A Map of How the Word “Tea” Spread Across the World

When I order a cup of tea in Korea, where I live, I ask for cha (차); when trav­el­ing in Japan, I ask for the hon­orif­ic-affixed ocha (お茶). In Span­ish-speak­ing places I order , which I try to pro­nounce as dis­tinct­ly as pos­si­ble from the thé I order in French-speak­ing ones. And on my trips back to Unit­ed States, where I’m from, I just ask for tea. Not that tea, despite its awe-inspir­ing ven­er­a­bil­i­ty, has ever quite matched the pop­u­lar­i­ty of cof­fee in Amer­i­ca, but you can still find it most every­where you go. And for decades now, no less an Amer­i­can cor­po­rate cof­fee jug­ger­naut than Star­bucks has labeled cer­tain of its teas chai, which has pop­u­lar­ized that alter­na­tive term but also cre­at­ed a degree of pub­lic con­fu­sion: what’s the dif­fer­ence, if any, between chai and tea?

Both words refer, ulti­mate­ly, to the same bev­er­age invent­ed in Chi­na more than three mil­len­nia ago. Tea may now be drunk all over the world, but peo­ple in dif­fer­ent places pre­fer dif­fer­ent kinds: fla­vors vary from region to region with­in Chi­na, and Chi­nese teas taste dif­fer­ent from, say, Indi­an teas. Star­bucks pre­sum­ably brands its Indi­an-style tea with the word chai because it sounds like the words used to refer to tea in India.

It also sounds like the words used to refer to tea in Far­si, Turk­ish, and even Russ­ian, all of them sim­i­lar to chay. But oth­er coun­tries’ words for tea sound dif­fer­ent: the May­lay teh, the Finnish tee, the Dutch thee. “The words that sound like ‘cha’ spread across land, along the Silk Road,” writes Quartz’s Nikhil Son­nad. “The ‘tea’-like phras­ings spread over water, by Dutch traders bring­ing the nov­el leaves back to Europe.”

“The term cha (茶) is ‘Sinitic,’ mean­ing it is com­mon to many vari­eties of Chi­nese,” writes Son­nad. “It began in Chi­na and made its way through cen­tral Asia, even­tu­al­ly becom­ing ‘chay’ (چای) in Per­sian. That is no doubt due to the trade routes of the Silk Road, along which, accord­ing to a recent dis­cov­ery, tea was trad­ed over 2,000 years ago.” The te form “used in coastal-Chi­nese lan­guages spread to Europe via the Dutch, who became the pri­ma­ry traders of tea between Europe and Asia in the 17th cen­tu­ry, as explained in the World Atlas of Lan­guage Struc­tures. The main Dutch ports in east Asia were in Fujian and Tai­wan, both places where peo­ple used the te pro­nun­ci­a­tion. The Dutch East India Company’s expan­sive tea impor­ta­tion into Europe gave us the French thé, the Ger­man Tee, and the Eng­lish tea.”

And we must­n’t leave out the Por­tuguese, who in the 1500s “trav­elled to the Far East hop­ing to gain a monop­oly on the spice trade,” as Cul­ture Trip’s Rachel Dea­son writes, but “decid­ed to focus on export­ing tea instead. The Por­tuguese called the drink cha, just like the peo­ple of south­ern Chi­na did,” and under that name shipped its leaves “down through Indone­sia, under the south­ern tip of Africa, and back up to west­ern Europe.” You can see the glob­al spread of tea, tee, thé, chai, chay, cha, or what­ev­er you call it in the map above, recent­ly tweet­ed out by East Asia his­to­ri­an Nick Kapur. (You may remem­ber the fan­tas­ti­cal Japan­ese his­to­ry of Amer­i­ca he sent into cir­cu­la­tion last year.) Study it care­ful­ly, and you’ll be able to order tea in the lands of both te and cha. But should you find your­self in Bur­ma, it won’t help you: just remem­ber that the word there is lakphak.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Tea

1934 Map Resizes the World to Show Which Coun­try Drinks the Most Tea

10 Gold­en Rules for Mak­ing the Per­fect Cup of Tea (1941)

George Orwell’s Rules for Mak­ing the Per­fect Cup of Tea: A Short Ani­ma­tion

Epic Tea Time with Alan Rick­man

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

What to Wear to a Successful PhD Thesis Defense? A Skirt’s Worth of Academic Rejection Letters

Some peo­ple are par­a­lyzed by rejec­tion.

Oth­ers, like Michi­gan State University’s Earth and Envi­ron­men­tal Sci­ences PhD can­di­date, Caitlin Kir­by, sport rejec­tion like a man­tle of hon­or… or more accu­rate­ly, a pleat­ed skirt falling to just below mid-thigh.

“Suc­cess­ful­ly defend­ed my PhD dis­ser­ta­tion today!” Kir­by wrote in a Tweet that has since gar­nered over 25,000 likes. “In the spir­it of acknowl­edg­ing & nor­mal­iz­ing fail­ure in the process, I defend­ed in a skirt made of rejec­tion let­ters from the course of my PhD.”

