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The Dead Sea Scrolls: Discover the Secrets of the Bible’s Oldest and Strangest Texts

The appear­ance of the Dead Sea Scrolls was the most impor­tant doc­u­ment dis­cov­ery of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry. Yet, in some sense, they did­n’t deliv­er what many assumed to be promised with­in: that is, the basis for a com­plete revi­sion of every­thing we thought we knew about Chris­tian­i­ty. The real­i­ty of the Dead Sea Scrolls’ con­tent is less sim­ple, but also stranger — which makes it an ide­al sub­ject for the YouTube chan­nel Hochela­ga, giv­en its pen­chant for explor­ing the obscure byways of reli­gious his­to­ry. And indeed, as host Tom­mie Trelawny says in his new video above, they are the “old­est Bib­li­cal writ­ings ever found,” a sta­tus that, what­ev­er their specifics, cer­tain­ly jus­ti­fies the great scruti­ny paid to them over the past eight decades.

For it was only in 1946 that the Scrolls were found, by a Bedouin shep­herd look­ing for his lost goat in a series of caves in the vicin­i­ty of ancient ruins by the Dead Sea. Or so the sto­ry goes, any­way, and Trelawny explains some of the com­pli­ca­tions that emerge when it’s exam­ined more close­ly.

But the fact remains that those caves did con­tain, tight­ly rolled up and for the most part well-pre­served, a set of scrolls adding up to “around 900 indi­vid­ual man­u­scripts: 40 per­cent of them “resem­bled books found in the Bible”; 30 per­cent, apoc­ryphal writ­ings “banned” from the Bible; and anoth­er 30 per­cent, “writ­ings pre­vi­ous­ly unknown to schol­ar­ship.” Those last include “texts that described a secre­tive reli­gious com­mu­ni­ty and apoc­a­lyp­tic visions of a great heav­en­ly war.”

Most intrigu­ing­ly, there was also “a scroll made entire­ly of cop­per that lists the loca­tions of lost trea­sure.” None of it has ever been found, much as the con­tent of the oth­er texts has­n’t forced a great rethink­ing of the reli­gion at the cen­ter of so much of West­ern civ­i­liza­tion. In fact, as Bib­li­cal schol­ar Robert Alter writes in the Lon­don Review of Books, “the notion that these sec­tar­i­an writ­ings are actu­al­ly Chris­t­ian has no schol­ar­ly cred­i­bil­i­ty,” though some researchers argue that “the blue­print for the Gospel nar­ra­tives,” mes­si­ah fig­ure and all, “was laid out in the Scrolls and fol­lowed by the first Chris­t­ian writ­ers.” They do, how­ev­er, reveal a great deal about the world­view of the par­tic­u­lar fringe faith­ful who took to the desert to keep their unortho­dox beliefs safe from the harsh judg­ment of main­stream soci­ety — and, for about twen­ty cen­turies, safe they remained.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Google Puts The Dead Sea Scrolls Online (in Super High Res­o­lu­tion)

Google Dig­i­tizes Ancient Copies of the Ten Com­mand­ments and Gen­e­sis

2,000-Year-Old Man­u­script of the Ten Com­mand­ments Gets Dig­i­tized: See/Download “Nash Papyrus” in High Res­o­lu­tion

How Ancient Scrolls, Charred by the Erup­tion of Mount Vesu­vius in 79 AD, Are Now Being Read by Par­ti­cle Accel­er­a­tors, 3D Mod­el­ing & Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

The Gnos­tic Gospels: An Intro­duc­tion to the For­bid­den Teach­ings of Jesus

Intro­duc­tion to the Old Tes­ta­ment: A Free Yale Course

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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How the Beatles Wrote Their Songs: From Early Demos to Final Recordings

More than a few of us can claim, with some con­fi­dence, to know every Bea­t­les song. And indeed it may be true, in that we’ve heard every track of all their stu­dio albums. But as decade after decade of Bea­t­les schol­ar­ship has demon­strat­ed, there’s know­ing their songs, and then there’s know­ing their songs. Musi­cian and YouTu­ber David Ben­nett has made it his project to attain the sec­ond kind of knowl­edge, and on his ded­i­cat­ed series UnBea­t­led, to share it with the pub­lic. In each UnBea­t­led video he ana­lyzes just one song — “Help!,” “Here Comes the Sun,” “Pen­ny Lane,” and so on — at a lev­el of detail fine enough to neces­si­tate not just break­ing it down to its com­po­nent tracks, but also exam­in­ing the demos and unre­leased takes record­ed in the stu­dio.

