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The Art of Europe’s Forgotten Avant-Garde Artists Now Digitized and Put Online

Eco­nom­i­cal­ly deplet­ed but filled with the desire to pose ques­tions about the future in rad­i­cal­ly new ways, post­war Europe would prove fer­tile ground for the devel­op­ment of avant-garde art. Though that envi­ron­ment pro­duced a fair few stars over the sec­ond half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, their work rep­re­sents only the tip of the ice­berg: bring­ing the rest out of the depths and onto the inter­net has con­sti­tut­ed the last few years’ work for For­got­ten Her­itage. A col­lab­o­ra­tion between insti­tu­tions in Poland, Bel­gium, Croa­t­ia, Esto­nia, and Ger­many sup­port­ed by Cre­ative Europe, the project offers a data­base of Euro­pean avant-garde art — includ­ing many works still dar­ing, sur­pris­ing, or just plain bizarre — nev­er prop­er­ly pre­served and made avail­able until now.

For­got­ten Her­itage’s About page describes the pro­jec­t’s goal as the cre­ation of “an inno­v­a­tive online repos­i­to­ry fea­tur­ing digi­tised archives of Pol­ish, Croa­t­ian, Eston­ian, Bel­gian and French artists of the avant-garde move­ment occur­ring in the sec­ond half of the 20th cen­tu­ry,” meant to even­tu­al­ly con­tain “approx­i­mate­ly 8 thou­sand of sort­ed and clas­si­fied archive entries, includ­ing descrip­tive data.”

Cur­rent­ly, writes Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Claire Voon, its site “offers vis­i­tors around 800 records to explore, from doc­u­men­ta­tion of art­works to texts.  The major­i­ty of works stem from to the ’60s and ’70s, as a time­line illus­trates, with the most recent piece dat­ing to 2005. This inter­ac­tive fea­ture, which has embed­ded links to indi­vid­ual artists’s biogra­phies and exam­ples of their art­works, is one way to explore the well-designed archive.”

For­got­ten Her­itage thus makes it easy to dis­cov­er artists pre­vi­ous­ly dif­fi­cult for even the avant-garde enthu­si­ast to encounter. Vis­i­tors can also browse the grow­ing archive by the medi­um of the work: paint­ing (like Jüri Arrak’s Artist, 1972, seen at the top of the post), instal­la­tion (Woj­ciech Bruszewski’s Visu­al­i­ty, 1980), film (Anna Kuter­a’s The Short­est Film in the World, 1975), “pho­to with inter­ven­tion” (Edi­ta Schu­bert’s Pho­ny Smile, 1997), Olav Moran’s “Konk­tal” and many more besides.

Voon cites Mari­ka Kuźmicz’s esti­mate that about 40 per­cent of it, most­ly from Bel­gian and Eston­ian artists, has nev­er before been avail­able online. Debates about whether an avant-garde still exists, in Europe or any­where else, will sure­ly con­tin­ue among observers of art, but as a vis­it to For­got­ten Her­itage’s dig­i­tal archives reveals, the avant-garde of decades past, when redis­cov­ered, retains no small amount of artis­tic vital­i­ty today.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dis­cov­er Euro­peana Col­lec­tions, a Por­tal of 48 Mil­lion Free Art­works, Books, Videos, Arti­facts & Sounds from Across Europe

Every­thing You Need to Know About Mod­ern Russ­ian Art in 25 Min­utes: A Visu­al Intro­duc­tion to Futur­ism, Social­ist Real­ism & More

Enter Dig­i­tal Archives of the 1960s Fluxus Move­ment and Explore the Avant-Garde Art of John Cage, Yoko Ono, John Cale, Nam June Paik & More

25 Mil­lion Images From 14 Art Insti­tu­tions to Be Dig­i­tized & Put Online In One Huge Schol­ar­ly Archive

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

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Robert Rauschenberg’s 34 Illustrations of Dante’s Inferno (1958–60)

Per­haps more than any oth­er post­war avant-garde Amer­i­can artist, Robert Rauschen­berg matched, and maybe exceed­ed, Mar­cel Duchamp’s puck­ish irrev­er­ence. He once bought a Willem de Koon­ing draw­ing just to erase it and once sent a telegram declar­ing that it was a por­trait of gal­lerist Iris Clert, “if I say so.” Rauschen­berg also excelled at turn­ing trash into trea­sure, repur­pos­ing the detri­tus of mod­ern life in works of art both play­ful and seri­ous, con­tin­u­ing to “address major themes of world­wide con­cern,” wrote art his­to­ri­an John Richard­son in a 1997 Van­i­ty Fair pro­file, “by uti­liz­ing tech­nol­o­gy in ever more imag­i­na­tive and inven­tive ways…. Rauschen­berg is a painter of history—the his­to­ry of now rather than then.”

