How to Look at Art: A Short Visual Guide by Cartoonist Lynda Barry

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Despite the small, nar­ra­tive doo­dle post­ed to her Tum­blr a cou­ple of weeks back, inspi­ra­tional teacher and car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry clear­ly has no short­age of strate­gies for view­ing art in a mean­ing­ful way.

She takes a Socrat­ic approach with stu­dents and read­ers eager to forge a deep­er per­son­al con­nec­tion to images.

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She traces this ten­den­cy back forty years, to when she stud­ied with Mar­i­lyn Fras­ca at Ever­green State Col­lege. Could Fras­ca have antic­i­pat­ed what she wrought when she asked the young Bar­ry, “What is an image?”

For Bar­ry, who claims to have spent over forty years try­ing to answer the above ques­tion, there will almost always be an emo­tion­al com­po­nent. In a 2010 inter­view with The Paris Review, she addressed the ways in which art, visu­al and oth­er­wise, can fill cer­tain cru­cial holes:

In the course of human life we have a mil­lion phan­tom-limb pains—losing a par­ent when you’re lit­tle, being in a war, even some­thing as dumb as hav­ing a mean teacher—and see­ing it some­how reflect­ed, whether it’s in our own work or lis­ten­ing to a song, is a way to deal with it.

The Greeks knew about it. They called it cathar­sis, right? And with­out it we’re fucked. I think this is the thing that keeps our men­tal health or emo­tion­al health in bal­ance, and we’re born with an impulse toward it.

No won­der the snag­gle-toothed dog woman on Barry’s Tum­blr looks so anx­ious. She craves that elu­sive some­thing that nev­er much trou­bled Helen Hockinson’s muse­um-going com­ic matrons.

(Had rev­e­la­tion been on the menu, those ladies would have duti­ful­ly paged through the most high­ly rec­om­mend­ed guide­book of the day, con­fi­dent they’d find it with­in those pages.)

These days, the inter­net abounds with point­ers on how to get the most from art.

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Houston’s Muse­um of Fine Arts lob­bies for a four-point method, well suit­ed to class­room dis­cus­sion.

The Wash­ing­ton Post’s Pulitzer Prize-win­ning art and archi­tec­ture crit­ic Philip Ken­ni­cott pre­scribes time and silence.

Anoth­er crit­ic, New York magazine’s fire­brand, Jer­ry Saltz, rec­om­mends an aggres­sive­ly tac­tile approach for those who would look at art like an artist. Get up close. Cop a feel. Try to see how any giv­en piece is made. (He him­self is giv­en to con­tem­plat­ing art with his hips thrust for­ward and head tilt­ed back as far as it will go, in dupli­ca­tion of Jasper Johns’ stance.)

Look­ing for some­thing more graph­ic? Abstract Expres­sion­ist Ad Rein­hardt helped the post-War pub­lic get a han­dle on mod­ern art in his icon­ic How to Look series.

For­mer muse­um edu­ca­tor, Cindy Ingram, the Art Cura­tor for Kids, echoes the spir­it of Barry’s sen­ti­ment when she states that a child’s inter­pre­ta­tion of a work’s mean­ing is no less valid than Wikipedia’s, the museum’s, or even the artist’s. Adults, don’t squelch a child viewer’s joy of art by telling him or her what to think!

Of course, some of us don’t mind a hint or two to help us feel we’re on the right track. Those in that camp might enjoy the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art’s 82nd and 5th series, in which expert cura­tors wax rhap­sod­ic about their love of par­tic­u­lar works in the col­lec­tion.

You under­stand that this is just the tip of the prover­bial ‘berg…

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Read­ers, if you have any tips for achiev­ing rev­e­la­tion through art, please share them by leav­ing a com­ment below.

And don’t for­get to lift your short­er com­pan­ion up so he can see bet­ter.

Bar­ry’s short series of images orig­i­nal­ly appeared on her Tum­blr.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lyn­da Barry’s Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her New UW-Madi­son Course, “Mak­ing Comics”

Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry Shows You How to Draw Bat­man in Her UW-Madi­son Course, “Mak­ing Comics”

Join Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry for a Uni­ver­si­ty-Lev­el Course on Doo­dling and Neu­ro­science

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

Download Issues of Landmark UK Feminist Magazine Spare Rib Free Online

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The fem­i­nism we asso­ciate with the myth­i­cal­ly bra-burn­ing six­ties and seventies—with Bet­ty Friedan and Glo­ria Steinem—falls under the so-called Sec­ond Wave of the move­ment. And it has some­times been cast by its crit­ics and suc­ces­sors since the 1980s as over­whelm­ing­ly white and mid­dle class, exclud­ing from its canons work­ing class women, women of col­or, and the LGBTQ com­mu­ni­ty.

