Graphic Shows the House Plants That Naturally Clean the Air in Your Home, According to a NASA Study

This is a quick pub­lic ser­vice announce­ment. If you believe in sci­ence and facts, read on.

Back in the 1980s, NASA pub­lished a research report called “Inte­ri­or Land­scape Plants for Indoor Air Pol­lu­tion Abate­ment” that grap­pled with a par­tic­u­lar prob­lem: Many mod­ern build­ings (par­tic­u­lar­ly office build­ings) have become so well insu­lat­ed and her­met­i­cal­ly sealed that they allow for lit­tle “free air exchange.” As a result, tox­ins build up in these build­ings (for exam­ple, from the off gassing of fur­ni­ture) and the inhab­i­tants even­tu­al­ly pay a price.

In response, NASA looked for nat­ur­al ways to clean up these sealed spaces (like the Inter­na­tion­al Space Sta­tion), par­tic­u­lar­ly by avail­ing them­selves of the nat­ur­al air fil­ter­ing prop­er­ties of every­day house plants:

In this study the leaves, roots, soil, and asso­ci­at­ed microor­gan­isms of plants have been eval­u­at­ed as a pos­si­ble means of reduc­ing indoor air pol­lu­tants. Addi­tion­al­ly, a nov­el approach of using plant sys­tems for remov­ing high con­cen­tra­tions of indoor air pol­lu­tants such as cig­a­rette smoke, organ­ic sol­vents, and pos­si­bly radon has been designed from this work. This air fil­ter design com­bines plants with an acti­vat­ed car­bon fil­ter as shown in Fig­ure 1. The ratio­nale for this design, which evolved from waste­water treat­ment stud­ies, is based on mov­ing large vol­umes of con­t­a­m­i­nat­ed air through an acti­vat­ed car­bon bed where smoke, organ­ic chem­i­cals, path­o­gen­ic microor­gan­isms (if present), and pos­si­bly radon are absorbed by the car­bon fil­ter. Plant roots and their asso­ci­at­ed microor­gan­isms then destroy the path­o­gen­ic virus­es, bac­te­ria, and the organ­ic chem­i­cals, even­tu­al­ly con­vert­ing all of these air pol­lu­tants into new plant tissue.(31“37) It is believed that the decayed radon prod­ucts would be tak­en up by the plant roots and retained in the plant tis­sue.

You can read the rest of the study here. And, above, find a graph­ic (cre­at­ed by Lovethe­Gar­den) that visu­al­izes the results of the NASA study, show­ing which par­tic­u­lar plants will reduce air pol­lu­tion in your office and home.

For good mea­sure, we’ve also added below a short video where researcher Kamal Meat­tle “shows how an arrange­ment of three com­mon house­plants, used in spe­cif­ic spots in a home or office build­ing, can result in mea­sur­ably clean­er indoor air.”

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Bak­ing, Cook­ing & Oth­er Dai­ly Activ­i­ties Help Pro­mote Hap­pi­ness and Alle­vi­ate Depres­sion and Anx­i­ety

Stream 18 Hours of Free Guid­ed Med­i­ta­tions

Free Col­or­ing Books from World-Class Libraries & Muse­ums: The Met, New York Pub­lic Library, Smith­son­ian & More

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Métal hurlant: The Hugely Influential French Comic Magazine That Put Moebius on the Map & Changed Sci-Fi Forever

Would you believe that one par­tic­u­lar pub­li­ca­tion inspired a range of vision­ary cre­ators includ­ing Rid­ley Scott, George Lucas, Luc Besson, William Gib­son, and Hayao Miyaza­ki? More­over, would you believe that it was French, from the 1970s, and a com­ic book? Not that that term “com­ic book” does jus­tice to Métal hurlant, which dur­ing its ini­tial run from 1974 to 1987 not only rede­fined the pos­si­bil­i­ties of the medi­um and great­ly widened the imag­i­na­tive pos­si­bil­i­ties of sci­ence fic­tion sto­ry­telling, but brought to promi­nence a num­ber of whol­ly uncon­ven­tion­al and high­ly influ­en­tial artists, chief among them Jean Giraud, best known as Moe­bius.