What, then, pos­sessed this artist of the “his­to­ry of now” to take on a series of draw­ings between 1958 and 1960 illus­trat­ing each Can­to of Dante’s Infer­no? “Per­haps he sensed a kin­dred spir­it in Dante,” writes Gre­go­ry Gilbert at The Art News­pa­per, “that encour­aged his ver­nac­u­lar inter­pre­ta­tions of the clas­si­cal text and his rad­i­cal mix­ing of high and low cul­tures.”

Crit­ic Charles Dar­went reads Rauschenberg’s moti­va­tions through a Freudi­an lens, his Infer­no series a sub­li­ma­tion of his homo­sex­u­al­i­ty and repres­sive child­hood: “The young Rauschen­berg… came to see Mod­ernist art as a vari­ant of his Tex­an par­ents’ fun­da­men­tal Chris­tian­i­ty.”

The most straight­for­ward account has Rauschen­berg con­ceiv­ing the project in order to be tak­en more seri­ous­ly as an artist. Such bio­graph­i­cal expla­na­tions tell us some­thing about the work, but we learn as much or more from look­ing at the work itself, which hap­pens to be very much a his­to­ry of now at the end of the 1950s. Though Rauschen­berg based the illus­tra­tions on John Ciardi’s 1954 trans­la­tion of the Divine Com­e­dy, they were not meant to accom­pa­ny the text but to stand on their own, the Ital­ian epic—or its famous first third—providing a back­drop of ready-made iron­ic com­men­tary on images Rauschen­berg ripped from news­pa­pers and mag­a­zines such as Life and Sports Illus­trat­ed.

“To cre­ate these col­lages,” explains MIT’s List Visu­al Arts Cen­ter, “he would use a sol­vent to adhere the images to his draw­ing sur­face, then over­lay them with a vari­ety of media, includ­ing pen, gouache (an opaque water­col­or), and pen­cil.” Steeped in a Cold War atmos­phere, the illus­tra­tions incor­po­rate fig­ures like John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, who, in the 50s, Gilbert writes, “served as one of Joseph McCarthy’s polit­i­cal hench­men dur­ing the Red Scare.” We see in Rauschenberg’s col­lage draw­ings allu­sions to the Civ­il Rights move­ment and the decade’s anti-Com­mu­nist para­noia as well its reac­tionary sex­u­al pol­i­tics. “Polit­i­cal and sex­u­al con­tent… need­ed to be cod­ed,” Gilbert claims, in such an “ultra­con­ser­v­a­tive era.”

For exam­ple, we see a like­ly ref­er­ence to the artist’s gay iden­ti­ty in the Can­to XIV illus­tra­tion, above. The text “describes the pun­ish­ment of the Sodomites, who are con­demned for eter­ni­ty to walk across burn­ing sand. Rauschen­berg depicts the theme through a homo­erot­ic image of a male nude… jux­ta­posed with a red trac­ing of the artist’s own foot.” Maybe Dar­went is right to sup­pose that had Dante’s poem not exist­ed, Rauschen­berg “would have been the man to invent it”—or to invent its mid-20th cen­tu­ry visu­al equiv­a­lent. He draws atten­tion to the poem’s auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal cen­ter, its sub­ver­sive humor, and its den­si­ty of ref­er­ences to con­tem­po­rary 15th cen­tu­ry Ital­ian pol­i­tics, adapt­ing all of these qual­i­ties for moder­ni­ty.

But the illus­tra­tion of Can­to XIV—depicting “The Vio­lent Against God, Nature, and Art”—also encodes Rauschenberg’s vio­lent tram­pling of artis­tic con­ven­tion. Many crit­ics see this series as the artist’s reac­tion against Abstract Expres­sion­ism (like that of De Koon­ing). And while he “may have felt a cre­ative kin­ship with Dante,” writes Gilbert, “he also admit­ted to the art crit­ic Calvin Tomkins his impa­tience with the poet’s self-right­eous moral­i­ty, a state­ment like­ly direct­ed against this Can­to.” Like his 1953 Erased de Koon­ing Draw­ing, Rauschenberg’s Infer­no draw­ings also per­form an act of erasure—or the cre­ation of a palimpsest, with Dante’s poem scratched over by the artist’s wild, child­like strokes.

In recog­ni­tion of the way these illus­tra­tions repur­pose, rather than accom­pa­ny, the Infer­no, MoMA recent­ly com­mis­sioned an edi­tion of Rauschenberg’s 34 draw­ings, accom­pa­nied not by the straight trans­la­tion by Cia­r­di but poems by Kevin Young and Robin Coste Lewis, whose por­tion of the book is titled “Dante Comes to Amer­i­ca: 20 Jan­u­ary 17: An Era­sure of 17 Can­tos from Ciardi’s Infer­no, after Robert Rauschen­berg.” Rather than view­ing the illus­tra­tions against Dante’s work itself, we can read their par­tic­u­lar Amer­i­can pro­to-pop art char­ac­ter against lit­er­ary “era­sures” like Lewis’s “Can­to XXIII,” below. See the full series of Rauschenberg’s 34 illus­tra­tions at the Rauschen­berg Foun­da­tion web­site here.