Advo­cates of intersectionality—the term coined by law pro­fes­sor Kim­ber­lé Cren­shaw in the 80s to describe, writes the New States­man, “how dif­fer­ent pow­er struc­tures inter­act in the lives of minorities”—have made con­cert­ed efforts to broad­en and diver­si­fy the move­ment. But as Cren­shaw her­self admits, the con­cept is not a new one. Its antecedents are “as old as Anna Julia Coop­er, and Maria Stew­art in the 19th cen­tu­ry in the US, all the way through Angela Davis and Deb­o­rah King.”

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We can see many of these dis­cus­sions and debates around inter­sec­tion­al­i­ty in Sec­ond Wave fem­i­nism and beyond first­hand in British fem­i­nist mag­a­zine Spare Rib, which is now avail­able online. The Guardian offers a con­cise sum­ma­ry of the magazine’s attempts to “pro­vide an alter­na­tive to tra­di­tion­al gen­der roles” by cov­er­ing

…sub­jects such as “lib­er­at­ing orgasm,” “kitchen sink racism,” anorex­ia and the prac­tice of “cliterec­to­my,” now called female gen­i­tal muti­la­tion. Cov­er head­lines includ­ed “Doctor’s Nee­dles Not Knit­ting Nee­dles” and “Cellulie—the slim­ming fraud” and arti­cles fea­tured women such as coun­try and west­ern singer Tam­my Wynette and US polit­i­cal activist Angela Davis.

Found­ed in ’72 by Mar­sha Rowe and Rosie Boy­cott (pic­tured below), and run as a col­lec­tive, the mag­a­zine fea­tured a “breadth of voic­es.” Ear­ly issues “involved big-name con­trib­u­tors includ­ing Bet­ty Friedan, Ger­maine Greer, Mar­garet Drab­ble and Alice Walk­er, but along­side these were the voic­es of ordi­nary women telling their sto­ries.” As we see in hun­dreds of pages of Spare Rib, the often very heat­ed argu­ments around issues of race, class, and sex­u­al­i­ty in the fem­i­nist com­mu­ni­ty were no less heat­ed in the past than today.

Marsha-Rowe-and-Rosie-Boycott-in-the-Spare-Rib-offices-1972-Photograph-by-David Wilkerson

One woman who helped push the bound­aries of the con­ver­sa­tion before Spare Rib’s “con­scious effort to diver­si­fy the col­lec­tive mem­ber­ship” was Roisin Boyd, an Irish broad­cast­er and writer who joined in 1980. Boyd describes some of the magazine’s chal­lenges in a British Library ret­ro­spec­tive essay, “Race, place and class: who’s speak­ing for who?” “Over the three years I worked on the col­lec­tive,” she writes, “I was often puz­zled by the fact that although we were all women and all fem­i­nists, how dif­fi­cult it was for us to nego­ti­ate our dif­fer­ences, let alone recog­nise them.”

Boyd found that “some col­lec­tive mem­bers were upper class and wealthy” and “dis­tanced from the real­i­ty of post colo­nial­ism.” Like­wise, The Guardian describes many of the debates in the mag­a­zine as “acri­mo­nious,” giv­en its rep­re­sen­ta­tion of “so many dif­fer­ent threads of fem­i­nism.” Spare Rib “reflect­ed the some­times ‘painful’ dis­cus­sions between the col­lec­tive on how best to tack­le issues such as sex­u­al­i­ty and racism.”