The cus­tom gar­ment, which Kir­by teamed with a dark blaz­er and red waist­band, was orga­nized in two tiers, with a tulle ruf­fle peep­ing out beneath.

MSU’s Career Ser­vices Network’s Direc­tor of Employ­er Rela­tions, Karin Han­son, told the Lans­ing State Jour­nal that rejec­tion comes as a shock to many high achiev­ing MSU stu­dents.

Kirby’s deci­sion to upcy­cle 17 dis­ap­point­ing let­ters received over the course of her aca­d­e­m­ic career was par­tial­ly inspired by a Parks and Recre­ation episode in which the skirt of Leslie Knope’s wed­ding dress is a wear­able col­lage of news­pa­per arti­cles about the char­ac­ter, drawn from ear­li­er episodes

More to the point, Kirby’s skirt is part of an ongo­ing cam­paign to acknowl­edge rejec­tion as a nec­es­sary, if painful, part of aca­d­e­m­ic growth.

The whole process of revis­it­ing those old let­ters and mak­ing that skirt sort of remind­ed me that you have to apply to a lot of things to suc­ceed. It seems coun­ter­in­tu­itive to wear your rejec­tions to your last test in your Ph.D, but we talked about our rejec­tions every week and I want­ed them to be a part of it.

And, as she lat­er not­ed in a tweet:

Accep­tances and rejec­tions are often based on the tra­di­tion­al val­ues of acad­e­mia, which excludes POC by not valu­ing the approach­es, research ques­tions, and expe­ri­ences that POC tend to bring to their work.

Kirby’s let­ters were culled from a vari­ety of sources—scholarship appli­ca­tions, sub­mis­sions to aca­d­e­m­ic jour­nals, and pro­pos­als for con­fer­ence pre­sen­ta­tions.  Unfor­tu­nate­ly and We regret to inform you are recur­rent motifs. About 8 let­ters were left on the cut­ting room floor.

But she is pre­pared to low­er her hem­line, when she starts apply­ing for jobs, fol­low­ing a stint at the Research Insti­tute for Urban and Region­al Devel­op­ment in Dort­mund, Ger­many, the result of a suc­cess­ful Ful­bright appli­ca­tion.

Fol­low Kirby’s exam­ple and turn your tem­po­rary set­backs into a pow­er skirt, using the tuto­r­i­al above.

via Boing Boing 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Rejec­tion Let­ters Sent to Three Famous Artists: Sylvia Plath, Kurt Von­negut & Andy Warhol

T.S. Eliot, as Faber & Faber Edi­tor, Rejects George Orwell’s “Trot­skyite” Nov­el Ani­mal Farm (1944)

Gertrude Stein Gets a Snarky Rejec­tion Let­ter from Pub­lish­er (1912)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Decem­ber 9 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain, res­ur­rects Dennison’s Christ­mas Book (1921). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Benefits of Boredom: How to Stop Distracting Yourself and Get Creative Ideas Again

Here in the 21st cen­tu­ry, we have con­quered bore­dom. Impres­sive though that achieve­ment may be, it has­n’t come with­out cost: As with many oth­er con­di­tions we’ve man­aged to elim­i­nate from our lives, bore­dom now looks to have been essen­tial to full human exis­tence. Has our real­i­ty of on-demand dis­trac­tions, tai­lored ever more close­ly to our impuls­es and desires, robbed us of yet anoth­er form of every­day adver­si­ty that built up the char­ac­ter of pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tions? Per­haps, but more impor­tant­ly, it may also have dried up our well of cre­ativ­i­ty. The frus­tra­tion that descends on us when try­ing to come up with new ideas; the itch we feel, when­ev­er we start doing some­thing, to do some­thing else; our inabil­i­ty to go more than a few min­utes with­out look­ing at our phones: we can hard­ly assume these mod­ern prob­lems are unre­lat­ed.

“When you’re bored, you tend to day­dream, and your mind wan­ders, and this is a very, very impor­tant part of the cre­ative process,” says psy­chol­o­gist San­di Mann in the ani­mat­ed BBC REEL video at the top of the post. “If you find that you’re stuck on a prob­lem, or you’re real­ly wor­ried about some­thing and can’t seem to find a way out, take some time out. Just be bored. Let your mind wan­der, and you might just find that a cre­ative solu­tion will pop into your head.”

But we’ve fall­en into the habit of “swip­ing and scrolling our bore­dom away,” seek­ing “a dopamine hit from new and nov­el expe­ri­ences” — most often dig­i­tal ones — to assuage our fears of bore­dom. And the more such stim­u­la­tion we get, the more we need, mean­ing that, “para­dox­i­cal­ly, the way to deal with bore­dom is to allow more of it into our life.”