Can­to XXIII.
by Robin Coste Lewis

                “I Go with The Body That Was Always Mine”

Silent, one fol­low­ing the oth­er,
the Fable hunt­ed us down.
O weary man­tle of eter­ni­ty,
turn left, reach us down
into that nar­row way in silence.

Col­lege of Sor­ry Hyp­ocrites, I go
with the body that was always mine,
bur­nished like coun­ter­weights to keep
the peace. One may still see the sort of peace

we kept. Mar­vel for a while over that:
the cross in Hel­l’s eter­nal exile.
Some­where there is some gap in the wall,
pit through which we may climb

to the next brink with­out the need
of sum­mon­ing the Black Angels
and forc­ing them to raise us from this sink.
Near­er than hope, there is a bridge

that runs from the great cir­cle, that cross­es
every ditch from ridge to ridge.
Except—it is broken—but with care.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Free Course on Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

New Robert Rauschen­berg Dig­i­tal Col­lec­tion Lets You Down­load Free High-Res Images of the Artist’s Work

Hear Dante’s Infer­no Read Aloud by Influ­en­tial Poet & Trans­la­tor John Cia­r­di (1954)

Artists Illus­trate Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Through the Ages: Doré, Blake, Bot­ti­cel­li, Mœbius & More

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

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View and Download Nearly 60,000 Maps from the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS)

By rea­sons of par­ent­ing, I’ve become well acquaint­ed with a song—perhaps you know it?— called “Fifty Nifty Unit­ed States,” taught to school­child­ren as a geo­graph­i­cal mnemon­ic device. The lyrics men­tion that “each indi­vid­ual state con­tributes a qual­i­ty that is great.” What are some great qual­i­ties of, say, Delaware, New Mex­i­co, or South Dako­ta? We aren’t told. Hey, it’s enough that a five or six-year-old can remem­ber “shout ‘em, scout ‘em, tell all about ‘em” before rat­tling off an alpha­bet­i­cal list of “ev’ry state in the good old U.S.A.”

But if you hail from the U.S., you can enu­mer­ate many con­tri­bu­tions from a few nifty states, whether culi­nary delights, his­tor­i­cal events, writ­ers, artists, sports heroes, etc. And most everyone’s got sto­ries about vis­it­ing nat­ur­al won­ders, hik­ing moun­tain trails, ford­ing rivers, gaz­ing upon breath­tak­ing vis­tas.

We may be occa­sion­al tourists, trav­el enthu­si­asts, or experts, but what­ev­er our lev­el of expe­ri­ence in the coun­try, it’s prob­a­bly kid stuff com­pared to the work of the sci­en­tists at the U.S. Geo­log­i­cal Sur­vey (USGS).

Estab­lished by Con­gress in 1879, this august body has doc­u­ment­ed U.S. lands and waters for 125 years, gath­er­ing an incred­i­ble amount of detailed infor­ma­tion as “the nation’s largest water, earth, and bio­log­i­cal sci­ence and civil­ian map­ping agency.” Thanks to the Libre Map Project, the gen­er­al pub­lic can view and down­load near­ly 60,000 of those topo­graph­i­cal maps, from all fifty states, and near­ly every region with­in each of those states. See Colorado’s Pike Nation­al For­est and sur­round­ing envi­rons, at the top, for exam­ple, cre­at­ed from aer­i­al pho­tographs tak­en in 1950. Above, see a map of San Fran­cis­co, com­piled in 1956, then revised in 1993 and fur­ther edit­ed in 1996.

And just above, the dev­as­tat­ing Kīlauea Vol­cano, in a map com­piled from aer­i­al pho­tos tak­en in 1954 and 1961. (See the USGS site for the lat­est info about the ongo­ing erup­tion there.) Below, a nifty map of New York City, cre­at­ed “by pho­togram­met­ric meth­ods from aer­i­al pho­tographs tak­en [in] 1954 and plan­etable sur­veys [in] 1955. Revised from aer­i­al pho­tographs tak­en [in] 1966.” Google maps may be more cur­rent, but these USGS maps have an aura of sci­en­tif­ic author­i­ty around them, evi­dence of painstak­ing sur­veys, checked and rechecked over the decades by hun­dreds of pairs of hands and eyes.