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In spite of, or per­haps because of, these dis­agree­ments, the mag­a­zine “was a high­ly vis­i­ble part of the Women’s Lib­er­a­tion move­ment,” says for­mer col­lec­tive mem­ber Sue O’Sullivan, “and a tool for reach­ing thou­sands of women every sin­gle month for over 20 years.” Now with the dig­i­ti­za­tion of its cat­a­log, it can be “a won­der­ful resource for younger his­to­ri­ans and fem­i­nist activists, researchers and all the women (and men) who won­der what their moth­ers, aunts, grannies and old­er friends got up to all those years ago.” Known for its irrev­er­ent humor, intel­li­gence, and eye-catch­ing cov­ers, Spare Rib pre­serves a record of the many ways fem­i­nist issues and debates have changed over the decades—as well as the many ways they haven’t.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

11 Essen­tial Fem­i­nist Books: A New Read­ing List by The New York Pub­lic Library

Simone de Beau­voir Tells Studs Terkel How She Became an Intel­lec­tu­al and Fem­i­nist (1960)

The First Fem­i­nist Film, Ger­maine Dulac’s The Smil­ing Madame Beudet (1922)

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

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

Tonight, we pass along the sad news that Muham­mad Ali, one of the great ath­letes and per­son­al­i­ties of our time, has passed away at the age of 74. Hav­ing bat­tled Parkin­son’s Dis­ease for decades, his pass­ing does­n’t come as a com­plete sur­prise. But, for any­one who remem­bers Ali in his prime, this news will cer­tain­ly come as a blow. There is per­haps not a bet­ter way to remem­ber Ali’s life and times than to watch the 1978 episode of This Is Your Life, the long-run­ning TV show that fol­lowed this for­mat:

Each week, an unsus­pect­ing celebri­ty would be lured by some ruse to a loca­tion near the stu­dio. The celebri­ty would then be sur­prised with the news that they are to be the fea­tured guest. Next, the celebri­ty was escort­ed into the stu­dio, and one by one, peo­ple who were sig­nif­i­cant in the guest’s life would be brought out to offer anec­dotes. At the end of the show, fam­i­ly mem­bers and friends would sur­round the guest, who would then be pre­sent­ed with gifts.

This show (record­ed in Eng­land in this case) is an endear­ing trib­ute to the champ, all the more mov­ing to watch now because Ali is gone. The high­light comes around the 38 minute mark, when Smokin Joe Fra­zier, Ali’s great rival, pays a sur­pris­ing vis­it.

Muham­mad you will be missed.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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:

Muham­mad Ali Sings in Broadway’s First Black Pow­er Musi­cal (1970)

Muham­mad Ali Plans to Fight in Mars in Lost 1966 Inter­view

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

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Color Footage of America’s First Shopping Mall Opening in 1956: The Birth of a Beloved and Reviled Institution

What do we do with all the dead malls? Any­one with an eye on the years-long spate of unam­bigu­ous head­lines — “The Death of the Amer­i­can Mall,” “The Eco­nom­ics (and Nos­tal­gia) of Dead Malls,” “Amer­i­ca’s Shop­ping Malls Are Dying A Slow, Ugly Death” — knows that the ques­tion has begun to vex Amer­i­can cities, and more so Amer­i­can sub­urbs. But just twen­ty years ago (which I remem­ber as the time of my own if not mall-cen­tric then often mall-ori­ent­ed ado­les­cence), nobody could have fore­seen the end of the large, enclosed shop­ping mall as an Amer­i­can insti­tu­tion — nobody except Dou­glas Cou­p­land.



“On August 11 1992 I was in Bloom­ing­ton, Min­neso­ta, close to Min­neapo­lis,” remem­bers the Gen­er­a­tion X author in a recent Finan­cial Times col­umn. “I was on a book tour and it was the grand open­ing day of Mall of Amer­i­ca, the biggest mall in the US.” He took the stage to give a live radio inter­view and the host said, “I guess you must think this whole mall is kind of hokey and trashy.” No such thing, replied Cou­p­land: “I feel like I’m in anoth­er era that we thought had van­ished, but it real­ly hasn’t, not yet. I think we might one day look back on pho­tos of today and think to our­selves, ‘You know, those peo­ple were liv­ing in gold­en times and they didn’t even know it.’”

Gold­en times or not, they now look unques­tion­ably like the high water­mark of the era when “malls used to be cool.” Cou­p­land describes the shop­ping mall as “the inter­net shop­ping of 1968,” but they go back a bit far­ther: 1956, to be pre­cise, the year the South­dale Cen­ter, the very first enclosed, depart­ment store-anchored mall of the form that would spread across Amer­i­ca and else­where over the next forty years, opened in Edi­na, Min­neso­ta. You can see vin­tage col­or footage of the South­dale Cen­ter in all its mid­cen­tu­ry glo­ry — its auto show­room, its play­ground, its full-ser­vice Red Owl gro­cery, its umbrel­la-tabled cafés under a vast atri­um, and out­side, of course, its even vaster park­ing lot — at the top of the post.

