Archaeologists Think They’ve Discovered the Oldest Greek Copy of Homer’s Odyssey: 13 Verses on a Clay Tablet

The Home­r­ic epics are thought to have been com­posed in the 8th cen­tu­ry BCE. In the case of these ancient poems, how­ev­er, “com­posed” is a very ambigu­ous term. While archae­o­log­i­cal and lin­guis­tic research dates Homer’s ver­sions of the poems to some­where between 650 and 750, BCE., a schol­ar­ly con­sen­sus agrees these tales exist­ed hun­dreds of years before, in oral form, trans­mit­ted by wan­der­ing bards and mod­i­fied often in the telling. While they are thought to have been writ­ten down in Homer’s age, “any glimpse into Homer before medieval times is rare,” notes the Smith­son­ian, “and any insight into the com­po­si­tion of the epics is pre­cious.”

Before the medieval man­u­script tra­di­tion, begin­ning in the 10th cen­tu­ry CE, the largest extant copies of the Ili­ad and Odyssey come from what is known as the “Home­r­ic papyri,” frag­ments such as the Bankes Papyrus dis­cov­ered in Egypt in the 19th cen­tu­ry. Now, it’s being report­ed in news sites all over the web that the old­est writ­ten copy of the Odyssey has been found—or rather 13 vers­es of it, carved into a clay tablet and dis­cov­ered in the ancient city of Olympia in south­ern Greece. While the dat­ing has not been ful­ly con­firmed, experts believe the arti­fact comes from the Roman era, some­time before the 3rd cen­tu­ry CE.

While the dis­cov­ery may be sig­nif­i­cant, we should be care­ful to qual­i­fy the many claims made for its sta­tus. Like the poem itself, the sto­ry of this dis­cov­ery has seemed to change in its retellings. The tablet is the old­est find in Greece, not in the world. “Find­ing a bit of Homer in home soil,” says Mal­colm Heath, pro­fes­sor of Greek lan­guage and lit­er­a­ture at Leeds Uni­ver­si­ty, “will obvi­ous­ly give the Greeks a warm glow.” But, as The Times reports, “the ear­li­est sur­viv­ing frag­ments of the Odyssey” are actu­al­ly “bits of graf­fi­ti scratched into clay by school­boys at Olbia on the Black Sea coast of what is now Ukraine.” These frag­ments are “at least 600 years old­er than the Olympia tablet.”

Fur­ther­more, the Der­veni papyrus, dis­cov­ered in Egypt, which may include a quote from the poem, has been dat­ed as far back as 340 BCE. Nonethe­less, the new dis­cov­ery is still unusu­al, not only for its place of ori­gin, but also because of the medi­um. As Cam­bridge University’s Tim Whit­marsh notes, “It’s rare to find con­tin­u­ous text of Homer writ­ten out at such length in clay.” The tablet includes a notable word sub­sti­tu­tion that will cer­tain­ly be of inter­est to schol­ars, par­tic­u­lar­ly those at work on the “Homer Mul­ti­text project.”

That project, Smith­son­ian writes, is gath­er­ing all the frag­ments togeth­er “so they can be com­pared and put in sequence to pro­vide a broad­er view of Homer’s epics.” A view that shows us, as the project explains, “that there is not one orig­i­nal text that we should try to recon­struct,” but rather an unknown num­ber of vari­a­tions, tran­scribed and altered over the course of hun­dreds of years and scat­tered all over the ancient world. All of these frag­ments are fas­ci­nat­ing exam­ples, writes Sci­ence Alert, “of the way writ­ten texts can sur­vive through the cen­turies, or even mil­len­nia,” just as the sto­ry itself shows how oral tra­di­tions can sur­vive just as long with­out any need for writ­ten lan­guage at all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

One of the Best Pre­served Ancient Man­u­scripts of The Ili­ad Is Now Dig­i­tized: See the “Bankes Homer” Man­u­script in High Res­o­lu­tion (Cir­ca 150 C.E.)