Brows­ing the archive can be a chal­lenge, since the maps are cat­a­logued by coor­di­nates rather than place names, but you can enter the names of spe­cif­ic loca­tions in the search field. Also, be advised, the maps “are best used with glob­al posi­tion­ing soft­ware,” the archive tells vis­i­tors. Nonethe­less, you can click on the first down­load option for “Mul­ti Page Processed TIFF” to pull up a huge, down­load­able image. Enter the archive here and get to scout­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 67,000 His­toric Maps (in High Res­o­lu­tion) from the Won­der­ful David Rum­sey Map Col­lec­tion

Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Has Dig­i­tized Its Col­lec­tion of 6,000+ Vin­tage Maps: See a Curat­ed Selec­tion of Maps Pub­lished Between 1888 and Today

The Illus­trat­ed Med­i­c­i­nal Plant Map of the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca (1932): Down­load It in High Res­o­lu­tion

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

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Bill Gates Names 5 Books You Should Read This Summer

It’s some­thing of a tra­di­tion. Every sum­mer, philanthropist/Microsoft founder Bill Gates rec­om­mends five books to read dur­ing the slow sum­mer months. This year’s list, he tells us, wres­tles with some big ques­tions: “What makes a genius tick? Why do bad things hap­pen to good peo­ple? Where does human­i­ty come from, and where are we head­ed?”

And now, with­out no fur­ther ado, here’s Bil­l’s list for 2018. The text below is his, not mine:

Leonar­do da Vin­ci, by Wal­ter Isaac­son. I think Leonar­do was one of the most fas­ci­nat­ing peo­ple ever. Although today he’s best known as a painter, Leonar­do had an absurd­ly wide range of inter­ests, from human anato­my to the the­ater. Isaac­son does the best job I’ve seen of pulling togeth­er the dif­fer­ent strands of Leonardo’s life and explain­ing what made him so excep­tion­al. A wor­thy fol­low-up to Isaacson’s great biogra­phies of Albert Ein­stein and Steve Jobs. [Read his blog post on the book here.]

Every­thing Hap­pens for a Rea­son and Oth­er Lies I’ve Loved, by Kate Bowler. When Bowler, a pro­fes­sor at Duke Divin­i­ty School, is diag­nosed with stage IV colon can­cer, she sets out to under­stand why it hap­pened. Is it a test of her char­ac­ter? The result is a heart­break­ing, sur­pris­ing­ly fun­ny mem­oir about faith and com­ing to grips with your own mor­tal­i­ty. [Read his blog post on the book here.]

Lin­coln in the Bar­do, by George Saun­ders. I thought I knew every­thing I need­ed to know about Abra­ham Lin­coln, but this nov­el made me rethink parts of his life. It blends his­tor­i­cal facts from the Civ­il War with fan­tas­ti­cal elements—it’s basi­cal­ly a long con­ver­sa­tion among 166 ghosts, includ­ing Lincoln’s deceased son. I got new insight into the way Lin­coln must have been crushed by the weight of both grief and respon­si­bil­i­ty. This is one of those fas­ci­nat­ing, ambigu­ous books you’ll want to dis­cuss with a friend when you’re done. [Read his blog post on this book here.]

Ori­gin Sto­ry: A Big His­to­ry of Every­thing, by David Chris­t­ian. David cre­at­ed my favorite course of all time, Big His­to­ry. It tells the sto­ry of the uni­verse from the big bang to today’s com­plex soci­eties, weav­ing togeth­er insights and evi­dence from var­i­ous dis­ci­plines into a sin­gle nar­ra­tive. If you haven’t tak­en Big His­to­ry yet, Ori­gin Sto­ry is a great intro­duc­tion. If you have, it’s a great refresh­er. Either way, the book will leave you with a greater appre­ci­a­tion of humanity’s place in the uni­verse. [Read his blog post on this book here.]

Fact­ful­ness, by Hans Rosling, with Ola Rosling and Anna Rosling Ronnlund. I’ve been rec­om­mend­ing this book since the day it came out. Hans, the bril­liant glob­al-health lec­tur­er who died last year, gives you a break­through way of under­stand­ing basic truths about the world—how life is get­ting bet­ter, and where the world still needs to improve. And he weaves in unfor­get­table anec­dotes from his life. It’s a fit­ting final word from a bril­liant man, and one of the best books I’ve ever read. [Read his blog post on this book here.]

You can find Gate’s read­ing lists from pre­vi­ous sum­mers in the Relat­eds below.

via Gates Notes

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bill Gates Rec­om­mends Five Books for Sum­mer 2017

5 Books Bill Gates Wants You to Read This Sum­mer (2016)

Bill Gates, Book Crit­ic, Names His Top 5 Books of 2015

Sum­mer 2014

Sum­mer 2013

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The Ups & Downs of Ancient Rome’s Economy–All 1,900 Years of It–Get Documented by Pollution Traces Found in Greenland’s Ice

When we see sto­ries pop up involv­ing sci­en­tif­ic find­ings in glac­i­er ice, we might brace for unpleas­ant envi­ron­men­tal news about the future. But a paper pub­lished just recent­ly in Pro­ceed­ings of the Nation­al Acad­e­my of Sci­ences instead reveals fas­ci­nat­ing find­ings about the dis­tant past—the his­to­ry of ancient Rome between 1100 B.C.E. to 800 C.E. His­to­ri­ans know this 1,900-year peri­od through archae­o­log­i­cal and lit­er­ary evi­dence. Now cli­mate sci­en­tists have pro­vid­ed a trea­sury of new data to help sub­stan­ti­ate or revise schol­ar­ly under­stand­ings of Rome’s eco­nom­ic ris­es and falls, by mea­sur­ing the strat­i­fi­ca­tions of lead pol­lu­tion in a rough­ly 400-meter ice core from Green­land.