“You have no idea what an inno­va­tion this was in the 1950s,” says writer and mid­cen­tu­ry Min­neso­ta enthu­si­ast James Lileks. “There wasn’t any place where you could sit ‘out­side’ in your shirt-sleeves in Jan­u­ary.” I used that quote when I wrote a piece for the Guardian on the South­dale Cen­ter, an insti­tu­tion eas­i­ly impor­tant enough for their His­to­ry of Cities in 50 Build­ings (as well as PBS’ tele­vi­sion series Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca), whether you love them or hate them. The Aus­tri­an archi­tect Vic­tor Gru­en, who came to Amer­i­ca in flight from the Nazis, hat­ed them, but he also cre­at­ed them; or rather, he envi­sioned the oases of rich Vien­nese urban­i­ty for his new coun­try that would, cor­rupt­ed by Amer­i­can real­i­ty, quick­ly become short­hand for “con­sumerist” sub­ur­ban life at its bland­est.

Mal­colm Glad­well tells that sto­ry in full in his New York­er pro­file of Gru­en and the cre­ation he dis­owned: “He revis­it­ed one of his old shop­ping cen­ters, and saw all the sprawl­ing devel­op­ment around it, and pro­nounced him­self in ‘severe emo­tion­al shock.’ Malls, he said, had been dis­fig­ured by ‘the ugli­ness and dis­com­fort of the land-wast­ing seas of park­ing’ around them.” Giv­en Gru­en’s final pro­nounce­ment on the mat­ter — “I refuse to pay alimo­ny for those bas­tard devel­op­ments” — one imag­ines he would applaud the shop­ping mal­l’s present day devo­lu­tion.

“Where is the gra­cious Muzak’ed trance of yore?” asks Cou­p­land as he sur­veys Amer­i­ca’s blight­ed mallscape today. “Where is the civil­i­ty? The calm cov­ered with ply­wood sheet­ing and graf­fi­ti, and filled with dead trop­i­cal plants and shop­ping carts miss­ing wheels, they’ve basi­cal­ly entered the realm of back­drops for sci­ence fic­tion nov­els and movies and I’m OK with that. Change hap­pens.” Change, in the form of thor­ough remod­el­ing and mod­ern­iza­tion, has also hap­pened to the South­dale Cen­ter, but the mall that start­ed it all remains in busi­ness today, all rumors of its own immi­nent demise seem­ing­ly exag­ger­at­ed.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Atten­tion K‑Mart Shop­pers: Hear 90 Hours of Back­ground Music & Ads from the Retail Giant’s 1980s and 90s Hey­day

Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca: Watch the Debut Episode from the New PBS Series

Watch Stew­art Brand’s 6‑Part Series How Build­ings Learn, With Music by Bri­an Eno

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Instrument Benjamin Franklin Invented, the Glass Armonica, Plays Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”


Must we ever see anoth­er port­ly, bespec­ta­cled re-enac­tor drag­ging a kite with key attached to rep­re­sent the inge­nu­ity of rak­ish found­ing father and avatar of cash wealth, Ben­jamin Franklin? Why, when he invent­ed so many won­drous things—including those bifo­cal specs—should we only memo­ri­al­ize him for this sil­ly (but very sci­en­tif­ic) stunt? Though it may be a true sto­ry, unlike Wash­ing­ton and his cher­ry tree, the famil­iar­i­ty of the image breeds a cer­tain indif­fer­ence to the man behind it. I’m not sug­gest­ing that we remem­ber him for, say, his inven­tion of the catheter, though that’s quite a use­ful thing. Or for his inven­tion, accord­ing to How Stuff Works, of “Amer­i­can Celebrity”—surely no friend to human­i­ty these two hun­dred-plus years hence.