See The Ili­ad Per­formed as a One-Woman Show in a Mon­tre­al Bar by McGill Uni­ver­si­ty Clas­sics Pro­fes­sor Lynn Kozak

Emi­ly Wil­son Is the First Woman to Trans­late Homer’s Odyssey into Eng­lish: The New Trans­la­tion Is Out Today

Hear What Homer’s Odyssey Sound­ed Like When Sung in the Orig­i­nal Ancient Greek

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

How the Radical Buildings of the Bauhaus Revolutionized Architecture: A Short Introduction

When Ger­many lost World War I, it also lost its monar­chy. The con­sti­tu­tion for the new post­war Ger­man state was writ­ten and adopt­ed in the city of Weimar, giv­ing it the unof­fi­cial name of the Weimar Repub­lic. Free of monar­chi­cal cen­sor­ship, the Weimar Repub­lic saw, among oth­er upheavals, the flood­gates open for artis­tic exper­i­men­ta­tion in all areas of life. One of the most influ­en­tial aes­thet­ic move­ments of the era began in Weimar, where the Great Big Sto­ry short above opens. As the city gave birth to the Weimar Repub­lic, it also gave birth to the Bauhaus.

The Bauhaus, lit­er­al­ly “build­ing house,” was a school in two sens­es, both a move­ment and an actu­al insti­tu­tion. The style it advo­cat­ed, accord­ing to the video’s nar­ra­tor, “looked to strip build­ings from unnec­es­sary orna­ment and build the foun­da­tion of what is called mod­ern archi­tec­ture.” It was at Weimar Uni­ver­si­ty in 1919 that archi­tect Wal­ter Gropius found­ed the Bauhaus, and his office still stands there as a tes­ta­ment to the pow­er of “clean, sim­ple designs fit for the every­day life.” We also see the first offi­cial Bauhaus build­ing, Georg Muche’s Haus am Horn of 1923, and Gropius’ Bauhaus Dessau of 1925, which “amazed the world with its steel-frame con­struc­tion and asym­met­ri­cal plan.”

You can learn more about the Bauhaus’ prin­ci­ples in the video above, a chap­ter of an Open Uni­ver­si­ty series on design move­ments. As an edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tion, the Bauhaus “offered foun­da­tion train­ing in many art and design dis­ci­plines,” includ­ing mass pro­duc­tion, seek­ing to “devel­op stu­dents who could uni­fy art with craft while embrac­ing new tech­nol­o­gy.” Bauhaus thinkers believed that “good design required sim­plic­i­ty and geo­met­ric puri­ty,” which led to works of graph­ic design, fur­ni­ture, and espe­cial­ly archi­tec­ture that looked then like rad­i­cal, some­times hereti­cal depar­tures from tra­di­tion — but which to their cre­ators rep­re­sent­ed the future.

“Noth­ing dates faster than peo­ple’s fan­tasies about the future,” art crit­ic Robert Hugh­es once said, but some­how the fruits of the Bauhaus still look as mod­ern as they ever did. That holds true even now that the influ­ence of the Bauhaus man­i­fests in count­less ways in var­i­ous realms of art and design, though it had already made itself glob­al­ly felt when the school moved to Berlin in 1932. By that time, of course, Ger­many had anoth­er regime change com­ing, one that would denounce the Bauhaus as a branch of “degen­er­ate art” spread­ing the dis­ease of “cos­mopoli­tan mod­ernism.” The Gestapo shut it down in 1933, but thanks to the efforts of emi­grants like Gropius, Hannes Mey­er, and Lud­wig Mies van der Rohe, each of whom once led the school, the Bauhaus would live on.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Oral His­to­ry of the Bauhaus: Hear Rare Inter­views (in Eng­lish) with Wal­ter Gropius, Lud­wig Mies van der Rohe & More

Down­load Orig­i­nal Bauhaus Books & Jour­nals for Free: Gropius, Klee, Kandin­sky, Moholy-Nagy & More

32,000+ Bauhaus Art Objects Made Avail­able Online by Har­vard Muse­um Web­site

Bauhaus, Mod­ernism & Oth­er Design Move­ments Explained by New Ani­mat­ed Video Series

The Female Pio­neers of the Bauhaus Art Move­ment: Dis­cov­er Gertrud Arndt, Mar­i­anne Brandt, Anni Albers & Oth­er For­got­ten Inno­va­tors

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.

Margaret Atwood Teaching an Online Class on Creative Writing

FYI: If you sign up for a Mas­ter­Class course by click­ing on the affil­i­ate links in this post, Open Cul­ture will receive a small fee that helps sup­port our oper­a­tion.