Why lead? “It’s a proxy for coin pro­duc­tion,” says Seth Bernard, pro­fes­sor of ancient his­to­ry at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Toron­to. Roman cur­ren­cy, the denar­ius, was made from sil­ver, mined pri­mar­i­ly on the Iber­ian Penin­su­la. “But these mines didn’t exca­vate pure sil­ver,” notes Robin­son Mey­er at The Atlantic. “Instead, they unearthed an ore of sil­ver, lead, and cop­per that had to be smelt­ed into sil­ver. This process filled the air with lead pol­lu­tion,” which even­tu­al­ly made its way on air cur­rents to Green­land, where “storms deposit­ed lead-taint­ed snow or sleet over the Arc­tic island.” New lay­ers formed upon the old, each one pre­served for pos­ter­i­ty.

In the mid-1990s, sci­en­tists began drilling Greenland’s ice sheet in the North Green­land Ice core Project (NGRIP). At the time, a team attempt­ed a sim­i­lar analy­sis on the lead lev­els and their cor­re­spon­dence to ancient coinage, “which used a sim­i­lar but rudi­men­ta­ry tech­nique,” Mey­er writes. But this study only drew from 18 data points. By con­trast, the new research “made 25,000 dif­fer­ent mea­sure­ments of the ice core.” Improved tech­nol­o­gy has refined the mea­sure­ment process, allow­ing researchers to detect “the pres­ence of 35 dif­fer­ent ele­ments and chem­i­cals at once,” and to tie their obser­va­tions to spe­cif­ic years, or fair­ly close to it, any­way. The chart above shows the fluc­tu­a­tions in lead emis­sions over the almost 2000-year span.

One of the study’s authors, Joseph McConnell, esti­mates the mar­gin of error as with­in one or two years. “That’s pret­ty good,” he says, “a lot bet­ter than what archae­ol­o­gists are used to, I can tell you that.” This allows the team of cli­mate sci­en­tists, archae­ol­o­gists, and his­to­ri­ans to match their obser­va­tions about lead lev­els to known his­tor­i­cal events. As The New York Times reports, “lead emis­sions rose in peri­ods of peace and pros­per­i­ty, such as the Pax Romana, which ran from 27 BC to 180 A.D. and dropped dur­ing the civ­il wars that pre­ced­ed the Pax and the rise of the emper­or Augus­tus. There were also dra­mat­ic drops that coin­cid­ed with the Anto­nine plague of 165–180 A.D., thought to have been small pox, and the Cypri­an plague, cause uncer­tain, of 250–270 A.D.”

The data, notes The Econ­o­mist, “pro­vide a new win­dow onto the work­ings of the ancient econ­o­my…. Not all of the lead trapped in the glac­i­er comes from sil­ver mind­ing, but much of it does,” and sci­en­tists can make informed guess­es about just how much. Many unan­swered ques­tions remain. “What we’d love to have is a doc­u­ment that says Rome had a state mon­e­tary pol­i­cy,” says Bernard. The empire’s spe­cif­ic eco­nom­ic poli­cies are large­ly a mys­tery, but the ice core sam­ples pro­vide a wealth of new evi­dence for the increase and decrease in cur­ren­cy pro­duc­tion, and ever-more refined tech­nolo­gies will allow for even more data to emerge from the pol­lu­tants trapped in glacial ice in the near future.

via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

How Did the Romans Make Con­crete That Lasts Longer Than Mod­ern Con­crete? The Mys­tery Final­ly Solved

The Rise & Fall of the Romans: Every Year Shown in a Time­lapse Map Ani­ma­tion (753 BC ‑1479 AD)

A Huge Scale Mod­el of Ancient Rome at Its Archi­tec­tur­al Peak, Orig­i­nal­ly Com­mis­sioned by Mus­soli­ni

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

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Tom Wolfe’s Groundbreaking Work, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Gets Released as a Limited Collector’s Edition, with Each Copy Signed by the Author 

Taschen recent­ly released a col­lec­tor’s edi­tion of The Elec­tric Kool-Aid Acid Test to com­mem­o­rate the 50th anniver­sary of Tom Wolfe’s rol­lick­ing account of Ken Kesey and the Mer­ry Pranksters’ acid-fueled road trip across the Unit­ed States, aboard the psy­che­del­ic school bus known as “Fur­ther.” With the pass­ing of Tom Wolfe last week, the release of the col­lec­tor’s edi­tion takes on some added impor­tance.