But maybe swim fins, eh? That’s a pret­ty neat inven­tion. Imag­ine your fifth-grad­er in bald cap and ruf­fled shirt, plod­ding across the school stage in a pair of flip­pers. Or maybe the odome­ter? Or those reachy, grab­by things at the gro­cery store that pull items down from high shelves? Bor­ing. How about the Glass Armon­i­ca? The what? The glass armon­i­ca, I say, or—as Franklin orig­i­nal­ly called it—the “glassy­chord.” What is it? Well, Franklin, inspired by a con­cert by Roy­al Acad­e­my col­league Edmund Delaval on a set of water tuned wine­glass­es, decid­ed to improve upon the instru­ment. An ama­teur musi­cian him­self, writes William Zeitler as Glassarmonica.com, Franklin left the con­cert “deter­mined to invent and build ‘a more con­ve­nient’ arrange­ment.”



Thus, after two years of exper­i­men­ta­tion, “Franklin debuted his glass armon­i­ca,” which How Stuff Works describes as “a col­lec­tion of dif­fer­ent-sized glass bowls arranged on a rotat­ing shaft. By spin­ning the shaft with a foot ped­al and run­ning wet­ted fin­gers over the rotat­ing bowls, Franklin found he could coax out chords and melodies that Delaval could only dream of.” You needn’t use your imag­i­na­tion. Just watch the video above to see a Franklin re-enac­tor play a beau­teous ren­di­tion of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sug­ar Plum Fairy” on a glass armon­i­ca. Love­ly, no? Sure­ly we wouldn’t expect chil­dren to pull this off in the school play, but they could mime along to a record­ing. (Don’t start yelling about revi­sion­ist his­to­ry just yet. We can still tell the kite and key sto­ry, too. Just watch these adorable chil­dren tell it in this video.)

Franklin pre­miered the inven­tion in 1762, though he didn’t play it him­self but enlist­ed Lon­don musi­cian Mar­i­anne Davis. It was an instant hit, “par­tic­u­lar­ly in Ger­many,” Zeitler writes, where “Mozart was intro­duced to it by Dr. Franz Mes­mer, who used it to ‘mes­mer­ize’ his patients, and lat­er Mozart wrote two works for it (a solo armon­i­ca piece, and a larg­er quin­tet for armon­i­ca, flute, oboe, vio­la and cel­lo).” Above, hear Mozart’s Ron­do for Glass Armon­i­ca and Quar­tet, per­formed by Thomas Bloch. Impressed? It gets bet­ter: “Beethoven also wrote a lit­tle piece for armon­i­ca and nar­ra­tor (!), and many of their col­leagues of the day com­posed for it as well—some 200 pieces for armon­i­ca… sur­vive from that era.”

What hap­pened? Tastes changed, put sim­ply, and the glass armon­i­ca fell out of fash­ion. That, and the lack of ampli­fi­ca­tion meant it was drowned out in increas­ing­ly larg­er ensem­bles. I pro­pose we bring it back, maybe in a hip Ben Franklin Broad­way musi­cal. Who’s with me?

Learn much more about this fas­ci­nat­ing instru­ment, and see sev­er­al more video demon­stra­tions, at Glassarmonica.com.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ben Franklin’s List of 200 Syn­onyms for “Drunk”: “Moon-Ey’d,” “Ham­mer­ish,” “Stew’d” & More (1737)

Declas­si­fied CIA Doc­u­ment Reveals That Ben Franklin (and His Big Ego) Put U.S. Nation­al Secu­ri­ty at Risk

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

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

Hear Amanda Palmer’s Cover of “Purple Rain,” a Gorgeous Stringfelt Send-Off to Prince

Amanda Palmer Prince Cover

Dear­ly beloved, we are gath­ered here today to get through this thing called life…

It must have crossed Prince’s mind that the day would sure­ly come when fans would mine his eter­nal­ly mem­o­rable open­er to 1984’s “Let’s Go Crazy” to eulo­gize him.

But could he have antic­i­pat­ed the heights to which fel­low singer-song­writer Aman­da Palmer would take this most under­stand­able of impuls­es?

Brace your­self for the above, the most mourn­ful­ly emo­tion­al cov­er of “Pur­ple Rain” you’re ever like­ly to hear. Yes, it shares an intro with “Let’s Go Crazy,” but this is no ordi­nary med­ley.

As with Strung Out In Heav­en, her five-track trib­ute to the recent­ly deceased David Bowie, Palmer teamed with a string quar­tet and pop poly­math pro­duc­er Jherek Bischoff. The quick turn­around result is both lush and heart­felt.