This process can reveal a great deal about the Bea­t­les’ song­writ­ing process, as Ben­nett explains in the video at the top of the post. In the course of twen­ty min­utes, he cov­ers eleven songs, a selec­tion not nec­es­sar­i­ly lim­it­ed to the group’s uni­ver­sal­ly praised com­po­si­tions.

Take the first, “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine,” whose ear­ly record­ings dif­fer both lyri­cal­ly, melod­i­cal­ly, and in time sig­na­ture from the ver­sion we know (and may or may not love), begin­ning with an idea of John’s and being fur­ther shaped by Paul through its iter­a­tions. Anoth­er of John’s musi­cal seeds is “Every­body Had a Hard Year,” whose fin­ger­pick­ing pat­tern (orig­i­nal­ly learned from Dono­van in India) is also heard in “Julia” and “Dear Pru­dence,”  and which evolved, with dif­fer­ent chords, into the mid­dle sec­tion of “I’ve Got a Feel­ing.”

Such inter­con­nec­tions come as rewards of close and deep lis­ten­ing to the Bea­t­les canon. And cer­tain songs turn out to be worlds of their own: “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er,” for instance, was assem­bled out of two com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent record­ings, then adjust­ed in tem­po and pitch to match in the mid­dle. One of those takes includes the voice of pro­duc­er George Mar­tin count­ing in the orches­tra, the pitch of which sug­gests that its mem­bers had orig­i­nal­ly played in a dif­fer­ent key than the one we hear. As Ben­nett notes, using the then rel­a­tive­ly nov­el tech­nol­o­gy of “vari-speed” had become prac­ti­cal­ly stan­dard in the Bea­t­les’ stu­dio process, as such tech­no­log­i­cal lay­er­ing and adjust­ment itself became a key part of their song­writ­ing process. It con­tributed much to their sig­na­ture “vibey, psy­che­del­ic, uncan­ny sound”: sought after by many bands over the past six decades, but nev­er tru­ly repli­cat­ed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

Is “Rain” the Per­fect Bea­t­les Song?: A New Video Explores the Rad­i­cal Inno­va­tions of the 1966 B‑Side

The “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” Demos: The Mak­ing of a Bea­t­les Clas­sic (1966)

How the Bea­t­les Exper­i­ment­ed with Indi­an Music & Pio­neered a New Rock and Roll Sound

How George Mar­tin Defined the Sound of the Bea­t­les: From String Quar­tets to Back­wards Gui­tar Solos

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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The First American Cookbook: Sample Recipes from American Cookery (1796)

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

On the off chance Lin-Manuel Miran­da is cast­ing around for source mate­r­i­al for his next Amer­i­can his­to­ry-based block­buster musi­cal, may we sug­gest Amer­i­can Cook­ery by “poor soli­tary orphan” Amelia Sim­mons?

First pub­lished in 1796, at 47 pages (near­ly three of them are ded­i­cat­ed to dress­ing a tur­tle), it’s a far quick­er read than the fate­ful Ron Cher­now Hamil­ton biog­ra­phy Miran­da impul­sive­ly select­ed for a vaca­tion beach read.

Slen­der as it is, there’s no short­age of meaty mate­r­i­al:

Calves Head dressed Tur­tle Fash­ion

Soup of Lamb’s Head and Pluck

Fowl Smoth­ered in Oys­ters

Tongue Pie

Foot Pie

Mod­ern chefs may find some of the first Amer­i­can cook­book’s meth­ods and mea­sure­ments take some get­ting used to.

We like to cook, but we’re not sure we pos­sess the where­with­al to tack­le a Crook­neck or Win­ter Squash Pud­ding.

We’ve nev­er been called upon to “per­fume” our “whipt cream” with “musk or amber gum tied in a rag.”

And we wouldn’t know a whortle­ber­ry if it bit us in the whit­pot.

The book’s full title is an indi­ca­tion of its mys­te­ri­ous author’s ambi­tions for the new country’s culi­nary future:

Amer­i­can Cook­ery, or the art of dress­ing viands, fish, poul­try, and veg­eta­bles, and the best modes of mak­ing pastes, puffs, pies, tarts, pud­dings, cus­tards, and pre­serves, and all kinds of cakes, from the impe­r­i­al plum to plain cake: Adapt­ed to this coun­try, and all grades of life.

