“SoliÂtude,” wrote HenÂry David ThoreÂau in Walden, “is not meaÂsured by the miles of space that interÂvene between a man and his felÂlows. The realÂly diliÂgent stuÂdent in one of the crowdÂed hives of CamÂbridge ColÂlege is as soliÂtary as a dervish in the desert.” If you’re searchÂing for soliÂtude these days, even in Times Square, you won’t need much diligence–just an iPod and a pair of earÂbuds. But watch out! Your soliÂtude might be shatÂtered by Tyler Cullen, a stuÂdent filmÂmakÂer at the School of VisuÂal Arts, who recentÂly had the audacÂiÂty to say to his felÂlow New YorkÂers: Hey You! What Song Are You LisÂtenÂing To?
Tucked away in the crowdÂed southÂern IndiÂan city of ChenÂnai, in the shadÂow of the WalÂlaÂjah Mosque, is an unflatÂterÂing buildÂing. But what hapÂpens inside the buildÂing is remarkÂable. Every day since 1927, a dedÂiÂcatÂed team has worked tireÂlessÂly to creÂate a handÂwritÂten newsÂpaÂper, The Musalman (in Urdu: مسلمان). Today, there’s a team of six workÂers who work on the newsÂpaÂper daiÂly. Four of the workÂers are known as katÂiÂbs, writÂers dedÂiÂcatÂed to the ancient art of Urdu calÂligÂraÂphy. They have the most modÂest of facilÂiÂties: two wall fans, three light bulbs, and one tube light in an 800-square-foot buildÂing. But watchÂing the video, you learn how this newsÂpaÂper has surÂvived for three genÂerÂaÂtions — everyÂone who works there is absoluteÂly devotÂed to the task. In fact, they are preÂpared to work on The Musalman until their “last breath,” an undeÂniÂable pasÂsion.
In the modÂern era where almost every pubÂlished work is creÂatÂed digÂiÂtalÂly, it is refreshÂing to see the traÂdiÂtion of calÂligÂraÂphy endure with The Musalman. We can only hope the rest of us can appreÂciÂate The Musalman’s hisÂtoÂry and its efforts to surÂvive as much as its dedÂiÂcatÂed readÂers do.
Eugene Buchko is a blogÂger and phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer livÂing in Atlanta, GA. He mainÂtains a phoÂtoÂblog, EruÂdite ExpresÂsions, and writes about what he reads on his readÂing blog.
Usman Riaz began playÂing clasÂsiÂcal piano at 6, then took up the guiÂtar at 16. Fast forÂward four years, and you have this — the 20-year old Riaz playÂing his song “FireÂfly” in a music video that’s more like a mini indie arts film than anyÂthing else. At times, Riaz plays his MarÂtin XC1t like a piano keyÂboard, but, all along, you can hear his acknowlÂedged influÂences — Kaki King, Michael Hedges, Don Ross and, of course, JimÂmy Page. (Don’t miss these relatÂed videos.) You can learn more about the Karachi musiÂcian in this two-part interÂview here and here, and also find his short album, FlashÂes and Sparks, on AmaÂzon here.
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AnyÂone know what law these dancers were vioÂlatÂing, since the arrestÂing offiÂcer apparÂentÂly doesÂn’t know (or won’t say)?
Update: This article/post gives you the backÂstoÂry. It explains that the dancers were “there protestÂing a … court deciÂsion [handÂed down] earÂliÂer this month that upheld a ban on dancÂing withÂin the memoÂrÂiÂal.” The memÂbers of the “civÂil danceobeÂdiÂence” were charged with demonÂstratÂing withÂout a perÂmit, and then released a short time after. That’s the answer to the quesÂtion, in short…
The Franz KafÂka SociÂety announced yesÂterÂday that it was awardÂing the presÂtiÂgious Franz KafÂka Prize for 2011 to the Irish writer John Banville, who has built a repÂuÂtaÂtion for being one of the finest prose stylÂists workÂing in English–and for being a bit difÂfiÂcult.
First, there are the books themÂselves. “In their archiÂtecÂture and their style,” wrote BelinÂda McKÂeon in the introÂducÂtion to Banville’s 2009 Paris Review interÂview, “his books are like baroque catheÂdrals, filled with elabÂoÂrate pasÂsages and someÂtimes overÂwhelmÂing to the casuÂal tourist.” And then there is the perÂsonÂalÂiÂty. When Banville won the 2005 Man BookÂer Prize for his novÂel The Sea, he proÂclaimed, “it is nice to see a work of art win the BookÂer Prize.” As he explained latÂer to The VilÂlage Voice, “the BookÂer Prize and litÂerÂary prizes in genÂerÂal are for midÂdle-ground, midÂdleÂbrow work, which is as it should be. The BookÂer Prize is a prize to keep peoÂple interÂestÂed in ficÂtion, in buyÂing ficÂtion. If they gave it to my kind of book every year, it would rapidÂly die.”