Métal hurlant, accord­ing to Tom Lennon in his his­to­ry of the mag­a­zine, launched “as the flag­ship title of Les Humanoïdes Asso­ciés, a French pub­lish­ing ven­ture set up by Euro com­ic vet­er­ans Moe­bius, Druil­let and Jean-Pierre Dion­net, togeth­er with their finance direc­tor Bernard Farkas. Influ­enced by both the Amer­i­can under­ground comix scene of the 1960s and the polit­i­cal and cul­tur­al upheavals of that decade, their goal was bold and grandiose: they were going to kick ass, take names, and make peo­ple take comics seri­ous­ly.”

This demand­ed “artis­tic inno­va­tion at every lev­el,” from high-qual­i­ty, large-for­mat paper stock to risk-tak­ing sto­ry­telling “shot through with a rich vein of humour and deliv­ered with a nar­ra­tive sophis­ti­ca­tion pre­vi­ous­ly unseen in the medi­um.”

Giraud took to the pos­si­bil­i­ties of the new pub­li­ca­tion with a spe­cial avid­ness. Under the pen name “Gir,” writes Lennon, he “was best known as the co-cre­ator of the pop­u­lar West­ern series, Blue­ber­ry. By the mid-1970s, Giraud was feel­ing increas­ing­ly con­strained by the con­ven­tions of the west­ern genre, so decid­ed to revive a long-dor­mant pseu­do­nym to embark on more exper­i­men­tal work. As ‘Moe­bius’, Giraud not only worked in a dif­fer­ent genre to ‘Gir’ – a deeply per­son­al, high­ly idio­syn­crat­ic form of sci­ence fic­tion and fan­ta­sy – but his art looked like it was drawn by a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent per­son,” and “unlike any­thing that had been seen in comics — or, for that mat­ter, in any oth­er medi­um.”

Métal hurlant saw the debuts of two of Moe­bius’ best-known char­ac­ters: the pith-hel­met­ed and mus­ta­chioed pro­tec­tor of minia­ture uni­vers­es Major Gru­bert and the silent, ptero­dactyl-rid­ing explor­er Arzach, who bears a cer­tain resem­blance to the pro­tag­o­nist of Miyaza­k­i’s 1984 film Nau­si­caä of the Val­ley of the Wind. Read through the back issues of the mag­a­zine — or its 40-years-run­ning Amer­i­can ver­sion, Heavy Met­al — and you’ll also glimpse, in the work of Moe­bius and oth­ers, ele­ments that would lat­er find their way into the worlds of Neu­ro­mancerMad MaxAlienBlade Run­nerStar Wars, and much more besides.

“A while ago, SF was filled with mon­strous rock­et ships and plan­ets,” said Moe­bius in 1980. “It was a naive and mate­ri­al­is­tic vision, which con­fused exter­nal space with inter­nal space, which saw the future as an extrap­o­la­tion of the present. It was a vic­tim of an illu­sion of a tech­no­log­i­cal sort, of a pro­gres­sion with­out stop­ping towards a con­sum­ma­tion of ener­gy.” He and Métal hurlant did more than their part to trans­form and enrich that vision, but plen­ty of old per­cep­tions still remain for their count­less artis­tic descen­dants to warp beyond recog­ni­tion.

via Tom Lennon/Dazed Dig­i­tal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mœbius & Jodorowsky’s Sci-Fi Mas­ter­piece, The Incal, Brought to Life in a Tan­ta­liz­ing Ani­ma­tion

Moe­bius’ Sto­ry­boards & Con­cept Art for Jodorowsky’s Dune

The Inscrutable Imag­i­na­tion of the Late Com­ic Artist Mœbius

Watch Moe­bius and Miyaza­ki, Two of the Most Imag­i­na­tive Artists, in Con­ver­sa­tion (2004)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, 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.

14 Self-Portraits by Pablo Picasso Show the Evolution of His Style: See Self-Portraits Moving from Ages 15 to 90


15 years old (1896)

It’s pos­si­ble to look at Pablo Picasso’s many for­mal exper­i­ments and peri­od­ic shifts of style as a kind of self-por­trai­ture, an exer­cise in shift­ing con­scious­ness and try­ing on of new aes­thet­ic iden­ti­ties. The Span­ish mod­ernist made a career of sweep­ing dra­mat­ic ges­tures, announce­ments to the world that he was going to be a dif­fer­ent kind of artist now, and every­one had bet­ter catch up. Even in his most abstract peri­ods, his work radi­at­ed with an emo­tion­al ener­gy as out­sized as the man him­self.