As Kei­th Stave­ly and Kath­leen Fitzger­ald write in an essay for What It Means to Be an Amer­i­can, a “nation­al con­ver­sa­tion host­ed by the Smith­son­ian and Ari­zona State Uni­ver­si­ty,” Amer­i­can Cook­ery man­aged to strad­dle the refined tastes of Fed­er­al­ist elites and the Jef­fer­so­ni­ans who believed “rus­tic sim­plic­i­ty would inoc­u­late their fledg­ling coun­try against the cor­rupt­ing influ­ence of the lux­u­ry to which Britain had suc­cumbed”:

The recipe for “Queen’s Cake” was pure social aspi­ra­tion, in the British mode, with its but­ter whipped to a cream, pound of sug­ar, pound and a quar­ter of flour, 10 eggs, glass of wine, half-teacup of del­i­cate-fla­vored rose­wa­ter, and spices. And “Plumb Cake” offered the striv­ing house­wife a huge 21-egg show­stop­per, full of expen­sive dried and can­died fruit, nuts, spices, wine, and cream.

Then—mere pages away—sat john­ny­cake, fed­er­al pan cake, buck­wheat cake, and Indi­an slap­jack, made of famil­iar ingre­di­ents like corn­meal, flour, milk, water, and a bit of fat, and pre­pared “before the fire” or on a hot grid­dle. They sym­bol­ized the plain, but well-run and boun­ti­ful, Amer­i­can home. A dia­logue on how to bal­ance the sump­tu­ous with the sim­ple in Amer­i­can life had begun.

(Hamil­ton fans will please note that the cake for the 1780 Schuyler-Hamil­ton wed­ding leaned more toward the for­mer than any­thing in the john­ny­cake / slap­jack vein…)

Amer­i­can Cook­ery is one of nine 18th-cen­tu­ry titles to make the Library of Con­gress’ list of 100 Books That Shaped Amer­i­ca:

This cor­ner­stone in Amer­i­can cook­ery is the first cook­book of Amer­i­can author­ship to be print­ed in the Unit­ed States. Numer­ous recipes adapt­ing tra­di­tion­al dish­es by sub­sti­tut­ing native Amer­i­can ingre­di­ents, such as corn, squash and pump­kin, are print­ed here for the first time. Sim­mons’ “Pomp­kin Pud­ding,” baked in a crust, is the basis for the clas­sic Amer­i­can pump­kin pie. Recipes for cake-like gin­ger­bread are the first known to rec­om­mend the use of pearl ash, the fore­run­ner of bak­ing pow­der.

Stu­dents of Women’s His­to­ry will find much to chew on in the sec­ond edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery as well, though they may find a few spoon­fuls of pearl ash dis­solved in water nec­es­sary to set­tle upset stom­achs after read­ing Sim­mons’ intro­duc­tion.

Stave­ly and Fitzger­ald observe how “she thanks the fash­ion­able ladies,” or “respectable char­ac­ters,” as she calls them, who have patron­ized her work, before return­ing to her main theme: the “egre­gious blun­ders” of the first edi­tion, “which were occa­sioned either by the igno­rance, or evil inten­tion of the tran­scriber for the press.”

Ulti­mate­ly, all of her prob­lems stem from her unfor­tu­nate con­di­tion; she is with­out “an edu­ca­tion suf­fi­cient to pre­pare the work for the press.” In an attempt to side­step any crit­i­cism that the sec­ond edi­tion might come in for, she writes: “remem­ber, that it is the per­for­mance of, and effect­ed under all those dis­ad­van­tages, which usu­al­ly attend, an Orphan.”

Read the sec­ond edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery here. (If the archa­ic font trou­bles your eyes, a plain­er ver­sion is here.) A fac­sim­i­le edi­tion of Amer­i­can Cook­ery can be pur­chased online.

Lis­ten to a Lib­riVox audio record­ing of Amer­i­can Cook­ery here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Explore an Online Archive of 12,700 Vin­tage Cook­books

The World’s Old­est Cook­book: Dis­cov­er 4,000-Year-Old Recipes from Ancient Baby­lon

Dis­cov­er the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Cook­book, De Re Coquinar­ia, from Ancient Rome

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

A 13th-Cen­tu­ry Cook­book Fea­tur­ing 475 Recipes from Moor­ish Spain Gets Pub­lished in a New Trans­lat­ed Edi­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist in NYC.