The prob­lem of dystopi­an fic­tion is this: quite often the worst future cre­ative writ­ers can imag­ine is exact­ly the kind of present that has already been inflict­ed on others—by colo­nial­ism, dic­ta­tor­ship, geno­ci­dal war, slav­ery, theoc­ra­cy, abject pover­ty, envi­ron­men­tal degra­da­tion, etc. Mil­lions all over the world have suf­fered under these con­di­tions, but many read­ers fail to rec­og­nize dystopi­an nov­els as depict­ing exist­ing evils because they hap­pen, or have hap­pened, to peo­ple far away in space and time. Of course, Mar­garet Atwood under­stands this prin­ci­ple. The night­mares she has writ­ten about in nov­els like The Handmaid’s Tale have all already come to pass, she tells us.

In the pro­mo video above for her Mas­ter­class on Cre­ative Writ­ing start­ing this fall (it’s now open), Atwood says, “when I wrote The Handmaid’s Tale, noth­ing went into it that had not hap­pened in real life some­where at some time. The rea­son I made that rule is that I didn’t want any­body say­ing, ‘You cer­tain­ly have an evil imag­i­na­tion, you made up all these bad things.’” And yet, she says, “I didn’t make them up.” In a Swift­ian way, she implies, we did—“we” being human­i­ty writ large, or, per­haps more accu­rate­ly, the destruc­tive, greedy, pow­er-mad indi­vid­u­als who wreak hav­oc on the lives of those they deem infe­ri­ors or right­ful prop­er­ty.

“As a writer,” she says above, “your goal is to keep your read­er believ­ing, even though both of you know it’s fic­tion.” Atwood’s trick to achiev­ing this is a devi­ous one in what we might call sci-fi or dark fan­ta­sy (though she spurns these des­ig­na­tions): she writes not only what she knows to be true, in some sense, but also what we know to be true, though we would rather it not be, as in Vir­ginia Woolf’s char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of fic­tion as “as spider’s web, attached ever so light­ly per­haps, but still attached to life at all four cor­ners.”

Atwood says that writ­ers turn away from the blank page because they fear some­thing. She has made it her busi­ness, instead, to turn toward fear, to see dark visions like those of her Mad­dAd­dam Tril­o­gy, an extrap­o­la­tion of hor­rors already hap­pen­ing, in some form, some­where in the world (and soon to be a fun-filled TV series). What she feared in 1984, the year she began writ­ing The Handmaid’s Tale, seems just as chill­ing­ly pre­scient to many readers—and view­ers of the TV adaptation—thirty-four years lat­er, a tes­ta­ment to Atwood’s spec­u­la­tive real­ism, and to the awful, stub­born resis­tance real­i­ty puts up to improve­ment.

As she put it in an essay about the novel’s ori­gins, “Nations nev­er build appar­ent­ly rad­i­cal forms of gov­ern­ment on foun­da­tions that aren’t there already.” The same, per­haps, might be said of nov­el­ists. Do you have some truths to tell in fic­tion­al form? Maybe Atwood is the per­fect guide to help you write them.

You can take this class by sign­ing up for a Mas­ter­Class’ All Access Pass. The All Access Pass will give you instant access to this course and 85 oth­ers for a 12-month peri­od.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Mar­garet Atwood Explains How Sto­ries Change with Tech­nol­o­gy

Ursu­la Le Guin Gives Insight­ful Writ­ing Advice in Her Free Online Work­shop

100 Great Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Women Writ­ers (Read 20 for Free Online)

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

New Web Site Showcases 700,000 Artifacts Dug Up from the Canals of Amsterdam, Some Dating Back to 4300 BC

Ams­ter­dam has many plea­sures to offer, not least boat­ing through its hun­dred-kilo­me­ter net­work of canals. First laid out in the ear­ly 17th cen­tu­ry, they con­sti­tute a rich his­to­ry les­son in and of them­selves. But Ams­ter­dam is also, of course, a mod­ern city with mod­ern infra­struc­ture, such as a metro sys­tem with a new line set to open this month. Ams­ter­dammers have been wait­ing for that line for fif­teen years now, and the rea­sons for the pro­longed con­struc­tion have to do with the old canals, or rather part of the Riv­er Ams­tel that feeds them.

Bor­ing the tun­nels entailed drain­ing the riv­er, and drain­ing the riv­er turned out to offer anoth­er his­to­ry les­son, and a much deep­er one than expect­ed. “It is not often that a riverbed, let alone one in the mid­dle of a city, is pumped dry and can be sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly exam­ined,” says the web site Below the Sur­face. “The exca­va­tions in the Ams­tel yield­ed a del­uge of finds, some 700,000 in all: a vast array of objects, some bro­ken, some whole, all jum­bled togeth­er.”