18 years old (1900)

Picasso’s ani­mus and vital­i­ty even per­me­ate his least invit­ing paint­ing, Les Demoi­selles d’Avignon (click here to view), a broth­el scene with five geo­met­ri­cal women, two with African and Iber­ian masks; “a paint­ing of nudes in which there is scarce­ly a curve to be seen,” writes The Guardian’s Jonathan Jones, “elbows sharp as knives, hips and waists geo­met­ri­cal sil­hou­ettes, tri­an­gle breasts.” The 1907 self-por­trait of Picas­so at age 25 (below) comes from this peri­od, when the artist began his rad­i­cal Cubist break with every­thing that had gone before.


20 years old (1901)

An old­er ver­sion Les Demoi­selles d’Avignon con­tained a male fig­ure, “a stand-in for the painter him­self.” Even when he did not appear, at least not in a final ver­sion, in his own work, Picas­so saw him­self there: his moods, his height­ened per­cep­tions of real­i­ty as he imag­ined it.

The somber Blue Peri­od paint­ings, with their mood­i­ness and “themes of pover­ty, lone­li­ness, and despair,” cor­re­spond with his mourn­ing over the sui­cide of a friend, Cata­lan artist Car­los Casage­mas. The Picas­so in the 1901 por­trait fur­ther up looks gaunt, bro­ken, decades old­er than his 20 years. In the 1917 draw­ing fur­ther down, how­ev­er, the artist at 35 looks out at us with a haughty, smooth-cheeked youth­ful gaze.


24 years old (1906)

Dur­ing this time, as World War I end­ed, he had begun to design sets for Diaghilev’s famed Bal­let Russ­es, where he met his wife, bal­le­ri­na Olga Khokhlo­va, and moved in com­fort­able cir­cles, though he was him­self des­per­ate for mon­ey. Each por­trait deliv­ers us a dif­fer­ent Picas­so, as he sheds one mask and puts on anoth­er. Trac­ing his cre­ative evo­lu­tion through his por­trai­ture means nev­er mov­ing in a straight line. But we do see his demeanor soft­en and round pro­gres­sive­ly over time in his por­traits. He seems to grow younger as he ages.


25 years old (1907)

The severe youth of 15, fur­ther up, brood­ing, world-weary, and already an accom­plished draughts­man and painter; the grim­ly seri­ous roman­tic at 18, above—these Picas­sos give way to the wide-eyed matu­ri­ty of the artist at 56 in 1938, at 83, 89, and 90, in 1972, the year before his death. That year he pro­duced an intrigu­ing series of eclec­tic self-por­traits unlike any­thing he had done before. See these and many oth­ers through­out his life below.


35 years old (1917)


56 years old (1938)


83 years old (1965)


85 years old (1966)


89 years old (1971)


90 years old (June 28, 1972)


90 years old (June 30, 1972)


90 years old (July 2, 1972)


90 years old (July 3, 1972)

via Bored Pan­da/Twist­ed Sifter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How To Under­stand a Picas­so Paint­ing: A Video Primer

The Gestapo Points to Guer­ni­ca and Asks Picas­so, “Did You Do This?;” Picas­so Replies “No, You Did!”

The Genius of Albrecht Dür­er Revealed in Four Self-Por­traits

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

 

Hear Siouxsie and the Banshee’s Raw & Completely Improvised First Show, with Sid Vicious on Drums (1976)

We could argue all day about whether punk start­ed in the US or UK (it’s the US), but why both­er? Why not spend our time doing more inter­est­ing things—like dig­ging up rare his­tor­i­cal arti­facts from the ear­li­est days of punk rock in Lon­don, New York and, yes, Detroit. Punk may have devolved into a prêt-à-porter sig­ni­fi­er, but its gold­en age was dom­i­nat­ed by bespoke per­son­al­i­ties the size of Texas. And no ori­gin sto­ry (except maybe this one) bet­ter exem­pli­fies punk’s found­ing ethos than that of Siouxsie and the Ban­shees’ first gig in Lon­don in 1976, which you can hear in all of its def­i­n­i­tion-of-lo-fi glo­ry in two parts above and below.

Siouxsie Sioux (Susan Janet Dal­lion) already stood out as one of the Sex Pis­tols’ ded­i­cat­ed fol­low­ers, her Egypt-inspired eye make­up and black lip­stick stak­ing out the Goth ter­ri­to­ry she would con­quer in just a few short years. She was a born per­former, but up until this first appear­ance at 19, had nev­er been on stage before or front­ed a band.