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David Lynch Remembers Attending the Beatles’ First American Concert in 1964

Though his movies may have ben­e­fit­ed great­ly from for­eign audi­ences and back­ers, David Lynch was one of the most thor­ough­ly Amer­i­can of all film­mak­ers. “Born Mis­soula, MT,” declared his Twit­ter bio, yet one nev­er real­ly asso­ciates him with a par­tic­u­lar place in the Unit­ed States (at least no extant one). From Mon­tana, the Lynch fam­i­ly moved to Ida­ho, then Wash­ing­ton, then North Car­oli­na, then Vir­ginia. The tim­ing of that last stint proved cul­tur­al­ly for­tu­itous indeed: liv­ing in the city of Alexan­dria, the eigh­teen-year-old Lynch was close enough to the nation’s cap­i­tal to attend the very first con­cert the Bea­t­les played in North Amer­i­ca, at the Wash­ing­ton Col­i­se­um on Feb­ru­ary 11, 1964.

“I was into rock and roll music, main­ly Elvis Pres­ley.” Lynch recalls this unsur­pris­ing fact in the clip above (which would have been among the last inter­views he gave before his death a year ago) from Bea­t­les ’64, the Mar­tin Scors­ese-pro­duced doc­u­men­tary on the Fab Four’s first U.S. tour.

“I didn’t have any idea how big this event was. And it was in a gigan­tic place where they had box­ing match­es. The Bea­t­les were in the box­ing ring. It was so loud, you can’t believe. Girls shud­der­ing, cry­ing, scream­ing their heart out. It was phe­nom­e­nal.” That deaf­en­ing crowd noise fig­ures into most every account of the group’s Beat­le­ma­nia-era shows — and played a deci­sive role in their per­ma­nent retreat into the stu­dio a cou­ple of years lat­er.

Lynch sure­ly would have under­stood the desire for artis­tic explo­ration and con­trol that drove the Bea­t­les’ con­cen­tra­tion on mak­ing records. Even the sen­si­bil­i­ties of his work and theirs had some­thing in com­mon, exhibit­ing as they both did the unlike­ly com­bi­na­tion of pop­u­lar­i­ty and exper­i­men­ta­tion.  Some­how, David Lynch’s films and the Bea­t­les’ albums could ven­ture into bewil­der­ing obscu­ri­ty and sen­ti­men­tal kitsch with­out los­ing coher­ence or crit­i­cal respect. And dare one imag­ine that the expe­ri­ence of wit­ness­ing the Amer­i­can debut of what would become the most influ­en­tial rock band of all time has giv­en Lynch his appre­ci­a­tion — evi­dent in his movies, but also his own record­ings — for the pow­er of music, which he calls “one of the most fan­tas­tic things”? Even if not, it must have been, well… sur­re­al.

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

Relat­ed con­tent:

Ange­lo Badala­men­ti Reveals How He and David Lynch Com­posed the Twin Peaks’ “Love Theme”

When the Bea­t­les Refused to Play Before Seg­re­gat­ed Audi­ences on Their First U.S. Tour (1964)

David Lynch Directs a New Music Video for Dono­van

Watch the Bea­t­les Per­form Their Famous Rooftop Con­cert: It Hap­pened 50 Years Ago Today (Jan­u­ary 30, 1969)

David Lynch Talks Med­i­ta­tion with Paul McCart­ney

The Wide-Rang­ing Cre­ative Genius of David Lynch (RIP): Dis­cov­er His Films, Music Videos, Car­toons, Com­mer­cials, Paint­ings, Pho­tog­ra­phy & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Enjoy a Medieval Cover of R.E.M.‘s “Losing My Religion”

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Dur­ing her life­time, the medieval abbess Hilde­gard von Bin­gen (1098–1179) com­posed rough­ly 77 songs and hymns. She remains the ear­li­est known woman com­pos­er in West­ern clas­si­cal music and one of the most impor­tant com­posers of the High Mid­dle Ages.