With no dis­re­spect, hope­ful­ly Palmer’s exquis­ite string ele­gies will not become a thing.

In oth­er words, we all have rock stars whose pass­ing we dread as an indi­ca­tor of our own mor­tal­i­ty.…

The pro­ceeds from the name-your-price pur­chase of Palmer’s “Pur­ple Rain” will be donat­ed to Ele­vate Hope Foun­da­tion, the non-prof­it project co-found­ed by fre­quent Prince col­lab­o­ra­tor, Sheila E, to pro­vide music ther­a­py for abused and aban­doned chil­dren.

As recent­ly as mid-March, Palmer was char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly mouthy online about her philo­soph­i­cal dif­fer­ences with the Pur­ple One, whom she described as the yang to her yin:

We want con­nec­tion but dis­agree about the wires, the chan­nels, the ingre­di­ents.

After he passed, she showed more restraint in an inter­view with Pitch­fork, in which she shared some per­son­al rec­ol­lec­tions about Prince’s role in her (elec­tric word) life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Strung Out in Heav­en, a Gor­geous Trib­ute to David Bowie by Aman­da Palmer & Jherek Bischoff’s, Made with Help from Neil Gaiman

This Is What It Sounds Like When 1999 Peo­ple Sing Prince’s “When Doves Cry”

Delight in Prince’s Extra­or­di­nar­i­ly Poignant Cov­er of Radiohead’s “Creep” & His Com­plete 2008 Coachel­la Set

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

Download 336 Issues of the Avant-Garde Magazine The Storm (1910–1932), Featuring the Work of Kandinsky, Klee, Moholy-Nagy & More

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It’s easy to think of Expres­sion­ism—the art form that flour­ished in Ger­many dur­ing the ear­ly decades of the 20th century—as a kind of inchoate release of emo­tion onto the can­vas. The name itself sug­gests the com­mon idea of art as a means of “express­ing one­self.” Often intense­ly child­like, such as the work of Paul Klee, or com­plete­ly abstract, such as Wass­i­ly Kandinsky’s many geo­met­ric com­po­si­tions, expres­sion­ist styles influ­enced artists through­out the cen­tu­ry whom we tend to asso­ciate with emo­tion over rea­son, pas­sion over restraint: Willem de Koon­ing and Jack­son Pol­lack, Jean-Michel Basquiat and Fran­cis Bacon.

Der_Sturm_1922-04

But let us return to the movement’s roots and we see from its very begin­nings that Expres­sion­ism was high­ly the­o­ret­i­cal in its emo­tion­al­ism. Its high priest, Kandin­sky, pio­neered non-rep­re­sen­ta­tion­al paint­ing, and explained his method in cool­ly ana­lyt­i­cal terms in his trea­tise Con­cern­ing the Spir­i­tu­al in Art. Expressionism—not only in paint­ing, but in dra­ma, sculp­ture, dance, film, and literature—early on com­mu­ni­cat­ed its ideas in a week­ly mag­a­zine, Der Sturm (The Storm), found­ed in 1910 by artist and crit­ic Her­warth Walden and run­ning week­ly until 1914, then quar­ter­ly from 1924 to 1932. In that time, the pub­li­ca­tion amassed quite a few issues, and you can read (in Ger­man) and down­load all 336 of them here.

Der_Sturm_1923-01

You can also see some of the inspired cov­er designs Der Sturm used over its decades of pub­li­ca­tion. “The mag­a­zine became well known for the inclu­sion of wood­cuts and linocuts,” writes the Guggen­heim, “includ­ing works by Guggen­heim col­lec­tion artists Marc Cha­gall,Vasi­ly Kandin­skyPaul KleeOscar Kokosch­ka,  Franz MarcLás­zló Moholy-Nagy, and oth­ers.” The muse­um site fea­tures sev­er­al of Der Stur­m’s graph­ic designs by Moholy-Nagy, such as the cov­er above, and Mono­skop adds the cov­ers fur­ther up and at the top of the post, by Oscar Ner­linger and Oskar Kokosch­ka, respec­tive­ly. Mono­skop also pro­vides a good deal of his­tor­i­cal con­text for the mag­a­zine and the gallery it fos­tered, Galerie Der Sturm, “start­ed by Walden to cel­e­brate its 100th edi­tion, in 1912.”