“Once you start day­dream­ing and allow your mind to real­ly wan­der,” Mann says, “you start think­ing a lit­tle bit beyond the con­scious, a lit­tle bit into the sub­con­scious, which allows sort of dif­fer­ent con­nec­tions to take place.” She says it in “How Bore­dom Can Lead to Your Most Bril­liant Ideas,” a TED Talk by jour­nal­ist Manoush Zomoro­di. Like the pub­lic-radio pod­cast­er she is, Zomoro­di brings in inter­view clips from not just Mann but a range of experts on the sub­ject of bore­dom and dis­trac­tion, includ­ing neu­ro­sci­en­tist Daniel Lev­itin, who warns that “every time you shift your atten­tion from one thing to anoth­er, the brain has to engage a neu­ro­chem­i­cal switch that uses up nutri­ents in the brain to accom­plish that.” And so the “mul­ti­task­ing” in which we once prid­ed our­selves amounts to noth­ing more than “rapid­ly shift­ing from one thing to the next, deplet­ing neur­al resources as you go.”

We’ve become like the exper­i­ment sub­jects, described in the Ver­i­ta­si­um video above, who were asked to sit alone in an emp­ty room for a few min­utes with noth­ing in front of them but a but­ton that they knew would shock them. In the end, 25 per­cent of the women and 60 per­cent of the men chose, unasked, to shock them­selves, pre­sum­ably out of a pref­er­ence for painful stim­u­la­tion over no stim­u­la­tion at all. How much, we have to won­der, does that ulti­mate­ly dif­fer from the dis­trac­tions we com­pul­sive­ly seek at every oppor­tu­ni­ty in the form of social media, games, and oth­er addic­tive apps? And what do these increas­ing­ly fre­quent self-admin­is­tered jolts do to our abil­i­ty to iden­ti­fy promis­ing avenues of thought and fol­low them all the way to their most fruit­ful con­clu­sions? As the old say­ing goes, only the bor­ing are bored. But if our tech­no­log­i­cal lives keep going the way they’ve been going, soon only the bored will be inter­est­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Take Advan­tage of Bore­dom, the Secret Ingre­di­ent of Cre­ativ­i­ty

How Infor­ma­tion Over­load Robs Us of Our Cre­ativ­i­ty: What the Sci­en­tif­ic Research Shows

Lyn­da Bar­ry on How the Smart­phone Is Endan­ger­ing Three Ingre­di­ents of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Lone­li­ness, Uncer­tain­ty & Bore­dom

David Lynch Explains How Med­i­ta­tion Boosts Our Cre­ativ­i­ty (Plus Free Resources to Help You Start Med­i­tat­ing)

How to Focus: Five Talks Reveal the Secrets of Con­cen­tra­tion

Why Time Seems to Speed Up as We Get Old­er: What the Research Says

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

The Digital Dada Library: Discover the Archive That Preserves the Original Publications of the Experimental Anti-Art Movement Online

Crit­i­cal the­o­rists like Theodor Adorno may have over­reached in claim­ing that all mass cul­ture is mediocre, mech­a­nized pro­pa­gan­da made to jus­ti­fy the sta­tus quo. But that doesn’t mean they were entire­ly wrong. Over and over we see even the most sub­ver­sive art, lit­er­a­ture, film, and music has a way of being tamed and Bowd­ler­ized. Glob­al mega-cor­po­rate indus­tries don’t need to cen­sor what they don’t like; they only need to buy it, rebrand it, or price it out of reach.

So what? Why do we need chal­leng­ing, inde­pen­dent art when we have end­less enter­tain­ment? Is the con­cept a nos­tal­gic, elit­ist, Euro­cen­tric idea? Artists have jus­ti­fied the need for art since antiq­ui­ty, with poet­ic and log­i­cal argu­ments of every kind. But Dada artists of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry broke ranks, build­ing their move­ment on the insight that no defense could pos­si­bly mean any­thing when it came to art’s pur­pose, espe­cial­ly in the face of the tech­no­crat­ic slaugh­ter of World War I.

When the hyper­ra­tional­ism of moder­ni­ty led to mass death and destruc­tion, the only humane response was to declare war on rationalization—to “destroy the hoax­es of rea­son,” as French artist Jean Arp put it. “For the dis­il­lu­sioned artists of the Dada move­ment,” the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art explains, “the war mere­ly con­firmed the degra­da­tion of social struc­tures that led to such vio­lence: cor­rupt and nation­al­ist pol­i­tics, repres­sive social val­ues, and unques­tion­ing con­for­mi­ty of cul­ture and thought.”

Dada took a com­bat­ive stance against, for one thing, the insis­tence that art jus­ti­fy its exis­tence to win estab­lish­ment approval. “All activ­i­ty is vain,” declared poet Tris­tan Tzara in his 1918 “Dada Man­i­festo,” includ­ing the “mon­e­tary sys­tem, phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal prod­uct, or a bare leg adver­tis­ing the ardent ster­ile spring…. The begin­nings of Dada were not the begin­nings of art, but of dis­gust” with the ossi­fied cul­ture of the “nice, nice bour­geois,” who would pre­serve at any cost “the pos­si­bil­i­ty of wal­low­ing in cush­ions and good things to eat.”