When The Elec­tric Kool-Aid Acid Test first came out in 1968, Eliot Fre­mont-Smith wrote in The New York Times that “it is not sim­ply the best book on the hip­pies, it is the essen­tial book.” The book “is print­ed in black and white, but the words come through in crazy Day-Glo–fluorescent, psy­che­del­ic, at once ener­getic and epicene.”

The new Taschen edi­tion is some­thing dif­fer­ent. The abridged text is pub­lished in “tra­di­tion­al let­ter­press, with fac­sim­i­le repro­duc­tions of Wolfe’s man­u­script pages, as well as Ken Kesey’s jail­house jour­nals, hand­bills, and under­ground mag­a­zines of the peri­od.” “Inter­weav­ing the prose and ephemera are pho­to­graph­ic essays from Lawrence Schiller, whose cov­er­age of the acid scene for Life mag­a­zine helped inspire Wolfe to write his sto­ry, and Ted Streshin­sky, who accom­pa­nied Wolfe while report­ing for the New York Her­ald Tri­bune.” There are also pho­tographs by poet Allen Gins­berg.

In total, Taschen has pro­duced 1,968 signed copies of the col­lec­tor’s edi­tion, each signed by Tom Wolfe him­self. The cost is set at $350.

If you nev­er spent time with The Elec­tric Kool-Aid Acid Test and want to read a sim­ple paper­back edi­tion that costs less than $10, you can find a copy here.

Note: We belong to the Taschen affil­i­ate pro­gram. So if you get a copy of the col­lec­tor’s edi­tion, it ben­e­fits not just you and Taschen. It ben­e­fits Open Cul­ture too. So con­sid­er it win-win-win.

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:

Hear Tom Wolfe (RIP) Tell Studs Terkel All About Cus­tom-Car Cul­ture, the Sub­ject of His Sem­i­nal Piece of New Jour­nal­ism (1965)

The Acid Test Reels: Ken Kesey & The Grate­ful Dead’s Sound­track for the 1960s Famous LSD Par­ties

Ken Kesey’s First LSD Trip Ani­mat­ed

Aldous Hux­ley, Dying of Can­cer, Left This World Trip­ping on LSD (1963)

Ken Kesey Talks About the Mean­ing of the Acid Tests

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How Women Got Dressed in the 14th & 18th Centuries: Watch the Very Painstaking Process Get Cinematically Recreated

We live in an age of con­ve­nience, and one get­ting more con­ve­nient all the time. Few com­par­isons between past and present under­score that quite so much as the morn­ing rou­tine. Hot and cold run­ning water on demand, prop­er­ly appre­ci­at­ed, can seem mirac­u­lous enough, let alone more recent devel­op­ments like the avail­abil­i­ty of high-qual­i­ty cof­fee on every city block. But con­sid­er cloth­ing, the change in whose out­ward appear­ance over the past 700 years or so goes along with an equal­ly dra­mat­ic change in use. We still wear clothes for all the same basic rea­sons we did back then, of course, but what it takes to wear them has dimin­ished to com­par­a­tive effort­less­ness.

These videos, one on get­ting dressed in the 14th cen­tu­ry and one on get­ting dressed in the 18th cen­tu­ry, offer detailed, nar­rat­ed, and cin­e­mat­ic looks at what the process once entailed — or at least what the process entailed for Eng­lish women of a cer­tain class.

The aver­age man in those peri­ods, too, had to deal with much more has­sle putting on his clothes in the morn­ing that he does today, but the female case, with its shift, stays, pet­ti­coats, pock­ets, roll, stock­ings and garters, gown and stom­ach­er, apron, and more besides, required not just a great deal of dis­ci­pline and con­cen­tra­tion on the part of the dress­er but assis­tance from anoth­er pair of hands as well.

You can find more such videos on the fin­er points of wom­en’s dress­ing rou­tines of yore, includ­ing fur­ther expla­na­tions of such ele­ments as pock­ets and busks, on this playlist. The social, tech­no­log­i­cal, and indus­tri­al sto­ries behind why it has all become so much less com­pli­cat­ed over the cen­turies has pro­vid­ed, and will con­tin­ue to pro­vide, the dri­ving ques­tions for many an aca­d­e­m­ic the­sis. But despite the enor­mous reduc­tion in the labor-inten­sive­ness of putting them on, clothes have not, of course, become a per­fect­ly sim­ple mat­ter for we dressers of the com­par­a­tive­ly ultra-casu­al 21st cen­tu­ry. Still, after watch­ing all it took to get dressed those hun­dreds and hun­dreds of years ago, many of us — male or female — might arrive at the thought that we could stand to put just a lit­tle more effort into the job.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What’s It Like to Fight in 15th Cen­tu­ry Armor?: A Sur­pris­ing Demon­stra­tion