The unin­tend­ed archae­o­log­i­cal ben­e­fit of drain­ing the riv­er amounts to “a mul­ti-faceted pic­ture of dai­ly life in the city of Ams­ter­dam. Every find is a frozen moment in time, con­nect­ing the past and the present. The pic­ture they paint of their era is extreme­ly detailed and yet entire­ly ran­dom due to the chance of objects or remains sink­ing down into the riverbed and being retrieved from there.” At Below the Sur­face you can browse the exten­sive cat­a­log of all these arti­facts, the old­est of which date to around 4300 BC, more than five and a half mil­len­nia before the found­ing of Ams­ter­dam itself.

Below the Sur­face’s col­lec­tion is orga­nized into ten dif­fer­ent cat­e­gories includ­ing “inte­ri­ors and acces­sories,” “crafts and indus­try,” “arms and armor,” “com­mu­ni­ca­tion and exchange,” and “games and recre­ation.” On your dig­i­tized object-based his­tor­i­cal jour­ney there, you’ll encounter objects from all of those realms of human life across time, from 13th-cen­tu­ry coins, 15th-cen­tu­ry keys, 18th-cen­tu­ry tiles, and 20th-cen­tu­ry med­i­cine tins. To we humans of the 21st cen­tu­ry, in the Nether­lands or else­where, some of these might look sur­pris­ing­ly con­tem­po­rary — or at least not near­ly as ancient as a mobile phone from the 1990s. Enter Below the Sur­face here.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

16th-Cen­tu­ry Ams­ter­dam Stun­ning­ly Visu­al­ized with 3D Ani­ma­tion

Flash­mob Recre­ates Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch” in a Dutch Shop­ping Mall

20,000 Endan­gered Archae­o­log­i­cal Sites Now Cat­a­logued in a New Online Data­base

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.

Steven Van Zandt Creates a Free School of Rock: 100+ Free Lesson Plans That Educate Kids Through Music

When I think of rock ‘n’ roll high school, I think of the Ramones, but in the 1979 Roger Cor­man film no one real­ly learns much. In real­i­ty, how­ev­er, anoth­er leg­endary musi­cian, still going strong after five decades in the busi­ness, has put his cred to seri­ous use, lever­ag­ing star­dom as a musi­cian and actor to cre­ate a music cur­ricu­lum teach­ers can use for free, with lessons on rock his­to­ry, Native Amer­i­can pol­i­tics, Bob Dylan’s poet­ry, immi­gra­tion and the blues, civ­il dis­obe­di­ence, the fight to end Apartheid, and much more. That man is Steven Van Zandt—aka Lit­tle Steven of the E Street Band, or Sil­vio Dante of The Sopra­nos, or Frank Tagliano of Lily­ham­mer, or a few oth­er alias­es and fic­tion­al char­ac­ters.

“For the past decade,” writes John Seabrook at The New York­er, the ban­dana-clad gui­tarist has been “work­ing on a way to recre­ate” a “dynam­ic, out-of-school learn­ing expe­ri­ence inside class­rooms, through his Rock and Roll For­ev­er Foun­da­tion.” Work­ing, that is, to recre­ate his own expe­ri­ence as a dis­af­fect­ed youth who “had no inter­est in school what­so­ev­er,” he recalls. What inter­est­ed him was music: the Bea­t­les, at first, but as he learned more about them, he picked up “bits of infor­ma­tion” about East­ern reli­gion and orches­tra­tion. He learned about lit­er­a­ture from Dylan.

“You didn’t get into it to learn things,” he says, “but you learn things any­way.” At least if you’re as curi­ous and open-mind­ed as Van Zandt, who came to val­ue edu­ca­tion through his non-tra­di­tion­al course. Over ten years ago, when the Nation­al Asso­ci­a­tion for Music Edu­ca­tion told him that “No Child Left Behind leg­is­la­tion was real­ly dev­as­tat­ing art class­es,” he con­front­ed Ted Kennedy and Mitch McConnell, telling them, “did you ever hear that every kid who takes music class does bet­ter in math and sci­ence?” They apol­o­gized,” he says, “but they said they weren’t going to fix it.”