“And so Dada,” wrote Tzara, “was born of a need for inde­pen­dence, of a dis­trust toward uni­ty.” Such dec­la­ra­tions aside, the move­ment was decid­ed­ly uni­fied in its aims. “For us, art is not an end in itself,” poet Hugo Ball wrote. “It is an oppor­tu­ni­ty for the true per­cep­tion and crit­i­cism of the times we live in.” This cri­tique required new exper­i­men­tal tech­niques that deformed and repur­posed the tech­nolo­gies of mass cul­ture.

The under­tak­ing would not have been pos­si­ble with­out a Dada pub­lish­ing wing that turned out scores of jour­nals, mag­a­zines, books, leaflets, essays, man­i­festos, etc., writ­ten, designed, edit­ed, illus­trat­ed, pho­tographed, and con­trolled by the artists them­selves. They might find no small amount of irony in the fact that their pro­duc­tions have received the ulti­mate insti­tu­tion­al sanc­tion: housed in “nice, nice bour­geois” muse­ums, libraries, and uni­ver­si­ties around the world.

The Uni­ver­si­ty of Iowa’s Inter­na­tion­al Dada Archive has amassed a con­sid­er­able num­ber of Dada pub­li­ca­tions and offers a wealth of high-qual­i­ty scanned images of the orig­i­nals on their site. “The first sec­tion” of their Dig­i­tal Library “includes some of the major peri­od­i­cals of the Dada move­ment from Zurich, Berlin, Paris, and else­where.” These are not always com­plete runs, though the library has includ­ed “reprints of issues for which we do not own orig­i­nals” to make up for miss­ing items in the col­lec­tion.

The sec­ond sec­tion of the site “includes books by some of the par­tic­i­pants in the Dada move­ment, as well as some of the more ephemer­al Dada-era pub­li­ca­tions, such as exhibiton cat­a­logs and broad­sides.” You’ll find writ­ings by all of the artists men­tioned above, as well as oth­er well-known names like Max Ernst, Paul Elu­ard, George Grosz, Man Ray, Fran­cis Picabia, and more.

All of these pub­li­ca­tions are, of course, in their orig­i­nal Euro­pean lan­guages, though you can find trans­la­tions of many doc­u­ments online. The most influ­en­tial Dada mag­a­zine in Eng­lish, Alfred Stieglitz’s 291, will give mono­lin­gual read­ers a fla­vor of the larg­er scene. Pub­lished in New York between 1915 and 1916, the short-lived jour­nal includ­ed many of the major Euro­pean names. Its first issue cov­ered exper­i­ments like “simul­tanism,” “sin­cerism,” and “idi­o­tism,” and intro­duced visu­al poet­ry to Amer­i­can read­ers. Issue 5–6 fea­tured on its cov­er one of the weird, non­sen­si­cal machines of Fran­cis Picabia.

Dada splin­tered into oth­er move­ments before its artists were forced out of Europe or hound­ed into obscu­ri­ty by the Nazis. Their uni­fied attempt to frag­ment and dis­rupt the dom­i­nance of mass cul­ture was itself frag­ment­ed and dis­rupt­ed by a hor­rif­ic new war machine. But while their ideas may have been co-opt­ed, their spir­it may yet live on. Inspired by their work, per­haps a new gen­er­a­tion will take up the Sisyphean task of mak­ing rad­i­cal, crit­i­cal, exper­i­men­tal art to sub­vert the homog­e­niz­ing jug­ger­naut of the cul­ture indus­try.

Enter the Uni­ver­si­ty of Iowa’s Dig­i­tal Dada Library here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dada Was Born 100 Years Ago: Cel­e­brate the Avant-Garde Move­ment Launched by Hugo Ball on July 14, 1916

Hear the Exper­i­men­tal Music of the Dada Move­ment: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Cen­tu­ry Ago

Down­load All 8 Issues of Dada, the Arts Jour­nal That Pub­li­cized the Avant-Garde Move­ment a Cen­tu­ry Ago (1917–21)

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

When White Supremacists Overthrew a Government (1898): The Hidden History of an American Coup

White suprema­cist ide­ol­o­gy has found a home in both major polit­i­cal par­ties at dif­fer­ent times in the country’s his­to­ry. But it has not always been open­ly acknowl­edged, reced­ing into cod­ed lan­guage and whis­pers when out of polit­i­cal favor. In the decades after Recon­struc­tion and after World War I, how­ev­er, politi­cians shout­ed racist, xeno­pho­bic speech­es through bull­horns, incit­ing thou­sands of lynch­ings across the coun­try.