An Online Trove of His­toric Sewing Pat­terns & Cos­tumes

The Dress­er: The Con­trap­tion That Makes Get­ting Dressed an Adven­ture

1930s Fash­ion Design­ers Pre­dict How Peo­ple Would Dress in the Year 2000

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

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Muhammad Ali & Sly Stone Get Into a Heated Debate on Racism & Reparations on The Mike Douglas Show (1974)

Ah, the 70s… an Amer­i­can pres­i­dent was impeached for crim­i­nal activ­i­ty; a con­gress­man, Wayne Hays, resigned for sleep­ing with his sec­re­tary, after divorc­ing his wife to mar­ry a dif­fer­ent sec­re­tary; anoth­er con­gress­man, Bud Shuster—who described Hays as “the mean­est man in the house”—called for an inves­ti­ga­tion of Water­gate spe­cial pros­e­cu­tor Archibald Cox, after Cox was fired by the soon-to-be impeached pres­i­dent… ‘twas a dif­fer­ent time, chil­dren, a sim­pler time….

Well, at any rate, they sure wore fun­ny suits back then, eh? Those lapels…. But just like today, pol­i­tics mixed freely with sports and enter­tain­ment in con­tro­ver­sial and tele­vi­su­al ways. Box­ers got rat­ings, singers got rat­ings, politi­cians like “mean­est man in the house” Wayne Hays got rat­ings, even before his sex scan­dal, when he appeared on TV with box­ers and singers—appeared, that is, on The Mike Dou­glas Show in 1974 with Muham­mad Ali and Sly Stone. Actor and activist Theodore Bikel was there too, though you might blink and miss him in the fra­cas just above.

First, Hays offers some banal opin­ions on the sub­ject of cam­paign financ­ing, anoth­er one of those bygone 70s issues. But when Dou­glas pos­es the ques­tion to Ali of whether or not he’d ever run for office, things pick up, to say the least. Ali refus­es to play the enter­tain­er. He launch­es flur­ry after flur­ry of jabs at white Amer­i­ca, and at Hays, who does his best to stay upright under the onslaught. “Ali is unyield­ing,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds, “intense and bril­liant.”

Ali takes on a seri­ous ques­tion fac­ing Black nation­al­ists of the 60s and 70s, from the Pan­thers to the Nation of Islam, whose views Ali embraced at the time, along with, per­haps, some of their ugly anti-Semi­tism. (The fol­low­ing year he con­vert­ed to Sun­ni Islam, and lat­er became a Sufi.) Should Black activists par­tic­i­pate in the oppres­sive sys­tems of the U.S. gov­ern­ment? Can any­one do good from inside the halls of impe­ri­al­ist pow­er?

Hays makes an inte­gra­tionist case, and cham­pi­ons Black lead­ers like con­gress­woman Bar­bara Jor­dan. Ali is relent­less­ly com­bat­ive, call­ing for repa­ra­tions. Sly slides in to clar­i­fy and paci­fy, play­ing medi­a­tor and ref­er­ee. Dou­glas gets off the applause line, “isn’t it time we all tried to live togeth­er.” Ali refus­es to gloss over racism and eco­nom­ic inequal­i­ty. No peace, he says in effect, with­out jus­tice. Aren’t we glad, forty-four years lat­er, that we’ve ironed all this out? See the full show here for much more heavy­weight com­men­tary from Ali and some­times fuzzy coun­ter­point from Sly. They go back and forth with Dou­glas for ten min­utes before Hays and Bikel join.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Muham­mad Ali, This Is Your Life!”: Cel­e­brate Ali’s Life & Times with This Touch­ing 1978 TV Trib­ute

Muham­mad Ali Gives a Dra­mat­ic Read­ing of His Poem on the Atti­ca Prison Upris­ing

James Bald­win Bests William F. Buck­ley in 1965 Debate at Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty

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

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Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child” Shredded on the Ukulele

Here’s James Hill’s recipe for play­ing Jimi Hen­drix’s 1968 clas­sic, “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” on the uke. Yes, the uke:

1 Mya-Moe bari­tone ukulele (Low G — G — B — E)
1 gui­tar amp (Fend­er Blues Junior or equiv­a­lent)
1 bass amp (15 inch)
1 line split­ter (Radi­al ABY box)
1 Dia­mond J‑Drive ped­al (made in Hal­i­fax, NS!)
4 bust­ed strings
2 bro­ken fin­ger­nails
Sea­son to taste and serve hot!

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:

The Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain Per­forms Stun­ning Cov­ers of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it,” Talk­ing Heads’ “Psy­cho Killer” & More

George Har­ri­son Explains Why Every­one Should Play the Ukulele

Jake Shimabukuro plays “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” on the Uke

Ukulele Orches­tra Per­forms Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic West­ern Theme Song, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” And It’s Pret­ty Bril­liant.