So Van Zandt decid­ed to do it him­self with a pro­gram called TeachRock. Work­ing with two eth­no­mu­si­col­o­gists, he built the cur­ricu­lum to con­nect with kids through music. “Instead of telling the kid, ‘Take the iPod out of your ears,’” he told a crowd of teach­ers gath­ered at Times Square’s Playsta­tion The­ater in May, “we ask them, ‘What are you lis­ten­ing to?’” Van Zandt calls his cur­ricu­lum “teach­ing in the present tense,” and while his own back cat­a­log may not nec­es­sar­i­ly be stream­ing on kids’ cur­rent playlists, he incor­po­rates not only his music and the fifties and six­ties rock ‘n’ roll he loves, but also hip-hop, pop, punk, and the “Latin rhythms of ‘Despaci­to.’” He even uses Beyoncé’s “Sin­gle Ladies” video to prompt a dis­cus­sion on the slave trade.

The focus on pop­u­lar music as a force for change is ful­ly in keep­ing with Van Zandt’s own path. His self-edu­ca­tion led him into activism in the 80s when he wrote and record­ed “Sun City” with 50 oth­er artists to protest South African Apartheid. Unlike some oth­er ben­e­fit songs of the time (like the cringe-induc­ing “Do They Know It’s Christ­mas”), “Sun City,” with its accom­pa­ny­ing video (above), took effec­tive polit­i­cal action—a blan­ket boy­cott of the Sun City resort—and didn’t sug­ar-coat the issues one bit (“relo­ca­tion to pho­ny homelands/separation of fam­i­lies, I can’t under­stand”). The Sun City boy­cott gets its own mod­ule.

As Van Zandt told Fast Com­pa­ny in 2015, “I had been research­ing Amer­i­can for­eign pol­i­cy post-World War II just to edu­cate myself, which I had nev­er done, being obsessed with rock ‘n’ roll my whole life. I was quite shocked to find that we were not always the good guys.” His dis­cov­er­ies com­pelled him to vis­it South Africa and to “ded­i­cate my five-record solo career to that learn­ing process, and also com­bine a bit of jour­nal­ism with the rock art form.” That same pas­sion for jus­tice informs all of the TeachRock lessons, which you can browse and down­load for free at the TeachRock site. The mul­ti-media units incor­po­rate video, audio, images, activ­i­ties, infor­ma­tive hand­outs, and oth­er resources.

Each les­son also explains how its objec­tives meet Com­mon Core State Stan­dards (or the state stan­dards of New Jer­sey and Texas). “TeachRock is root­ed in a teach­ing phi­los­o­phy that believes stu­dents learn best when they tru­ly con­nect with the mate­r­i­al to which they’re intro­duced,” notes the site’s “Wel­come Teach­ers” page. “Obvi­ous­ly, pop­u­lar music is one such point of con­nec­tion.” Per­haps not every kid who learns through music as Van Zandt did will go out and try to change the world, but they’re more than like­ly to stay engaged and stay in school. And that’s exact­ly what he hopes to accom­plish.

“Teach­ing kids some­thing they’re not inter­est­ed in,” he told the teach­ers in New York, “it didn’t work then, and it’s even worse now. We have an epi­dem­ic dropout rate.” Then, in his refresh­ing­ly hon­est way, he con­clud­ed, “Where are we going to be in twen­ty years? How are we going to get smarter look­ing at this Admin­is­tra­tion? You know, we’re just get­ting stu­pid­er.” Not if Lit­tle Steven has any­thing to say about it. He’s cur­rent­ly on tour with his Dis­ci­ples of Soul, and offer­ing free tick­ets to teach­ers, pro­vid­ed they show up ear­ly for a TeachRock work­shop. Sign up here!

For more, check out Steve’s new mem­oir, Unre­quit­ed Infat­u­a­tions.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cheap Trick’s Bassist Tom Peters­son Help Kids With Autism Learn Lan­guage With Rock ‘n’ Roll: Dis­cov­er “Rock Your Speech”

David Byrne & Neil deGrasse Tyson Explain the Impor­tance of an Arts Edu­ca­tion (and How It Strength­ens Sci­ence & Civ­i­liza­tion)

New Research Shows How Music Lessons Dur­ing Child­hood Ben­e­fit the Brain for a Life­time

The Con­cept of Musi­cal Har­mo­ny Explained in Five Lev­els of Dif­fi­cul­ty, Start­ing with a Child & End­ing with Her­bie Han­cock

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

 

Why Med Schools Are Requiring Students to Take Art Classes, and How It Makes Med Students Better Doctors