The “band” itself didn’t exist until the last minute, when Siouxsie and bassist Steve Sev­erin (then “Steve Spunker”) decid­ed they should take the place of a group that pulled out of the 100 Club Punk Fes­ti­val, a show­case for the Sex Pis­tols, The Clash, The Damned, and a hand­ful of oth­er unsigned (at the time) bands.

“Suzie and the Ban­shees,” as they were billed, con­sist­ed of the mag­nif­i­cent­ly shrill Siouxsie, Sev­erin, future Adam Ant gui­tarist Mar­co Pir­roni, and the most infa­mous non-musi­cian in punk, Sid Vicious, on drums, before he pre­tend­ed to play bass in the Sex Pis­tols. They hadn’t writ­ten any songs, and so they smashed through a 20-minute med­ley of “Deutsch­land, Deutsch­land über alles,” “Knock­ing on Heaven’s Door,” “Twist and Shout,” and the Lord’s Prayer. Show pro­mot­er Ron Watts called it “per­for­mance art,” and not in a good way.

Sum­ming up the eter­nal inter­play between punk bands and club own­ers, Watts remem­bered their debut as “weak, it was weedy. You couldn’t say it was a gig…. It was just peo­ple, get­ting up and try­ing to do some­thing. I let them do it, you know.” The supreme­ly con­fi­dent Siouxsie didn’t care. In an inter­view a cou­ple of months lat­er (above) she admits, “it got a bit bor­ing in some parts, but it picked up.” So did the band, pick­ing up actu­al­ly very good drum­mer Ken­ny Mor­ris and cycling through a few gui­tarists, includ­ing The Cure’s Robert Smith for a spell. A cou­ple of the oth­er bands at that noto­ri­ous show made good as well. (One even got their own cred­it card.) Hear The Clash’s set from the night here, here, and here, and see a pho­to set of Siouxsie and friends from 1976 here.

via Post Punk

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sex Pis­tols Play in Dal­las’ Long­horn Ball­room; Next Show Is Mer­le Hag­gard (1978)

Watch The Cure’s First TV Appear­ance in 1979 … Before The Band Acquired Its Sig­na­ture Goth Look

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock in 200 Tracks: An 11-Hour Playlist Takes You From 1965 to 2016

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

Accidental Wes Anderson: Every Place in the World with a Wes Anderson Aesthetic Gets Documented by Reddit

Wes Ander­son­’s immac­u­late­ly art-direct­ed, imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­niz­able films may take place in a real­i­ty of their own, but that does­n’t mean a real­i­ty with no con­nec­tion to ours. To go by their results, the direc­tor of The Life Aquat­ic, Moon­rise King­dom, and The Grand Budapest Hotel (to name only three of his most visu­al­ly dis­tinc­tive pic­tures) and his col­lab­o­ra­tors have clear­ly immersed them­selves in the very real his­to­ry of the West in the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, drink­ing deeply of its fash­ion, its archi­tec­ture, and its indus­tri­al and graph­ic design.

So no mat­ter how fan­ci­ful his con­struct­ed set­tings — The Roy­al Tenen­baums’ dream of New York City, The Dar­jeel­ing Lim­it­ed’s train cross­ing India in quirky old-school splen­dor, The Grand Budapest Hotel’s unspe­cif­ic Alpine mit­teleu­ropa — Ander­son always assem­bles them from prece­dent­ed ele­ments.

And so the habitués of a sub­red­dit called Acci­den­tal Ander­son have set out to post pic­tures of his sources, or places that might well pass for his sources, all over not just Europe, of course — where they found the Vien­nese cafe at the top of the post and the Berlin­er deliv­ery van with wag­on just above — but Amer­i­ca, Asia, the Mid­dle East, and else­where.

Much of a loca­tion’s acci­den­tal Ander­son­ian poten­tial comes down to its geom­e­try and its col­ors: deep reds, bright yel­lows, and espe­cial­ly pale pinks and greens. Many of Ander­son­’s pre­ferred hues appear in the Gold Crest Resort Motel just above, which may strike a fan as hav­ing come right out of an Ander­son pic­ture even more so than the motel he actu­al­ly used in his debut fea­ture Bot­tle Rock­et. The direc­tor has since moved on to much fin­er hostel­ries, which thus form a strong thread among Acci­den­tal Ander­son­’s pop­u­lar post­ings: Flori­da’s Don CeSar Hotel (known as the “Pink Lady”), Cuba’s Hotel Sarato­ga, Switzer­land’s Hotel Belvédère, Italy’s Grand Hotel Mis­ur­nia.