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How David Bowie Turned His “Adequate” Voice into a Powerful Instrument: Hear Isolated Vocal Tracks from “Life on Mars,” “Starman,” “Modern Love” “Under Pressure” & More

Believe it or not, the odds were against David Bowie becom­ing an inter­na­tion­al pop super­star. When it seemed he’d final­ly arrived, with the release of Zig­gy Star­dust and the Spi­ders from Mars in 1972, “we didn’t real­ize,” says Jarvis Cock­er in a 2012 doc­u­men­tary, “that he’d been try­ing to be suc­cess­ful for 10 years.” Bowie was 24, a ripe old age in pop star years, and already had four albums under his belt as a solo artist, the first a total com­mer­cial fail­ure, and the sec­ond notable for its one hit, “Space Odd­i­ty,” which seemed like it might have been the artist’s big break in 1969, but some­how wasn’t.

He had played in sev­er­al bands and tried per­form­ing under his giv­en name, Davy Jones, which he just hap­pened to share with one of the biggest pop stars of the day. Had he not per­sist­ed, changed his name and style, and, cru­cial­ly, invent­ed his Mar­t­ian glam per­sona, he might have remained a one-hit-won­der, his excel­lent The Man Who Sold the World and Hunky Dory revered as under­rat­ed cult favorites among fans in the know.

In addi­tion to the dif­fi­cul­ty Bowie had find­ing his niche, he was not a nat­u­ral­ly gift­ed singer and was a reluc­tant per­former. Drawn ear­ly to “move­ment and music” class­es in school, Bowie’s teach­ers called his idio­syn­crat­ic style “vivid­ly artis­tic,” but only rat­ed his voice as “ade­quate.” As voice coach Lisa Popeil writes, “though vocal­ly agile as an adult, Bowie was nev­er known for great pitch accu­ra­cy.”

Such things mat­ter less these days, what with pitch cor­rec­tion soft­ware. In the old days of ana­log, singers couldn’t lean on dig­i­tal wiz­ardry to make them sound bet­ter than they were. Bowie wasn’t “par­tic­u­lar­ly fond” of his own voice, he revealed in an inter­view, and unlike most hun­gry, young would-be stars, he didn’t set out to put him­self in the spotlight—not at first.

“I thought that I wrote songs and wrote music and that was sort of what I thought I was best at doing. And because nobody else was ever doing my songs, I felt, you know, I had to go out and do them.”


So the shy, retir­ing Bowie charged ahead. “With his the­atri­cal bent and fear­less­ness,” Popeil writes, his “abil­i­ty to cre­ate mem­o­rable and emo­tion­al vocal stylings was of the high­est order.” This, we might say, is almost an under­state­ment. Aspir­ing singers and musi­cians can learn much from Bowie’s career, per­haps fore­most the les­son that one needn’t be a prodi­gy or a bub­bly extro­vert to fol­low a musi­cal pas­sion. Bowie honed his vocal skills and achieved mas­tery over his haunt­ing bari­tone, while also learn­ing to move into a pow­er­ful tenor range.

Wit­ness these iso­lat­ed vocal tracks from through­out this career. At the top, the vocal mix from “Life on Mars” shows, as Clas­sic fM writes, that “while unpol­ished, his tremu­lous voice has real qual­i­ty and range.” Fur­ther down, we hear Bowie goof­ing around a bit in the vocal booth before launch­ing into his first hit, “Space Odd­i­ty,” his voice a bit thin in the verse, then hit­ting its full stride in the cho­rus. Three years lat­er, on “Star­man” from Zig­gy Star­dust, we hear more con­fi­dence and con­trol in the vocal track. Then, ten years after Zig­gy, Bowie belts it out on “Mod­ern Love,” above, hav­ing already kept pace with arguably the great­est rock singer of all time on “Under Pres­sure,” fur­ther up.

On “Gold­en Years,” above, Bowie explores his full range, from deep­est bari­tone to falset­to. His voice inevitably waned with age and the sick­ness of his final years, but he nev­er lost the abil­i­ty to imbue a song with max­i­mal emo­tion­al range, mak­ing the ragged vocals on his last album, espe­cial­ly its chill­ing sin­gle “Lazarus,” some of the most grip­ping in his entire body of work. The video below from The Last Five Years doc­u­men­tary strips away the instru­men­ta­tion, leav­ing us with the image of an aged, blind­ed Bowie in bed, singing “Look up here man, I’m in danger/I’ve got noth­ing left to lose.” His breath­ing is audi­bly labored, giv­ing the record­ing a poignant imme­di­a­cy. But the for­ev­er-dis­tinc­tive Bowie vocal style is as deeply mov­ing as ever.


Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

Hear Fred­die Mercury’s Vocals Soar in the Iso­lat­ed Vocal Track for “Some­body to Love”

Hear Dolores O’Riordan’s Beau­ti­ful­ly-Pained Vocals in the Unplugged Ver­sion of The Cran­ber­ries’ 1994 Hit “Zom­bie”

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

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