I have fol­lowed sev­er­al debates recent­ly about the lack of arts and human­i­ties edu­ca­tion in STEM pro­grams. One argu­ment runs thus: sci­en­tists, engi­neers, and pro­gram­mers often move into careers design­ing prod­ucts for human use, with­out hav­ing spent much time learn­ing about oth­er humans. With­out required cours­es, say, in psy­chol­o­gy, phi­los­o­phy, soci­ol­o­gy, lit­er­a­ture, etc., stu­dents can end up unthink­ing­ly repro­duc­ing harm­ful bias­es or over­look­ing seri­ous eth­i­cal prob­lems and social inequities.

Tech­no­log­i­cal mal­prac­tice is bad enough. Med­ical mal­prac­tice can have even more imme­di­ate­ly harm­ful, or fatal, effects. We might take for grant­ed that a doctor’s “bed­side man­ner” is pure­ly a mat­ter of per­son­al­i­ty, but many med­icals schools have decid­ed they need to be more proac­tive when it comes to train­ing future doc­tors in com­pas­sion­ate lis­ten­ing. And some have begun using the arts to fos­ter cre­ative think­ing and empa­thy and to improve doc­tor-patient com­mu­ni­ca­tion. The ver­bal­ly-abu­sive Dr. House aside, the best diag­nos­ti­cians actu­al­ly have sym­pa­thet­ic ears.

As Dr. Michael Flana­gan of Penn State’s Col­lege of Med­i­cine puts it, “Our job is to elic­it infor­ma­tion from our patients. By com­mu­ni­cat­ing more effec­tive­ly and estab­lish­ing rap­port with patients so they are more com­fort­able telling you about their symp­toms, you are more like­ly to make the diag­no­sis and have high­er patient sat­is­fac­tion.” From the patient side of things, an accu­rate diag­no­sis can mean more than “sat­is­fac­tion”; it can mean the dif­fer­ence between life and death, long-term suf­fer­ing or rapid recov­ery.

Can impres­sion­ist paint­ing make that dif­fer­ence? Dr. Flana­gan thinks it’s a start. His sem­i­nar “Impres­sion­ism and the Art of Com­mu­ni­ca­tion” asks fourth-year med­ical stu­dents to engage with the work of Vin­cent van Gogh and Claude Mon­et, in exer­cis­es “rang­ing from obser­va­tion and writ­ing activ­i­ties to paint­ing in the style of said artists,” notes Art­sy. “Through the process, they learn to bet­ter com­mu­ni­cate with patients by devel­op­ing insights on sub­jects like men­tal ill­ness and cog­ni­tive bias.” Why not just study these sub­jects in psy­chol­o­gy cours­es?

One answer comes from Penn State asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of art his­to­ry Nan­cy Locke, who presents to Flanagan’s class­es. “Art can make peo­ple see their lives dif­fer­ent­ly,” she says, “Doc­tors will see peo­ple reg­u­lar­ly with cer­tain prob­lems.” And they can begin to schema­tize their patients the way they schema­tize dis­eases and dis­or­ders. “But a paint­ing can con­tin­ue to be chal­leng­ing, and there are always new ques­tions to ask.” Impres­sion­ist paint­ing rep­re­sents only one road, among many oth­ers, to the ambi­gu­i­ties of the human mind.

Anoth­er Penn State pro­fes­sor, Dr. Paul Haidet, direc­tor of med­ical edu­ca­tion research, offered a sem­i­nar on jazz and med­ical com­mu­ni­ca­tions to fourth-year stu­dents in 2014 and 2015. As he men­tions in the video above, Flana­gan him­self took the course. “Just as one jazz musi­cian pro­vides space to anoth­er to impro­vise,” he tells Penn State News, “as physi­cians we need to pro­vide space to our patients to com­mu­ni­cate in their own style. It was a trans­for­ma­tion­al expe­ri­ence, unlike any­thing I ever had in med­ical school myself.” He was inspired there­after to intro­duce his paint­ing course.

One could imag­ine class­es on the Vic­to­ri­an nov­el, mod­ernist poet­ry, or impro­vi­sa­tion­al dance hav­ing sim­i­lar effects. Oth­er med­ical schools have cer­tain­ly agreed. Dr. Del­phine Tay­lor, asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of med­i­cine at Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty Med­ical Cen­ter, “empha­sizes that arts-focused activ­i­ties are impor­tant in train­ing future doc­tors to be present and aware,” Art­sy writes, “which is more and more dif­fi­cult today giv­en the per­va­sive­ness of tech­nol­o­gy and media.” Arts pro­grams have also been adopt­ed in the med­ical schools at Yale, Har­vard, and UT Austin.

