or lazy even to put the required effort into aca­d­e­m­ic dis­hon­esty.

Instead, he writes for “stu­dents who want to do rig­or­ous work” and “want to write a the­sis that will pro­vide a cer­tain intel­lec­tu­al sat­is­fac­tion.” Eco doesn’t allow for the fact that these groups may not be mutu­al­ly exclu­sive, but no mat­ter. His style is loose and con­ver­sa­tion­al, and the unse­ri­ous­ness of his dog­mat­ic asser­tions belies the lib­er­at­ing tenor of his advice. For all of the fun Eco has dis­cussing the whys and where­for­es of aca­d­e­m­ic writ­ing, he also dis­pens­es a wealth of prac­ti­cal hows, mak­ing his book a rar­i­ty among the small pool of read­able How-tos. For exam­ple, Eco offers us “Four Obvi­ous Rules for Choos­ing a The­sis Top­ic,” the very bedrock of a doc­tor­al (or mas­ters) project, on which said project tru­ly stands or falls:

1. The top­ic should reflect your pre­vi­ous stud­ies and expe­ri­ence. It should be relat­ed to your com­plet­ed cours­es; your oth­er research; and your polit­i­cal, cul­tur­al, or reli­gious expe­ri­ence.

2. The nec­es­sary sources should be mate­ri­al­ly acces­si­ble. You should be near enough to the sources for con­ve­nient access, and you should have the per­mis­sion you need to access them.

3. The nec­es­sary sources should be man­age­able. In oth­er words, you should have the abil­i­ty, expe­ri­ence, and back­ground knowl­edge need­ed to under­stand the sources.

4. You should have some expe­ri­ence with the method­olog­i­cal frame­work that you will use in the the­sis. For exam­ple, if your the­sis top­ic requires you to ana­lyze a Bach vio­lin sonata, you should be versed in music the­o­ry and analy­sis.

Hav­ing suf­fered the throes of propos­ing, then actu­al­ly writ­ing, an aca­d­e­m­ic the­sis, I can say with­out reser­va­tion that, unlike Eco’s encour­age­ment to pla­gia­rism, these four rules are not only help­ful, but nec­es­sary, and not near­ly as obvi­ous as they appear. Eco goes on in the fol­low­ing chap­ter, “Choos­ing the Top­ic,” to present many exam­ples, gen­er­al and spe­cif­ic, of how this is so.

Much of the remain­der of Eco’s book—though writ­ten in as live­ly a style and shot through with wit­ti­cisms and profundity—is grave­ly out­dat­ed in its minute descrip­tions of research meth­ods and for­mat­ting and style guides. This is pre-inter­net, and tech­nol­o­gy has—sadly in many cases—made redun­dant much of the foot­work he dis­cuss­es. That said, his star­tling takes on such top­ics as “Must You Read Books?,” “Aca­d­e­m­ic Humil­i­ty,” “The Audi­ence,” and “How to Write” again offer indis­pens­able ways of think­ing about schol­ar­ly work that one gen­er­al­ly arrives at only, if at all, at the com­ple­tion of a long, painful, and most­ly bewil­der­ing course of writ­ing and research.

FYI: You can down­load Eco’s book, How to Write a The­sis, as a free audio­book if you want to try out Audible.com’s no-risk, 30-day free tri­al pro­gram. Find details here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Books You Think Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Should Read: Crime and Pun­ish­ment, Moby-Dick & Beyond (Many Free Online)

“Lol My The­sis” Show­cas­es Painful­ly Hilar­i­ous Attempts to Sum up Years of Aca­d­e­m­ic Work in One Sen­tence

Steven Pinker Uses The­o­ries from Evo­lu­tion­ary Biol­o­gy to Explain Why Aca­d­e­m­ic Writ­ing is So Bad

Wern­er Herzog’s Rogue Film School: Apply & Learn the Art of Gueril­la Film­mak­ing & Lock-Pick­ing

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

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