Berlin’s hum­bler Ostel, a themed trib­ute to the design sen­si­bil­i­ties of the for­mer East Ger­many, might also res­onate with the ever-deep­en­ing his­tor­i­cal con­scious­ness of Ander­son­’s movies. (Remem­ber The Grand Budapest Hotel’s tit­u­lar build­ing, sad­ly redone in a util­i­tar­i­an, faint­ly Sovi­et avo­ca­do-and-ochre dur­ing the film’s 1960s pas­sages.)

To think that Ander­son came from a place no less impos­si­bly dis­tant from the realm of mid­cen­tu­ry Europe than Texas, home of the Dal­las music store pic­tured below. Giv­en his increas­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty, it’s hard­ly a sur­prise to see his sig­na­ture aes­thet­ic being not just reflect­ed but adopt­ed around the world. If life con­tin­ues to imi­tate art, Acci­den­tal Ander­son­’s con­trib­u­tors will long have their work cut out for them. Pay a vis­it to Acci­den­tal Ander­son here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wes Ander­son Movie Sets Recre­at­ed in Cute, Minia­ture Dio­ra­mas

The Per­fect Sym­me­try of Wes Anderson’s Movies

The Geo­met­ric Beau­ty of Aki­ra Kuro­sawa and Wes Anderson’s Films

Wes Ander­son Likes the Col­or Red (and Yel­low)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, 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.

Introducing the New PEN America Digital Archive: 1,500 Hours of Audio & Video Featuring 2,200 Eminent Writers

Image via Pen.Org

The recent­ly launched PEN Amer­i­ca Dig­i­tal Archive is an Aladdin’s cave of lit­er­ary trea­sures. An incred­i­ble amount of cul­tur­al pro­gram­ming has grown up around the orga­ni­za­tion’s com­mit­ment to cham­pi­oning writ­ers’ civ­il liberties–over 1,500 hours worth of audio and visu­al files.

Delve into this free, search­able archive for pre­vi­ous­ly inac­ces­si­ble lec­tures, read­ings, and dis­cus­sions fea­tur­ing the lead­ing writ­ers, intel­lec­tu­als, and artists of the last 50 years. Many of these New York City-based events were planned in response to the oppres­sion and hard­ship suf­fered by fel­low writ­ers around the world.

Feel­ing over­whelmed by this all-you-can-eat buf­fet for the mind? The archivists have your back with fea­tured col­lec­tions–an assort­ment of rau­cous, polit­i­cal con­ver­sa­tions from the 1986 PEN World Con­gress and a thir­ty year ret­ro­spec­tive of Toni Mor­ri­son.

We are lucky that Nobel Prize-win­ner Mor­ri­son, a vig­or­ous cul­tur­al observ­er and crit­ic, still walks among us. Also, that the archive affords us a chance to spend qual­i­ty time with so many great lit­er­ary emi­nences who no longer do:

John Stein­beck reads excerpts of The Grapes of Wrath and his short sto­ries, “The Snake,” “John­ny Bear,”  and “We’re Hold­ing Our Own.”

Jerzy Kosin­s­ki dis­cuss­es teach­ing, and the auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal ele­ments of his con­tro­ver­sial 1965 nov­el, The Paint­ed Bird.

Madeleine L’En­gle con­sid­ers myth, sci­ence, faith, and the con­nec­tion between art and fear.

Saul Bel­low tack­les how intel­lec­tu­als influ­ence and use tech­nol­o­gy, a par­tic­u­lar­ly inter­est­ing top­ic in light of the dystopi­an fiction’s cur­rent pop­u­lar­i­ty.

Nadine Gordimer relives the pub­li­ca­tion, ban­ning and swift unban­ning of her polit­i­cal his­tor­i­cal nov­el, Burg­er’s Daugh­ter.

Susan Son­tag uses a PEN Inter­na­tion­al Con­gress press con­fer­ence to draw atten­tion to ways in which the host coun­try, Korea, was falling short in regard to free­dom of expres­sion.