Art may not be for everyÂone, but for those who have read his books–16 novÂels pubÂlished under his own name, four crime novÂels under the pen name BenÂjamin Black, and one colÂlecÂtion of short stories–there is no doubt that Banville is an artist. “It all starts with rhythm for me,” Banville told the Paris Review. “I love Nabokov’s work, and I love his style. But I always thought there was someÂthing odd about it that I couldÂn’t quite put my finÂger on. Then I read an interÂview in which he admitÂted he was tone deaf. And I thought, that’s it–there’s no music in Nabokov, it’s all picÂtoÂrÂiÂal, it’s all image-based. It’s not any worse for that, but the prose doesÂn’t sing. For me, a line has to sing before it does anyÂthing else. The great thrill is when a senÂtence that starts out being comÂpleteÂly plain sudÂdenÂly begins to sing, risÂing far above any expecÂtaÂtion I might have had for it. That’s what keeps me going on those dark DecemÂber days when I think about how I could be livÂing instead of writÂing.”
For an examÂple of Banville’s singing prose, we leave off where The Sea begins:
They departÂed, the gods, on the day of the strange tide. All mornÂing under a milky sky the waters in the bay had swelled and swelled, risÂing to unheard-of heights, the small waves creepÂing over parched sand that for years had known no wetÂting save for rain and lapÂping the very bases of the dunes. The rustÂed hulk of the freighter that had run aground at the far end of the bay longer ago than any of us could rememÂber must have thought it was being grantÂed a relaunch. I would not swim again, after that day. The seabirds mewled and swooped, unnerved, it seemed, by the specÂtaÂcle of that vast bowl of water bulging like a blisÂter, lead-blue and maligÂnantÂly agleam. They looked unnatÂuÂralÂly white, that day, those birds. The waves were depositÂing a fringe of soiled yelÂlow foam along the waterÂline. No sail marred the high horiÂzon. I would not swim, no, not ever again.
Watch to the end. As you might expect, the masÂter upstages his co-star, flapÂping wings and all.
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If you would like to supÂport the misÂsion of Open CulÂture, conÂsidÂer makÂing a donaÂtion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your conÂtriÂbuÂtions will help us conÂtinÂue proÂvidÂing the best free culÂturÂal and eduÂcaÂtionÂal mateÂriÂals to learnÂers everyÂwhere. You can conÂtribute through PayÂPal, PatreÂon, and VenÂmo (@openculture). Thanks!
The great actor Sir AnthoÂny HopÂkins is well versed in the work of felÂlow WelshÂman Dylan Thomas — so much so he even directÂed the critÂiÂcalÂly laudÂed film Dylan Thomas: The Return JourÂney in 2006. Here, he is readÂing one of Thomas’ best-known poems, “Do not go genÂtle into that good night.” (If anyÂone knows when this video was made, please drop us a line.)
There is, of course, no readÂer of Thomas’ poetÂry equal to Thomas himÂself. Just lisÂten to this BBC recordÂing from 1951, the year the beloved vilÂlanelle was first pubÂlished. But if dulÂcet tones and minÂiÂmalÂist recordÂings aren’t your thing, then you might want to check out this John Cale verÂsion.
If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newsletÂter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bunÂdled in one email, each day.
If you would like to supÂport the misÂsion of Open CulÂture, conÂsidÂer makÂing a donaÂtion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your conÂtriÂbuÂtions will help us conÂtinÂue proÂvidÂing the best free culÂturÂal and eduÂcaÂtionÂal mateÂriÂals to learnÂers everyÂwhere. You can conÂtribute through PayÂPal, PatreÂon, and VenÂmo (@openculture). Thanks!
SheerÂly Avni is a San FranÂcisÂco-based arts and culÂture writer. Her work has appeared in Salon, LA WeekÂly, MothÂer Jones, and many othÂer pubÂliÂcaÂtions. You can folÂlow her on twitÂter at @sheerly
For Class Day 2011, HarÂvard had comeÂdiÂan Amy Poehler, and Yale had Tom HanÂks — two figÂures who have a whole lot more enterÂtainÂment valÂue than the speakÂer at my gradÂuÂaÂtion — the AssisÂtant CounÂty CoroÂner. Dead seriÂous! Pun only halfway intendÂed. AnyÂway, I digress. Today, we’re feaÂturÂing Tom HanÂks, the two-time winÂner of the AcadÂeÂmy Award for Best Actor, who starts funÂny, but then turns a litÂtle seriÂous, remindÂing gradÂuÂates, Ă la F.D.R., that essenÂtialÂly “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Not a bad talk overÂall, but we’re still most parÂtial to Steve Job’s StanÂford talk from 2005. Our hands-down favorite…
E. chroÂmi, a short film about a unique colÂlabÂoÂraÂtion between designÂers and biolÂoÂgists has won the best docÂuÂmenÂtary award at Bio:Fiction, the world’s first synÂthetÂic biolÂoÂgy film fesÂtiÂval, held earÂliÂer this month in VienÂna.