In her hon­or, a YouTu­ber who goes by Hilde­gard von Blin­gin’ has devel­oped a pen­chant for mak­ing Bard­core music, “a pas­tiche genre that takes mod­ern songs and makes them ‘old-timey’ with Medieval and Renais­sance inspired instru­men­ta­tion.” Most of the instru­men­tals fea­ture a mix of vir­tu­al and real instru­ments, includ­ing the Celtic harp, Irish whis­tle, and recorder.

Hildy’s lat­est release offers a cre­ative take on R.E.M.’s “Los­ing My Reli­gion,” com­plete with some revised lyrics:

I thought that I heard thee laugh­ing
I thought that I heard thee sing
I think I thought I saw thee try
That was but a dream
That was but a dream
That’s me in the cor­ner
‘Tis I in the cor­ner
‘Tis I in the fire­light, los­ing my reli­gion

If you need a short escape from real­i­ty, this will serve you well. Enjoy!

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Expe­ri­ence the Mys­ti­cal Music of Hilde­gard Von Bin­gen: The First Known Com­pos­er in His­to­ry (1098 – 1179)

Hear an Enchant­ed Medieval Cov­er of Dol­ly Parton’s Clas­sic Ode to Jeal­ousy, “Jolene

Lis­ten to Medieval Cov­ers of “Creep,” “Pumped Up Kicks,” “Bad Romance” & More by Hilde­gard von Blin­gin’

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The World’s Oldest Cave Art, Discovered in Indonesia, Is at Least 67,800 Years Old

Image by Ahdi Agus Okta­viana

Over the cen­turies, a vari­ety of places have laid cred­i­ble claim to being the world’s art cen­ter: Con­stan­tino­ple, Flo­rence, Paris, New York. But on the scale of, say, ten mil­len­nia, the hot spots become rather less rec­og­niz­able. Up until about 20,000 years ago, it seems that cre­ators and view­ers of art alike spent a good deal in one par­tic­u­lar cave: Liang Metan­duno, locat­ed on Muna Island in Indone­si­a’s South­east Sulawe­si province. The many paint­ings on its walls of rec­og­niz­able humans, ani­mals, and boats have brought it fame in our times as a kind of ancient art gallery. But in recent years, a much old­er piece of work has been dis­cov­ered there, one whose cre­ation occurred at least 67,800 years ago.

The cre­ation in ques­tion is a hand­print, faint but detectable, prob­a­bly made by blow­ing a mix­ture of ochre and water over an actu­al human hand. To deter­mine its age, researchers per­formed what’s called ura­ni­um-series analy­sis on the deposits of cal­ci­um car­bon­ate that had built up on and around it.

The num­ber of 67,800 years is, of course, not exact, but it’s also just a min­i­mum: in fact, the hand­print could well be much old­er. In a paper pub­lished last week in Nature, the researchers point out that its age exceeds both that of the old­est sim­i­lar rock art found else­where in Indone­sia and that of a hand sten­cil in Spain attrib­uted to Nean­derthals, “which until now rep­re­sent­ed the old­est demon­strat­ed min­i­mum-age con­straint for cave art world­wide.”

It isn’t impos­si­ble that this at least 67,800-year-old hand­print could also have been made by Nean­derthals. The obvi­ous mod­i­fi­ca­tion of the hand’s shape, how­ev­er, an exten­sion and taper­ing of the fin­gers that brings to mind ani­mal claws (or the clutch­es of Nos­fer­atu), sug­gests to cer­tain sci­en­tif­ic eyes the kind of cog­ni­tion attrib­ut­able specif­i­cal­ly to Homo sapi­ens. This dis­cov­ery has great poten­tial rel­e­vance not just to art his­to­ry, but even more so to oth­er fields con­cerned with the devel­op­ment of our species. While it had pre­vi­ous­ly been thought, for instance, that the first human set­tlers of Aus­tralia made their way there through Indone­sia (in a time of much low­er sea lev­els) between 50,000 and 65,000 years ago, the hand­print­’s exis­tence in Liang Metan­duno sug­gests that the migra­tion took place even ear­li­er. All these mil­len­nia lat­er, Aus­tralia remains a favored des­ti­na­tion for a vari­ety of immi­grants — some of whom do their part to keep Syd­ney’s art scene inter­est­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Alger­ian Cave Paint­ings Sug­gest Humans Did Mag­ic Mush­rooms 9,000 Years Ago

Was a 32,000-Year-Old Cave Paint­ing the Ear­li­est Form of Cin­e­ma?