Gwen­dolyn Brooks reveals the back­sto­ry on her poems, includ­ing “The Lovers of the Poor,” and “We Real Cool.”

Begin your adven­tures in the PEN Amer­i­ca Dig­i­tal Archive here.

via Elec­tric Lit­er­a­ture

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Speech Bites: Nigel War­bur­ton, Host of Phi­los­o­phy Bites, Cre­ates a Spin Off Pod­cast Ded­i­cat­ed to Free­dom of Expres­sion

Great Writ­ers on Free Speech and the Envi­ron­ment

Penn Sound: Fan­tas­tic Audio Archive of Mod­ern & Con­tem­po­rary Poets

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

When J.M. Coetzee Secretly Programmed Computers to Write Poetry in the 1960s

Before J.M. Coet­zee became per­haps the most acclaimed nov­el­ist alive, he worked as a pro­gramer. That may not sound par­tic­u­lar­ly notable these days, but bear in mind that the Nobel lau­re­ate and two-time Book­er-win­ning author of Wait­ing for the Bar­bar­ians, Dis­grace, and Eliz­a­beth Costel­lo held that day job first at IBM in the ear­ly 1960s — back, in oth­er words, when nobody had a com­put­er on their desk. And back when IBM was IBM: that mighty Amer­i­can cor­po­ra­tion had brought the kind of com­put­ing pow­er it alone could com­mand to branch offices in cities around the world, includ­ing Lon­don, where Coet­zee land­ed after leav­ing his native South Africa after grad­u­at­ing from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cape Town.

The years Coet­zee spent “writ­ing machine code for com­put­ers,” he once wrote in a let­ter to Paul Auster, saw him “get­ting so deeply sucked into the process that I some­times felt I was descend­ing into a mad­ness in which the brain is tak­en over by mechan­i­cal log­ic.” This must have caused some dis­tress to a lit­er­ar­i­ly mind­ed young man who heard his true call­ing only from poet­ry.

“I was very heav­i­ly under the influ­ence, in my teens and ear­ly twen­ties, of, first, T.S. Eliot, but then, more sub­stan­tial­ly, Ezra Pound, and lat­er of Ger­man poet­ry, of Rilke in par­tic­u­lar,” he says to Peter Sacks in the inter­view above, remem­ber­ing the years before he put poet­ry aside as a craft in favor of the nov­el.

“Under the shad­ow­less glare of the neon light­ing, he feels his very soul to be under attack,“Coetzee writes, in the auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal nov­el Youth, of the pro­tag­o­nist’s time as a pro­gram­mer. “The build­ing, a fea­ture­less block of con­crete and glass, seems to give off a gas, odour­less, colour­less, that finds its way into his blood and numbs him. IBM, he can swear, is killing him, turn­ing him into a zom­bie.” Only in the evening can he “leave his desk, wan­der around, relax. The machine room down­stairs, dom­i­nat­ed by the huge mem­o­ry cab­i­nets of the 7090, is more often than not emp­ty; he can run pro­grams on the lit­tle 1401 com­put­er, even, sur­rep­ti­tious­ly, play games on it.”

He could also use these clunky, punch­card-oper­at­ed com­put­ers to write poet­ry. “In the mid 1960s Coet­zee was work­ing on one of the most advanced pro­gram­ming projects in Britain,” writes King’s Col­lege Lon­don researcher Rebec­ca Roach. “Dur­ing the day he helped to design the Atlas 2 super­com­put­er des­tined for the Unit­ed Kingdom’s Atom­ic Ener­gy Research Estab­lish­ment at Alder­mas­ton. At night he used this huge­ly pow­er­ful machine of the Cold War to write sim­ple ‘com­put­er poet­ry,’ that is, he wrote pro­grams for a com­put­er that used an algo­rithm to select words from a set vocab­u­lary and cre­ate repet­i­tive lines.”