E. chroÂmi tells the stoÂry of a project unitÂing designÂers AlexanÂdra Daisy GinsÂberg and James King with a team of underÂgradÂuÂate biolÂoÂgy stuÂdents at CamÂbridge UniÂverÂsiÂty. Using genes from existÂing organÂisms, the team designed cusÂtom DNA sequences, called BioÂBricks, and insertÂed them into E. coli bacteria.The new E. coli—dubbed “E. chromi”—were proÂgrammed to express a rainÂbow of colÂors when exposed to varÂiÂous chemÂiÂcals.
GinsÂberg and King helped the young biolÂoÂgists dream up a variÂety of posÂsiÂble appliÂcaÂtions for the invention.For examÂple, E. chroÂmi could be used to test the safeÂty of drinkÂing water–turning red if a toxÂin is present, green if it’s okay. Or it might be used as an earÂly warnÂing sysÂtem for disÂease: a perÂson would ingest some yogurt conÂtainÂing E. chroÂmi, then watch out for tell-tale colÂors at the othÂer end of the digesÂtive process.
The E. chroÂmi team was awardÂed the grand prize at the 2009 InterÂnaÂtionÂal GenetÂiÂcalÂly EngiÂneered Machine (iGEM) comÂpeÂtiÂtion at the MassÂaÂchuÂsetts InstiÂtute of TechÂnolÂoÂgy. For more films on synÂthetÂic biolÂoÂgy, see the Bio:Fiction webÂsite.
The road to sucÂcess runs right through failÂure. It’s an idea that’s getÂting a lot of attenÂtion lateÂly. EarÂliÂer this month, the Berghs School of ComÂmuÂniÂcaÂtion in StockÂholm orgaÂnized an exhiÂbiÂtion around the whole premise that “sucÂcess nevÂer hapÂpens withÂout takÂing risks. And risks are what you’re capaÂble of takÂing when you overÂcome the fear of failÂing.” But how to do that? How to take that leap? The exhiÂbiÂtion put that quesÂtion to artists and thinkers who know sucÂcess in a very intiÂmate way. (See full list on BrainÂPickÂings here.) That includes Paulo CoelÂho, the author of The Alchemist, a book that has sold 65 milÂlion copies across 150 counÂtries, and he had this to say:
I’m nevÂer parÂaÂlyzed by my fear of failÂure… I say “Ok, I’m doing my best… ” And, from the moment that I can say that I’m doing my best … I sit down, I breathe, and I say “I put all of my love into it, I did it with all my heart.” … And whether they like [the book] or not is irrelÂeÂvant, because I like it. I’m comÂmitÂted to the thing that I did. And so far nobody has critÂiÂcized or refused it. When you put love and enthuÂsiÂasm into your work, even if peoÂple don’t see it, they know it’s there, that you did this with all of your body and soul, so that is what I encourÂage you to do.
It’s a good thought, which gets purÂsued on a parÂalÂlel track by Tim HarÂford. In 2005, HarÂford wrote the bestÂselling book, The UnderÂcovÂer EconÂoÂmist, and now he returns with Adapt: Why SucÂcess Always Starts with FailÂure. SpeakÂing yesÂterÂday on KQED in San FranÂcisÂco, the writer, someÂtimes likened to MalÂcolm GladÂwell, talked about the imporÂtance of experÂiÂmenÂtaÂtion, takÂing calÂcuÂlatÂed risks, and creÂatÂing room for failÂure, someÂthing that matÂters as much to indiÂvidÂuÂals as it does to corÂpoÂraÂtions or nations tryÂing to solve difÂfiÂcult probÂlems. You can lisÂten to the full interÂview here.
If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newsletÂter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bunÂdled in one email, each day.
If you would like to supÂport the misÂsion of Open CulÂture, conÂsidÂer makÂing a donaÂtion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your conÂtriÂbuÂtions will help us conÂtinÂue proÂvidÂing the best free culÂturÂal and eduÂcaÂtionÂal mateÂriÂals to learnÂers everyÂwhere. You can conÂtribute through PayÂPal, PatreÂon, and VenÂmo (@openculture). Thanks!
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