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er the World’s First “Art Stu­dio” Cre­at­ed in an Ethiopi­an Cave 43,000 Years Ago

A Recent­ly Dis­cov­ered 44,000-Year-Old Cave Paint­ing Tells the Old­est Known Sto­ry

40,000-Year-Old Sym­bols Found in Caves World­wide May Be the Ear­li­est Writ­ten Lan­guage

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er 200,000-Year-Old Hand & Foot­prints That Could Be the World’s Ear­li­est Cave Art

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

 

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Watch the First Episode of Sesame Street and 140 Other Free Episodes

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FYI: Sesame Street has released on YouTube more than 140 full episodes from past sea­sons. On the Sesame Street Clas­sics chan­nel, you’ll find some icon­ic episodes, start­ing with the very first 1969 broad­cast. Watch it above. Also on that same chan­nel you can revis­it episodes where Big Bird reveals that Snuffy is real, Mr. Rogers vis­its the show, Maria and Luis get engaged, and the death of Mr. Hoop­er gets del­i­cate­ly addressed. Beyond these episodes, you can also watch 129 com­plete episodes on Sesame Street’s main YouTube Chan­nel here. Enjoy!

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

When Mis­sis­sip­pi Tried to Ban Sesame Street for Show­ing a “High­ly Inte­grat­ed Cast” (1970)

Watch the Sesame Street Episode Banned for Being Too Scary, Fea­tur­ing The Wiz­ard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West (1976)

Watch Jazzy Spies: 1969 Psy­che­del­ic Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion, Fea­tur­ing Grace Slick, Teach­es Kids to Count

Philip Glass Com­pos­es Music for a Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion (1979)

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Discover Michelangelo’s First Painting, Created When He Was Only 12 or 13 Years Old

Think back, if you will, to the works of art you cre­at­ed at age twelve or thir­teen. For many, per­haps most of us, our out­put at that stage of ado­les­cence amount­ed to direc­tion­less doo­dles, chaot­ic comics, and a few unsteady-at-best school projects. But then, most of us did­n’t grow up to be Michelan­ge­lo. In the late four­teen-eight­ies, when that tow­er­ing Renais­sance artist was still what we would now call a “tween,” he paint­ed The Tor­ment of Saint Antho­ny, a depic­tion of the tit­u­lar reli­gious fig­ure beset by demons in the desert. Though based on a wide­ly known engrav­ing, it nev­er­the­less shows evi­dence of rapid­ly advanc­ing tech­nique, inspi­ra­tion, and even cre­ativ­i­ty — espe­cial­ly when placed under the infrared scan­ner.

For about half a mil­len­ni­um, The Tor­ment of Saint Antho­ny was­n’t thought to have been paint­ed by Michelan­ge­lo. As explained in the video from Inspi­rag­gio just below, when the paint­ing sold at Sothe­by’s in 2008, the buy­er took it to the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art for exam­i­na­tion and clean­ing.

“Beneath the lay­ers of dirt accu­mu­lat­ed over the cen­turies,” says the nar­ra­tor, “a very par­tic­u­lar col­or palette appeared. “The tones, the blends, the way the human fig­ure was treat­ed: all of it began to resem­ble the style Michelan­ge­lo would use years lat­er in none oth­er than the Sis­tine Chapel.” Infrared reflec­tog­ra­phy sub­se­quent­ly turned up pen­ti­men­ti, or cor­rec­tion marks, a com­mon indi­ca­tion that “a paint­ing is not a copy, but an orig­i­nal work cre­at­ed with artis­tic free­dom.”

It was the Kim­bell Art Muse­um in Fort Worth, Texas that first bet big on the prove­nance of The Tor­ment of Saint Antho­ny. Its new­ly hired direc­tor pur­chased the paint­ing after turn­ing up “not a sin­gle con­vinc­ing argu­ment against the attri­bu­tion.” Thus acquired, it became “the only paint­ing by Michelan­ge­lo locat­ed any­where in the Amer­i­c­as, and also just one of four easel paint­ings attrib­uted to him through­out his entire career,” dur­ing most of which he dis­par­aged oil paint­ing itself. About a decade lat­er, and after fur­ther analy­sis, the art his­to­ri­an Gior­gio Bon­san­ti put his con­sid­er­able author­i­ty behind a defin­i­tive con­fir­ma­tion that it is indeed the work of the young Michelan­ge­lo. There remain doubters, of course, and even the noto­ri­ous­ly uncom­pro­mis­ing artist him­self may have con­sid­ered it an imma­ture work unwor­thy of his name. But who else could have cre­at­ed an imma­ture work like it?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Orig­i­nal Por­trait of the Mona Lisa Found Beneath the Paint Lay­ers of Leonar­do da Vinci’s Mas­ter­piece