The prece­dents for incor­po­rat­ing the arts into a sci­ence edu­ca­tion abound—many a famous sci­en­tist has also had a pas­sion for lit­er­a­ture, pho­tog­ra­phy, paint­ing, or music. (Ein­stein, for exam­ple, wouldn’t be part­ed from his vio­lin.) As the arts and sci­ences grew fur­ther apart, for rea­sons hav­ing to do with the struc­ture of high­er edu­ca­tion and the dic­tates of mar­ket economies, it became far less com­mon for sci­en­tists and doc­tors to receive a lib­er­al arts edu­ca­tion. On the oth­er hand, todays lib­er­al arts stu­dents might ben­e­fit from more required STEM cours­es, but that’s a sto­ry for anoth­er day.

via Art­sy

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Byrne & Neil deGrasse Tyson Explain the Impor­tance of an Arts Edu­ca­tion (and How It Strength­ens Sci­ence & Civ­i­liza­tion)

Your Brain on Art: The Emerg­ing Sci­ence of Neu­roaes­thet­ics Probes What Art Does to Our Brains

The Musi­cal Mind of Albert Ein­stein: Great Physi­cist, Ama­teur Vio­lin­ist and Devo­tee of Mozart

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

Frank Lloyd Wright Creates a List of the 10 Traits Every Aspiring Artist Needs


No fig­ure looms larg­er over Amer­i­can archi­tec­ture than Frank Lloyd Wright. From the ear­ly 1890s to the ear­ly 1920s he estab­lished him­self as the builder of dozens of strik­ing, styl­is­ti­cal­ly inno­v­a­tive pri­vate homes as well as pub­lic works like Chicago’s Mid­way Gar­dens and Toky­o’s Impe­r­i­al Hotel. But by the end of that peri­od his per­son­al life had already turned chaot­ic and even trag­ic, and in his pro­fes­sion­al life he saw his com­mis­sions dry up. Just when it looked like he might not leave much of a lega­cy at all, an idea came to him: why not start a school?

“Wright found­ed what he called the Tal­iesin Fel­low­ship in 1932, when his own finan­cial prospects were dis­mal, as they had been through­out much of the 1920s,” writes archi­tec­ture crit­ic Michael Kim­mel­man in the New York Review of Books. “Hav­ing seen the great Chica­go archi­tect Louis Sul­li­van, his for­mer boss, die in pover­ty not many years ear­li­er, Wright was fore­stalling his own prospec­tive obliv­ion.” Charg­ing a tuition of $675 (“raised to $1,100 in 1933, more than at Yale or Har­vard”), Wright designed a pro­gram “to indoc­tri­nate aspir­ing archi­tects in his gospel of organ­ic archi­tec­ture, for which they would do hours of dai­ly chores, plant crops, wash Wright’s laun­dry, and enter­tain him and his guests as well as one anoth­er in the evenings with musi­cals and ama­teur the­atri­cals.”

There at Tal­iesin, his epony­mous home-stu­dio, locat­ed in the appro­pri­ate­ly rur­al set­ting of Spring Green, Wis­con­sin, Wright sought to forge not just com­plete archi­tects, and not just com­plete artists, but com­plete human beings. He pro­posed, in Kim­mel­man’s words, “the cre­ation of a small, inde­pen­dent soci­ety made bet­ter through his archi­tec­ture.” He also drew up a list, lat­er includ­ed in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, of the qual­i­ties the builders of that soci­ety should pos­sess:

I. An hon­est ego in a healthy body – good cor­re­la­tion
II. Love of truth and nature
III. Sin­cer­i­ty and courage
IV. Abil­i­ty for action
V. The esthet­ic sense
VI. Appre­ci­a­tion of work as idea and idea as work
VII. Fer­til­i­ty of imag­i­na­tion
VIII. Capac­i­ty for faith and rebel­lion
IX. Dis­re­gard for com­mon­place (inor­gan­ic) ele­gance
X. Instinc­tive coop­er­a­tion