These lines, as seen here in one page of the print-outs held at the Coet­zee archive at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter, include “INCHOATE SHARD IMAGINE THE OUBLIETTE,” “FRENETIC AMBIENCE DISHEARTEN THE ROSE,” “PASSIONATE PABULUM CARPET THE MIRROR,” and “FRENETIC TETANUS DEADEN THE DOCUMENT.” Though he nev­er pub­lished these results, writes Roach, he “edit­ed and includ­ed phras­es from them in poet­ry that he did pub­lish.” Is this a curi­ous chap­ter in the ear­ly life of a promi­nent man of let­ters, or was this realm of “flat metal­lic sur­faces” an ide­al forge for the sen­si­bil­i­ties of a writer now known, as John Lan­ches­ter so apt­ly put it, for his “unusu­al qual­i­ty of pas­sion­ate cold­ness” — a kind of bril­liant aus­ter­i­ty that hard­ly dead­ens any of his doc­u­ments.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

J.M. Coet­zee on the Plea­sures of Writ­ing: Total Engage­ment, Hard Thought & Pro­duc­tive­ness

Read and Hear Famous Writ­ers (and Arm­chair Sports­men) J.M. Coet­zee and Paul Auster’s Cor­re­spon­dence

New Jorge Luis Borges-Inspired Project Will Test Whether Robots Can Appre­ci­ate Poet­ry

Japan­ese Com­put­er Artist Makes “Dig­i­tal Mon­dri­ans” in 1964: When Giant Main­frame Com­put­ers Were First Used to Cre­ate Art

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, 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 Oldest Unopened Bottle of Wine in the World (Circa 350 AD)

Image by Immanuel Giel, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

It’s an old TV and movie trope: the man of wealth and taste, often but not always a supervil­lain, offers his dis­tin­guished guest a bot­tle of wine, his finest, an ancient vin­tage from one of the most ven­er­a­ble vine­yards. We might fol­low the motif back at least to Edgar Allan Poe, whose “Cask of Amon­til­la­do” puts an espe­cial­ly devi­ous spin on the trea­sured bottle’s sin­is­ter con­no­ta­tions.

If our suave and pos­si­bly dead­ly host were to offer us the bot­tle you see here, we might hard­ly believe it, and would hard­ly be keen to drink it, though not for fear of being mur­dered after­ward. The Römer­wein, or Spey­er wine bottle—so called after the Ger­man region where it was dis­cov­ered in the exca­va­tion of a 4th cen­tu­ry AD Roman nobleman’s tomb—dates “back to between 325 and 359 AD,” writes Aban­doned Spaces, and has the dis­tinc­tion of being “the old­est known wine bot­tle which remains unopened.”

A 1.5 liter “glass ves­sel with ampho­ra-like stur­dy shoul­ders” in the shape of dol­phins, the bot­tle is of no use to its own­er, but no one is cer­tain what would hap­pen to the liq­uid if it were exposed to air, so it stays sealed, its thick stop­per of wax and olive oil main­tain­ing an impres­sive­ly her­met­ic envi­ron­ment. Sci­en­tists can only spec­u­late that the liq­uid inside has prob­a­bly lost most of its ethanol con­tent. But the bot­tle still con­tains a good amount of wine, “dilut­ed with a mix of var­i­ous herbs.”

The Römer­wein resides at the His­tor­i­cal Muse­um of the Palati­nate in Spey­er, which seems like an incred­i­bly fas­ci­nat­ing place if you hap­pen to be pass­ing through. You won’t get to taste ancient Roman wine there, but you may, per­haps, if you trav­el to the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cata­nia in Sici­ly where in 2013, sci­en­tists recre­at­ed ancient wine-mak­ing tech­niques, set up a vine­yard, and fol­lowed the old ways to the let­ter, using wood­en tools and strips of cane to tie their vines.

They pro­ceed­ed, writes Tom Kingston at The Guardian, “with­out mech­a­niza­tion, pes­ti­cides or fer­til­iz­ers.” Only the organ­ic stuff for Roman vint­ners.

The team has faith­ful­ly fol­lowed tips on wine grow­ing giv­en by Vir­gil in the Geor­gics, his poem about agri­cul­ture, as well as by Col­umel­la, a first cen­tu­ry AD grow­er, whose detailed guide to wine­mak­ing was relied on until the 17th cen­tu­ry.

Those ancient wine­mak­ers added hon­ey and water to their wine, as well as herbs, to sweet­en and spice things up. And unlike most Ital­ians today who “drink mod­er­ate­ly with meals,” ancient Romans “were more giv­en to drunk­en carous­ing.” Maybe that’s what the gen­tle­man in the Spey­er tomb hoped to be doing in his Roman after­life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dat­ing Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

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

Rome Reborn: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Ancient Rome, Cir­ca 320 C.E.

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

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