One incred­i­bly bloody mass killing, the so-called Tul­sa “Race Riot” of 1921—actually a mas­sacre and dec­i­ma­tion of a thriv­ing busi­ness dis­trict—has come back into pub­lic con­scious­ness after a fic­tion­al­ized depic­tion on HBO’s Watch­men series. Twelve years ear­li­er, anoth­er defin­i­tive event took place in Wilm­ing­ton, North Car­oli­na. If men­tioned at all, it’s been glossed over quick­ly in text­books and the town’s his­tor­i­cal mem­o­ry, but the Wilm­ing­ton Mas­sacre is part of a his­to­ry of racial ter­ror­ism many cel­e­brat­ed open­ly, then sought to sup­press, deny, and ignore when it became embar­rass­ing.

Yale pro­fes­sor of his­to­ry Glen­da Gilmore calls the peri­od a “50-year black hole of infor­ma­tion.” Grow­ing up in North Car­oli­na her­self, she says, “I had nev­er heard the word ‘lynch­ing’ until I was 21.” In fact, as the Vox video above notes, librar­i­ans in Wilm­ing­ton refused even to release mate­ri­als relat­ed to the mas­sacre. This is odd con­sid­er­ing its sig­nif­i­cance to Amer­i­can his­to­ry as the only suc­cess­ful vio­lent over­throw of an elect­ed U.S. gov­ern­ment on U.S. soil.

It was a coup (despite the way that word has been delib­er­ate­ly mis­used) involv­ing no due process or con­sti­tu­tion­al checks and bal­ances. The vio­lence began on the morn­ing of Novem­ber 10, 1898, when the offices of The Dai­ly Record were set on fire. By the day’s end, “as many as 60 peo­ple had been mur­dered, and the local gov­ern­ment that was elect­ed two days pri­or had been over­thrown and replaced by white suprema­cists,” writes The Atlantic.

This was no spon­ta­neous riot. The events had been planned and pro­mot­ed by the most promi­nent lead­ers in the city and state, who gath­ered at the Thalian Hall opera house in Wilm­ing­ton the pre­vi­ous month to hear a speech in which Demo­c­ra­t­ic Con­gress­man Alfred Wad­dell declared “We will nev­er sur­ren­der to a ragged raf­fle of Negroes, even if we have to choke the Cape Fear Riv­er with car­cass­es.”

This kind of rhetoric was com­mon­place. White suprema­cist clubs around the State, goad­ed on by South Car­oli­na sen­a­tor Ben Till­man, resound­ed with talk of “shot­gun pol­i­tics” to oust elect­ed Black Repub­li­cans. After Waddell’s Thalian Hall speech, he trav­eled to Golds­boro for a “White Suprema­cy Con­ven­tion” attend­ed by 8,000 peo­ple. There, Major William Guthrie promised, “Resist our march of progress and civ­i­liza­tion and we will wipe you off the face of the earth.”

The con­ven­tion was hailed in The Fayet­teville Observ­er as “A White Man’s Day.” and Tillman’s exhor­ta­tion “in behalf of the restora­tion of white rule” by vio­lence was called “a great speech for democ­ra­cy.” The mas­sacre and over­throw of Wilm­ing­ton’s gov­ern­ment fol­lowed soon after. His­to­ri­ans were able to recon­struct the events after their sup­pres­sion in part because they were so wide­ly cel­e­brat­ed for decades after­ward. “In the 1910s, 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, they bragged about it,” says his­to­ri­an David S. Cecel­s­ki.

Along with a dis­turb­ing resur­gence, we’ve also recent­ly seen a pub­lic reck­on­ing with the racial ter­ror and tyran­ny of the late-19th and ear­ly 20th cen­turies, as the mem­o­ry of lynch­ing is enshrined in memo­ri­als and muse­ums, and sto­ries buried since the 50s are unearthed. This his­to­ry has been also been used by some mod­ern-day Repub­li­cans to grind polit­i­cal axes against mod­ern-day Democ­rats, as though the major 1960s Civ­il Rights realign­ment nev­er hap­pened.

Shal­low par­ti­san­ship aside, the fact remains: what the Wilm­ing­ton insur­rec­tion­ists and their allies and inciters cam­paigned, burned, and killed for was a return to the oppres­sive rule of an elite white minor­i­ty, against a mul­tira­cial demo­c­ra­t­ic coali­tion that had unit­ed for­mer slaves and poor white farm­ers in a fusion gov­ern­ment rep­re­sent­ing work­ing peo­ple in North Car­oli­na and the thriv­ing, major­i­ty Black pop­u­la­tion in Wilm­ing­ton, its largest city at the time.