Walden_Herwarth_Einblick_in_Kunst_Expressionismus_Futurismus_Kubismus_1924

The gallery’s many exhi­bi­tions demon­strate how much Expres­sion­ism over­lapped with a host of oth­er mod­ernist –isms of the peri­od. It start­ed “with an exhi­bi­tion of Fauves and Der Blaue Reit­er [a group includ­ing Kandin­sky and Paul Klee that formed the core of first Expres­sion­ist painters], fol­lowed by the intro­duc­tion in Ger­many of the Ital­ian Futur­ists, Cubists and Orphists.” Edvard Munch exhib­it­ed there, as did Georges Braque and Pablo Picas­so. Walden expand­ed the gallery’s activ­i­ties after WWI to include lec­tures and a the­ater, and he began pub­lish­ing books and port­fo­lios by Expres­sion­ist artists. Just above see the cov­er of Walden’s own book Ein­blick in Kun­st, and see sev­er­al more book cov­ers and a bib­li­og­ra­phy at Mono­skop.

A prod­uct of the Weimar Republic’s high cul­ture, the Ger­man Expres­sion­ist move­ment large­ly came to an end, along with Der Sturm and its asso­ci­at­ed work, as the Nazis came to pow­er. But the cur­rent of Expres­sion­ism moved pow­er­ful­ly through the cen­tu­ry, inspir­ing among oth­ers the mid-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can Abstract Expres­sion­ists, who often broke away from detached, the­o­ret­i­cal under­stand­ings of art and engaged in direct and some­times bru­tal ways with paint and can­vas. But one can’t imag­ine these lat­er painters tak­ing the sub­jec­tive license they did with­out the ground­work laid by the tire­less Kandin­sky and his con­tem­po­raries or Walden’s expan­sive Der Sturm move­ment.

You can peruse the entire col­lec­tion of Der Sturm here.

via Mono­skop

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Down­load 2,000 Mag­nif­i­cent Turn-of-the-Cen­tu­ry Art Posters, Cour­tesy of the New York Pub­lic Library

Down­load the Com­plete Archive of Oz, “the Most Con­tro­ver­sial Mag­a­zine of the 60s,” Fea­tur­ing R. Crumb, Ger­maine Greer & More

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

Philosophy Prof Illustrates Nietzsche’s Zarathustra in the Style of Dr. Seuss

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John Hol­bo, a phi­los­o­phy prof at the Nation­al Uni­ver­si­ty of Sin­ga­pore, recent­ly gave the world a free illus­trat­ed edi­tion of three dia­logues by Pla­to (get it as a free PDF, or via Ama­zon). Now he’s embark­ing on a new cre­ative project called On Beyond Zarathus­tra.

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Over on the Crooked Tim­ber blog, Hol­bo light-heart­ed­ly launched the project with these words:

Ever since Pla­to wrote Socrates “Will You Please Go Now!” and “If I Ran The Polis!” great philoso­phers have most­ly start­ed out as authors of (what we would now call) Dr. Seuss-style children’s books. A lot of this old stuff has been lost. Schol­ars have neglect­ed it. But I’m under­tak­ing a project of restora­tion and study, start­ing with Niet­zsche.

I’ll be post­ing updates reg­u­lar­ly to the Flickr page – few pages a week as my work pro­ceeds. We’re just get­ting to the good bits: The Rope Dancer and the Last Man!

Please do feel to share with any friends who may have a schol­ar­ly inter­est in the his­to­ri­og­ra­phy of phi­los­o­phy. (I’ll have some more notes about that soon.)

We’ve post­ed here the first four pages of Hol­bo’s new graph­i­cal project.

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To see how the project unfolds, you can reg­u­lar­ly vis­it this album on Flickr. The are cur­rent­ly 22 pages, with the promise of many more to come soon.

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And, take note, once he’s done with Friedrich, Hol­bo promis­es to turn to Descartes and Kierkegaard and give them the same Dr. Seuss treat­ment. Enjoy the ride.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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!

via Dai­ly Nous

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

Hear Clas­si­cal Music Com­posed by Friedrich Niet­zsche: 43 Orig­i­nal Tracks

135 Free Phi­los­o­phy eBooks

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.