When Michelan­ge­lo Cre­at­ed Artis­tic Designs for Mil­i­tary For­ti­fi­ca­tions to Pro­tect Flo­rence (1529–1530)

How Four Mas­ters — Michelan­ge­lo, Donatel­lo, Ver­roc­chio & Berni­ni — Sculpt­ed David

A Secret Room with Draw­ings Attrib­uted to Michelan­ge­lo Opens to Vis­i­tors in Flo­rence

Michelan­ge­lo Entered a Com­pe­ti­tion to Put a Miss­ing Arm Back on Lao­coön and His Sons — and Lost

Michelangelo’s Illus­trat­ed Gro­cery List

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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Discover Ichi-go Ichi‑e, the Japanese Art of Savoring Every Moment

Each cul­ture has its own say­ings about the unique­ness and tran­sience of the present moment. In recent years, the Eng­lish-speak­ers have often found them­selves remind­ed, through the expres­sion “YOLO,” that they only live once. (The ques­tion of whether that should real­ly be “YLOO,” or “You Live Only Once,” we put aside for the time being.) In Japan, unsur­pris­ing­ly, one some­times hears a much more ven­er­a­ble equiv­a­lent: “ichi-go ichi‑e,” which some read­ers acquaint­ed with the Japan­ese lan­guage should be assured has noth­ing to do with straw­ber­ries, ichi­go. Rather, the say­ing’s under­ly­ing Chi­nese char­ac­ters (一期一会) can be trans­lat­ed as “one time, one meet­ing.”

The Bud­dhis­ti­cal­ly inflect­ed “ichi-go ichi‑e” is just one in the vast library of yoji­juku­go, high­ly con­densed apho­ris­tic expres­sions writ­ten with just four char­ac­ters. (Oth­er coun­tries with Chi­nese-influ­enced lan­guages have their ver­sions, includ­ing sajaseon­geo in Korea and chéngyǔ in Chi­na itself.) It descends, as the sto­ry goes, from a slight­ly longer say­ing favored by the six­teenth-cen­tu­ry tea mas­ter Sen no Rikyū, “ichi-go ni ichi-do” (一期に一度).

One must pay respects to the host of a tea cer­e­mo­ny because the meet­ing would only ever occur once — which, of course, it would, even if the cer­e­mo­ny was a reg­u­lar­ly sched­uled event. For we nev­er, to bor­row an ancient Greek take on this whole sub­ject, step into the same riv­er twice; no two events, sep­a­rat­ed in time, can ever tru­ly be iden­ti­cal.

One impli­ca­tion, as not­ed in the explana­to­ry videos above from the BBC and Einzel­gänger, is that we should savor what­ev­er moment we hap­pen to find our­selves in, how­ev­er imper­fect, because we won’t get a sec­ond chance to do so. And if it offers lit­tle or noth­ing to enjoy, we can find solace in the fact that its par­tic­u­lar dis­plea­sure, too, can nev­er revis­it us. With the past gone and the future nev­er guar­an­teed, the present moment, in any case, is the only time that actu­al­ly exists for us, so we’d bet­ter make our­selves com­fort­able with­in it. Though these ideas have per­haps found their most ele­gant and mem­o­rable expres­sion in Japan, they’re hard­ly con­sid­ered exclu­sive cul­tur­al prop­er­ty there. The Japan­ese title of For­rest Gump, after all, was Fore­su­to Gan­pu: Ichi-go Ichi‑e.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What is the Secret to Liv­ing a Long, Hap­py & Cre­ative­ly Ful­fill­ing Life?: Dis­cov­er the Japan­ese Con­cept of Iki­gai

Wabi-Sabi: A Short Film on the Beau­ty of Tra­di­tion­al Japan

Marie Kon­do v. Tsun­doku: Com­pet­ing Japan­ese Philoso­phies on Whether to Keep or Dis­card Unread Books