Learn more about the his­to­ry of the Wilm­ing­ton Mas­sacre in the Vox video above and in the excel­lent col­lec­tion Democ­ra­cy Betrayed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Inter­ac­tive Map Visu­al­izes the Chill­ing His­to­ry of Lynch­ing in the U.S. (1835–1964)

Cor­nell Cre­ates a Data­base of Fugi­tive Slave Ads, Telling the Sto­ry of Those Who Resist­ed Slav­ery in 18th & 19th Cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca

Mas­sive New Data­base Will Final­ly Allow Us to Iden­ti­fy Enslaved Peo­ples and Their Descen­dants in the Amer­i­c­as

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

Martin Scorsese Explains the Difference Between Cinema and Movies

Image by “Sieb­bi,” Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

There is a bat­tle rag­ing on the inter­net, and you may count your­self lucky if you’ve heard noth­ing about it since it involves the usu­al unnec­es­sary esca­la­tions and knee-jerk reac­tions: the bat­tle of super­hero movies ver­sus the art form known as “cin­e­ma.” The first shot, one might say, was fired by Mar­tin Scors­ese, who has cer­tain­ly earned the right to make pro­nounce­ments on the sub­ject. Asked for his thoughts on the MCU (that’s Mar­vel Cin­e­mat­ic Uni­verse for the unini­ti­at­ed) dur­ing an inter­view with Empire mag­a­zine, Scors­ese opined, “that’s not cin­e­ma. Hon­est­ly, the clos­est I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the cir­cum­stances, is theme parks.”

This writer is of the opin­ion that one can enjoy film both as art and as pure spec­ta­cle, while rec­og­niz­ing clear dif­fer­ences between them. They share a medi­um, but they aim at and pro­duce dif­fer­ent effects. Com­par­ing the expe­ri­ence of watch­ing Avengers: Endgame or most any oth­er Mar­vel film to rid­ing a roller­coast­er seems per­fect­ly appo­site to me. Still, com­ic film fans went wild online, lob­bing all sorts of accu­sa­tions at Scors­ese and fel­low direc­tors who deliv­ered even less char­i­ta­ble takes on the Mar­vel movie phe­nom. Twit­ter memes and jokes pro­lif­er­at­ed; Disney’s CEO weighed in with what must sure­ly be a dis­in­ter­est­ed crit­i­cal opin­ion.

Let’s look past dis­tract­ing hot takes, mar­ket­ing strate­gies, and gen­er­a­tional war­fare. Scors­ese has elo­quent­ly clar­i­fied his posi­tion in a New York Times op-ed, and his argu­ments are worth our atten­tion. For one thing, the direc­tor approach­es the sub­ject with humil­i­ty, admit­ting his own bias­es. “The fact that [Mar­vel] films don’t them­selves inter­est me is a mat­ter of per­son­al taste and tem­pera­ment,” he writes. “I know that if I were younger, if I’d come of age at a lat­er time, I might have been excit­ed by these pic­tures and maybe even want­ed to make one myself.”

He details his own sense of what cin­e­ma should be, one drawn prin­ci­pal­ly from his influ­ences: Bergman, Godard, Hitch­cock (whose movies might also be called theme parks in a way, Scors­ese grants, but rely more on char­ac­ter­i­za­tion than grand set pieces and spe­cial effects). He also lists cur­rent favorites: Ari Aster, Spike Lee, Kathryn Bigelow, Paul Thomas Ander­son. As an auteur him­self, he has a clear bias in favor of oth­er auteurs. Yet there’s more at stake than taste or what some have seen as elit­ism. “Why not just let super­hero films and oth­er fran­chise films be?” he asks. “The rea­son is sim­ple. In many places around this coun­try and around the world, fran­chise films are now your pri­ma­ry choice if you want to see some­thing on the big screen.”

Super­hero movies have dom­i­nat­ed the mar­ket, edg­ing out oth­er kinds of films with oth­er kinds of aspi­ra­tions. The “finan­cial dom­i­nance” of what Scors­ese calls “world­wide audio­vi­su­al enter­tain­ment” is “being used to mar­gin­al­ize and even belit­tle the exis­tence” of cinema—of small­er films that take cre­ative risks and are not com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed prod­ucts of mar­ket research and audi­ence test­ing for max­i­mum box-office con­sump­tion. Hav­ing grown up him­self in the Hol­ly­wood stu­dio sys­tem, Scors­ese doesn’t dis­miss film as a busi­ness, but he laments the loss of a “pro­duc­tive ten­sion” between “the artists and the peo­ple who ran the busi­ness.” With­out that ten­sion, the indus­try becomes an effi­cient, but inhu­man, machine.

It’s a prob­lem, in oth­er words, of a pow­er imbal­ance in which studios—vertically inte­grat­ed into mega-cor­po­ra­tions like Disney—push prof­it over most oth­er con­sid­er­a­tions. This severe­ly lim­its the risks they’re will­ing to take, and it push­es inde­pen­dent and exper­i­men­tal film­mak­ers fur­ther into the mar­gins, and out of the­aters alto­geth­er, where their works were meant to be seen. Net­flix and oth­er stream­ing ser­vices may open up unique oppor­tu­ni­ties, but they dimin­ish film by rel­e­gat­ing it to tele­vi­sion screens (and, worse, tablets and phones).