This list reflects the kind of qual­i­ties Wright seemed to spend his life cul­ti­vat­ing in him­self, not to men­tion dis­play­ing to the pub­lic. Not that he showed much regard for the truth when it con­flict­ed with his own myth­mak­ing, nor an instinct for coop­er­a­tion with those he con­sid­ered less than his equals — and archi­tec­tural­ly speak­ing, he did­n’t con­sid­er any­one his equal. As well as Wright’s ego may have served him, not every artist needs one quite so colos­sal, but per­haps, per his list, they do need an hon­est one. “Ear­ly in life I had to choose between hon­est arro­gance and hyp­o­crit­i­cal humil­i­ty,” he once said. “I chose the for­mer and have seen no rea­son to change.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take 360° Vir­tu­al Tours of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Archi­tec­tur­al Mas­ter­pieces, Tal­iesin & Tal­iesin West

Frank Lloyd Wright Reflects on Cre­ativ­i­ty, Nature and Reli­gion in Rare 1957 Audio

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Lists the Three Essen­tial Qual­i­ties For All Seri­ous Nov­el­ists (And Run­ners)

Pat­ti Smith, Umber­to Eco & Richard Ford Give Advice to Young Artists in a Rol­lick­ing Short Ani­ma­tion

John Cleese’s Advice to Young Artists: “Steal Any­thing You Think Is Real­ly Good”

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.

Jimmy Page Visits Oxford University & Tells Students How He Went from Guitar Apprentice to Creating Led Zeppelin

It’s maybe a cul­tur­al tru­ism that icon­o­clasts who live long enough even­tu­al­ly become icons. So I sup­pose it shouldn’t sur­prise us much to see a rock ‘n’ roll hero like Jim­my Page stand­ing behind the podi­um at the Oxford Union, for a lec­ture and Q&A series put on by the famed debat­ing soci­ety. But as he tells his audi­ence, it isn’t his first time at Oxford—he made an appear­ance at 16, accom­pa­ny­ing beat poet and nov­el­ist Roys­ton Ellis on gui­tar. (It was Ellis, Page notes, who sug­gest­ed the quirky spelling of the Bea­t­les to John Lennon.) This sto­ry leads to Page’s auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal sketch of how he became a musi­cian by lis­ten­ing to “the music com­ing over from Amer­i­ca” and the skif­fle ver­sions of the same by Eng­lish musi­cian Lon­nie Done­gan.

It’s a sto­ry famil­iar to fans not only of Page but of every British inva­sion band inspired by the Amer­i­can blues and R&B. But it’s always inter­est­ing, espe­cial­ly for Amer­i­cans, to hear it told. Home­grown tra­di­tion­al music we take for grant­ed sound­ed to the young Page like “it was com­ing from Mars.”

He describes the influ­ence of Done­gan as a “por­tal” to the blues and rock ‘n’ roll, which bands like the Yard­birds picked up in the ear­ly six­ties. Men­tion of that sem­i­nal Eng­lish band leads Page to recount his sec­ond time at Oxford, to see the Yard­birds at Queen’s Col­lege, a fate­ful night that end­ed with Page join­ing the band on bass after Paul Samwell-Smith quit. By that time, he had served what he calls a “three-year appren­tice­ship” as a stu­dio musi­cian, arranger, and com­pos­er.

These rem­i­nisces set the tenor for Page’s short address, a series of vignettes from his ven­er­a­ble career, full of fas­ci­nat­ing digres­sions and asides. At around 13 min­utes in, he con­cludes that his “life­time achieve­ment” was to “do some­thing which was ini­tial­ly my hob­by, turn that into some­thing which was a very pro­fes­sion­al process, but still a very cre­ative one… and to inspire young musi­cians.” After his short speech, the pro­gram tran­si­tions to an inter­view for­mat, and Page expands on and clar­i­fies many of his com­ments. His affa­ble humil­i­ty and desire to share his wis­dom and expe­ri­ence make this very enjoy­able view­ing for any­one inter­est­ed in Page’s life and work, or in the his­to­ry of rock ‘n’ roll more gen­er­al­ly, which can­not be told with­out him, and for which he is a very able chron­i­cler.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

13-Year-Old Jim­my Page Plays Gui­tar on TV in 1957, an Ear­ly Moment in His Spec­tac­u­lar Career

Jim­my Page Unplugged: Led Zeppelin’s Gui­tarist Reveals His Acoustic Tal­ents in Four Videos (1970–2008)

Jim­my Page Tells the Sto­ry of “Kash­mir”

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

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