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

Memen­to Mori: How Smil­ing Skele­tons Have Remind­ed Us to Live Ful­ly Since Ancient Times

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Sto­icism, the Ancient Greek Phi­los­o­phy That Lets You Lead a Hap­py, Ful­fill­ing Life

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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When Two Filmmakers Make the Same Movie — and One of Them Is Werner Herzog

In 1991, the French hus­band-and-wife vol­ca­nol­o­gist-film­mak­er team Mau­rice and Katia Krafft were killed by the flow of ash from the erup­tion of Mount Unzen in Nagasa­ki. Inex­plic­a­bly, Wern­er Her­zog did­n’t get around to mak­ing a film about them for more than 30 years. These would seem to be ide­al sub­jects for the doc­u­men­tary half of his career, a large por­tion of which he’s spent on por­traits of eccen­tric, roman­tic, often fool­hardy, and more than occa­sion­al­ly ill-fat­ed indi­vid­u­als who pit them­selves, or in any case find them­selves pit­ted, against the raw ele­ments of nature. Their cou­ple­hood makes the Kraffts a slight excep­tion in that line­up, but it also makes them even less resistible to a more con­ven­tion­al doc­u­men­tar­i­an — not that a doc­u­men­tar­i­an could get much less con­ven­tion­al than Her­zog.

Hence, per­haps, the appear­ance of two entire­ly sep­a­rate doc­u­men­taries on the Kraffts in the same year, 2022: Her­zog’s The Fire With­in, and Sara Dosa’s Fire of Love. The Like Sto­ries of Old video above per­forms a direct com­par­i­son of the two films, both of which make heavy use of the vol­cano footage shot by the Kraffts them­selves.

Her­zog assem­bles it into word­less, oper­at­i­cal­ly scored, and some­times quite long sequences, inten­si­fy­ing their qual­i­ty of the sub­lime, which we feel in that aes­thet­ic zone where awe of beau­ty and fear of exis­ten­tial anni­hi­la­tion over­lap com­plete­ly. These do noth­ing to advance a nar­ra­tive, but every­thing to put forth what Her­zog has often referred to in inter­views as a sense of “ecsta­t­ic truth,” a dis­til­la­tion of real­i­ty that can­not be cap­tured by any con­ven­tion­al doc­u­men­tary means.

The video’s host Tom van der Lin­den describes Fire of Love as “much more fast-paced. Images come and go so quick­ly that they don’t real­ly have a chance to reveal that strange, secret beau­ty, to take the spot­light with their own mys­te­ri­ous star­dom. Instead, they feel sub­servient to what­ev­er pre­de­ter­mined emo­tion the nar­ra­tive wants you to expe­ri­ence,” as if the direc­tor is giv­ing you orders: “Be in awe. Feel the romance. And now the com­e­dy.” That hard­ly sug­gests incom­pe­tence on the part of Dosa and her col­lab­o­ra­tors, or any defi­cien­cy in her high­ly acclaimed film. But it does give us a sense of what becomes weary­ing about the tech­niques of main­stream cin­e­ma in gen­er­al, fic­tion­al, or non­fic­tion­al. The truth is that Wern­er Her­zog may be unique­ly well placed to appre­ci­ate not just the fear­some­ly enrap­tur­ing object of the Kraffts’ obses­sion, but also the dri­ving pas­sion, and flash­es of ridicu­lous­ness, in the Kraffts them­selves — who were, after all, fel­low sol­diers of cin­e­ma.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dream-Dri­ven Film­mak­ing of Wern­er Her­zog: Watch the Video Essay, “The Inner Chron­i­cle of What We Are: Under­stand­ing Wern­er Her­zog”

An Intro­duc­tion to the Paint­ing of Cas­par David Friedrich, Roman­ti­cism & the Sub­lime

Watch the Destruc­tion of Pom­peii by Mount Vesu­vius, Re-Cre­at­ed with Com­put­er Ani­ma­tion (79 AD)

Under­wa­ter Vol­canic Erup­tion Wit­nessed for the First Time

Two Ways To Shoot The Same Scene: A Com­par­i­son of The Shop Around the Cor­ner (1940) and You’ve Got Mail (1998) Shows How Film­mak­ing Changed Over the Decades

Wern­er Her­zog Dis­cov­ers the Ecsta­sy of Skate­board­ing: “That’s Kind of My Peo­ple”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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