Scorsese’s argu­ment is only part­ly an aes­thet­ic one—he may object to Mar­vel movies on the grounds that they’re for­get­table and pre­dictable. But the pri­ma­ry con­cern he voic­es in his essay is a prob­lem of pro­por­tion. The Mar­vel Cin­e­mat­ic Universe—like the vil­lain in Avengers: Endgame (which Scors­ese hasn’t seen)—threatens to take over and half-destroy the uni­verse of cin­e­ma in all its vari­ety of forms and expres­sions. It is large­ly suc­ceed­ing. “For any­one who dreams of mak­ing movies or who is just start­ing out, the sit­u­a­tion at this moment is bru­tal and inhos­pitable to art,” Scors­ese writes. “And the act of sim­ply writ­ing those words fills me with ter­ri­ble sad­ness.” Read his essay here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­tin Scors­ese to Teach His First Online Course on Film­mak­ing

Mar­tin Scors­ese Makes a List of 85 Films Every Aspir­ing Film­mak­er Needs to See

Frank Zap­pa Explains the Decline of the Music Busi­ness (1987)

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

Comic Sans Turns 25: Graphic Designer Vincent Connare Explains Why He Created the Most Hated Font in the World

What we write reveals who we are, but so, and often more clear­ly, does how we write. And in an age when hand­writ­ing has giv­en way to typ­ing, how we write has much to do with which font we use. Many of us play it safe, rarely stray­ing from the realm of twelve-point Times New Roman hyper­nor­mal­i­ty, but even there “type is a voice; its very qual­i­ties and char­ac­ter­is­tics com­mu­ni­cate to read­ers a mean­ing beyond mere syn­tax.” That obser­va­tion comes from the Ban Com­ic Sans Man­i­festo, drawn up two decades ago by graph­ic design­ers Hol­ly and David Combs as a strike against the font that, 25 years after its cre­ation, remains a hate object of choice for the visu­al­ly lit­er­ate every­where.

“You don’t like that your cowork­er used me on that note about steal­ing her yogurt from the break room fridge?” asks Com­ic Sans itself, ven­tril­o­quized in McSweeney’s by Mike Lach­er. “You don’t like that I’m all over your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that new Thai place? You think I’m pedes­tri­an and tacky?” Well, tough: “Peo­ple love me. Why? Because I’m fun. I’m the life of the par­ty. I bring lev­i­ty to any sit­u­a­tion. Need to soft­en the blow of a harsh mes­sage about restroom eti­quette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the direc­tions to your grad­u­a­tion par­ty? WHAM. There again. Need to con­vey your fun-lov­ing, approach­able nature on your busi­ness’ web­site? SMACK.”

In the Great Big Sto­ry video above, Com­ic Sans cre­ator Vin­cent Connare tells his side of the sto­ry. While employed at Microsoft in the ear­ly 1990s, he saw a pro­to­type ver­sion of Microsoft Bob, a kind of add-on to the Win­dows inter­face designed for max­i­mum user friend­li­ness. It fea­tured onscreen ani­mal char­ac­ters that spoke in speech bub­bles, but the words in those speech bub­bles appeared in what was every­one’s default font. When it hit him that “dogs don’t talk in Times New Roman,” Connare, a graph­ic-nov­el fan, got to work on a type­face for the speech bub­bles mod­eled on the let­ter­ing by John Costan­za in The Dark Knight Returns and by Dave Gib­bons in Watch­men.

Com­ic Sans did­n’t make it into Microsoft Bob, it did make it into a some­what more suc­cess­ful Microsoft prod­uct: Win­dows 95, which David Kadavy at Design for Hack­ers calls “the first oper­at­ing sys­tem to real­ly hit it big. Just as com­put­ers were start­ing to pop up in near­ly every home in Amer­i­ca, Win­dows 95 was find­ing itself installed on all of those com­put­ers, and with it, the font Com­ic Sans. So now, near­ly every man, woman, child, and bake sale orga­niz­er find them­selves armed with pub­lish­ing pow­er unlike civ­i­liza­tion had ever seen; and few of them real­ly had any design sense.” Then came the inter­net boom, which meant that “instead of fly­ers post­ed in break rooms, Com­ic Sans was show­ing up on web­sites, and even as the default font for many people’s emails. Now, any one per­son could write a mes­sage that could poten­tial­ly be read by mil­lions, in Com­ic Sans.”

What makes Com­ic Sans so reviled? Kadavy points to sev­er­al rea­sons hav­ing to do with typo­graph­i­cal aes­thet­ics, includ­ing awk­ward weight dis­tri­b­u­tion (“weight” being the thick­ness of its lines) and poor let­ter­fit (mean­ing that its let­ters don’t, or can’t, sit well next to each oth­er). But the prob­lem most of us notice is that “Com­ic Sans isn’t used as intend­ed”: A type­face meant only for speech bub­bles in Microsoft Bob has some­how become one of the most pop­u­lar in the world, appear­ing unsuit­ably in every­thing from Cleve­land Cav­a­liers own­er Dan Gilbert’s open let­ter on the depar­ture of LeBron James to CERN’s announce­ment of evi­dence of the Hig­gs boson par­ti­cle to, just last month, a let­ter from Don­ald Trump’s lawyer’s to the House Intel­li­gence Com­mit­tee.

Through it all, Connare him­self — who has designed such rel­a­tive­ly respectable type­faces as Tre­buchet, and has famous­ly only used Com­ic Sans once, in a com­plaint let­ter to his cable com­pa­ny — has kept his sense of humor, as evi­denced by his talk enti­tled “Com­ic Sans Is the Best Font in the World.” Even the Combs’ move­ment has changed its name, if not with­out irony, into “Use Com­ic Sans.” Pieces mark­ing the font’s 25th anniver­sary include “Hat­ing Com­ic Sans Is Not a Per­son­al­i­ty” by The New York Times’ Emma Gold­berg and “In Bad Taste or Not, I’ll Keep My Com­ic Sans” by The Wash­ing­ton Post’s Joseph Epstein (pub­lished, entire­ly and coura­geous­ly, in Com­ic Sans). If you love the font, Connare often says, you don’t know much about typog­ra­phy, but if you hate it, “you should get anoth­er hob­by.” Besides, the sto­ry of Com­ic Sans also con­tains an impor­tant life les­son: “You have to do things that aren’t beau­ti­ful some­times.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Typog­ra­phy Told in Five Ani­mat­ed Min­utes

Down­load Icon­ic Nation­al Park Fonts: They’re Now Dig­i­tized & Free to Use

Learn Cal­lig­ra­phy from Lloyd Reynolds, the Teacher of Steve Jobs’ Own Famous­ly Inspir­ing Cal­lig­ra­phy Teacher

How to Write Like an Archi­tect: Short Primers on Writ­ing with the Neat, Clean Lines of a Design­er

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

The Difference Between the United Kingdom, Great Britain and England: A (Pre-Brexit) Video Explains

I once played in a New York pub band with an Eng­lish­man, a North­ern Irish­man, and a Scots­man. This is not the set­up for a joke. (We weren’t that bad!) But I had ques­tions. Were they all from dif­fer­ent coun­tries or dif­fer­ent parts of one coun­try called Britain, or Great Britain, or the grander-sound­ing Unit­ed King­dom?

British his­to­ry could be a con­tentious sub­ject in such com­pa­ny, and no won­der giv­en that the vio­lence of the Empire began at home, or with the neigh­bor­ing peo­ple who were absorbed—sometimes, part­ly, but not always—against their will into a larg­er enti­ty. So, what to call that ter­ri­to­ry of the crown which once claimed one fourth of the world as its own prop­er­ty?

CGP Grey, mak­er of the YouTube explain­er above, aims to clear things up in five min­utes, offer­ing his own spin on British impe­r­i­al his­to­ry along the way. The Unit­ed King­dom is a “coun­try of coun­tries that con­tains inside it four coequal and sov­er­eign nations,” Eng­land, Scot­land, Wales, and North­ern Ire­land. “You can call them all British,” says Grey, but “it’s gen­er­al­ly not rec­om­mend­ed as the four coun­tries gen­er­al­ly don’t like each oth­er.”

Like it or not, how­ev­er, they are all British cit­i­zens of “The Unit­ed King­dom of Great Britain and North­ern Ire­land.” Still con­fused? Well, Britain and the Unit­ed King­dom name the same coun­try. But “Great Britain” is a geo­graph­i­cal term that includes Scot­land, Eng­land, and Wales, but not North­ern Ire­land. As a “geo­graph­i­cal rather than a polit­i­cal term,” Great Britain sounds sil­ly when used to describe nation­al­i­ty.

But it gets a bit more com­pli­cat­ed. All of the coun­tries locat­ed with­in Great Britain have neigh­bor­ing islands that are not part of Great Britain, such as the Hebrides, Shet­land and Orkney Islands, and Isles of Angle­sey and Wight. Ire­land is a geo­graph­i­cal term for the land mass encom­pass­ing two nations: North­ern Ire­land, which is part of Britain, or the Unit­ed King­dom, and the Repub­lic of Ire­land, which—as you know—is decid­ed­ly not.

All of these coun­tries and “coun­tries of coun­tries” are part of the Euro­pean Union, says Grey, at which point it becomes clear that the video, post­ed in 2011, did not antic­i­pate any such thing as Brex­it. Nonethe­less, this infor­ma­tion holds true for the moment, though that ugly saga is sure to reach some res­o­lu­tion even­tu­al­ly, at which point, who knows what new maps, inde­pen­dence ref­er­en­da, and bor­der wars will arise, or res­ur­rect, on the British Isles.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Entire His­to­ry of the British Isles Ani­mat­ed: 42,000 BCE to Today

Watch the Rise and Fall of the British Empire in an Ani­mat­ed Time-Lapse Map ( 519 A.D. to 2014 A.D.)

The His­to­ry of Europe from 400 BC to the Present, Ani­mat­ed in 12 Min­utes

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

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