A Medical Student Creates Intricate Anatomical Embroideries of the Brain, Heart, Lungs & More

My first thought upon see­ing the del­i­cate, anato­my-based work of the 23-year-old embroi­dery artist and med­ical stu­dent Emmi Khan was that the Girl Scouts must have expand­ed the cat­e­gories of skills eli­gi­ble for mer­it badges.

(If mem­o­ry serves, there was one for embroi­dery, but it cer­tain­ly didn’t look like a cross-sec­tioned brain, or a sinus cav­i­ty.)

Clos­er inspec­tion revealed that the cir­cu­lar views of Khan’s embroi­deries are not quite as tiny as the round badges stitched to high achiev­ing Girl Scouts’ sash­es, but rather still framed in the wood­en hoops that are an essen­tial tool of this artist’s trade.

Meth­ods both sci­en­tif­ic and artis­tic are a source of fas­ci­na­tion for Khan, who began tak­ing needle­work inspi­ra­tion from anato­my as an under­grad study­ing bio­med­ical sci­ences. As she writes on her Mol­e­c­u­lart web­site:

Sci­ence has par­tic­u­lar meth­ods: it is fun­da­men­tal­ly objec­tive, con­trolled, empir­i­cal. Sim­i­lar­ly, art has par­tic­u­lar meth­ods: there is an empha­sis on sub­jec­tiv­i­ty and explo­ration, but there is also an ele­ment of reg­u­la­tion regard­ing how art is cre­at­ed… e.g. what type of nee­dle to use to embroi­der or how to prime a can­vas.

The pro­ce­dures and tech­niques adopt­ed by sci­en­tists and artists may be very dif­fer­ent. Ulti­mate­ly, how­ev­er, they both have a com­mon aim. Artists and sci­en­tists both want to 1) make sense of the vast­ness around them in new ways, and 2) present and com­mu­ni­cate it to oth­ers through their own vision. 

A glimpse at the flow­ers, intri­cate stitch­es, and oth­er dain­ties that pop­u­late her Pin­ter­est boards offers a fur­ther peek into Khan’s meth­ods, and might prompt some read­ers to pick up a nee­dle them­selves, even those with no imme­di­ate plans to embroi­der a kary­otype or The Cir­cle of Willis, the cir­cu­lar anas­to­mo­sis of arter­ies at the base of the brain.

The Cardiff-based med­ical stu­dent delights in embell­ish­ing her thread­ed obser­va­tions of inter­nal organs with the occa­sion­al dec­o­ra­tive element—sunflowers, posies, and the like…

She makes her­self avail­able on social media to answer ques­tions on sub­jects rang­ing from embroi­dery tips to her rela­tion­ship to sci­ence as a devout Mus­lim, and to share works in progress, like a set of lungs that embody the Four Sea­sons, com­mis­sioned by a cus­tomer in the States.

To see more of Emmi Khan’s work, includ­ing a down­load­able anatom­i­cal flo­ral heart embroi­dery pat­tern, vis­it Mol­e­c­u­larther Insta­gram page, or her Etsy shop.

via Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold an Anatom­i­cal­ly Cor­rect Repli­ca of the Human Brain, Knit­ted by a Psy­chi­a­trist

An Artist Cro­chets a Life-Size, Anatom­i­cal­ly-Cor­rect Skele­ton, Com­plete with Organs

Watch Nina Paley’s “Embroi­der­ma­tion,” a New, Stun­ning­ly Labor-Inten­sive Form of Ani­ma­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Feb­ru­ary 3 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates New York: The Nation’s Metrop­o­lis (1921). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Watch Hunter S. Thompson & Ralph Steadman Head to Hollywood in a Revealing 1978 Documentary

In 1978, Hol­ly­wood was look­ing to make a film about Hunter S. Thomp­son. No, it was not an adap­ta­tion of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas–that would come lat­er. Instead, this was the now-almost-for­got­ten Bill Mur­ray vehi­cle Where the Buf­fa­lo Roam, which was based on Thompson’s obit­u­ary for his friend and “attor­ney” from Fear & Loathing, Oscar “Zeta” Acos­ta.

Know­ing that both Thomp­son and illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man would be involved and reunit­ing and dri­ving from Aspen, through Las Vegas, and into Hol­ly­wood, the BBC dis­patched a film crew for the arts pro­gram Omnibus. Direc­tor Nigel Finch returned with a ram­shackle road trip of a film, one that always seems in dan­ger of falling apart due to Thompson’s para­noid and antag­o­nis­tic state.

For a lot of British view­ers, this would have been their primer on the Amer­i­can writer, and quick­ly brings them up to date on Thompson’s rise to infamy, the cre­ation of Gonzo jour­nal­ism, and his alter-ego Raoul Duke.

Per­haps Finch thought that get­ting Thomp­son and Stead­man togeth­er in a car would con­jure up the Fear & Loathing vibe on screen, but the two make an awk­ward cou­ple. At one point the reserved Stead­man com­pares him­self to Thompson’s pet bird Edward. Thomp­son antag­o­nizes this bird into some sort of trau­ma, then holds it close and talks to it. “I feel absolute­ly tak­en apart,” being friends with the writer, Stead­man says. “…he’s hold­ing me like that bird and I’m try­ing to bite my way out.”

In Vegas, the crew and Stead­man try to rouse Thomp­son, then find him, con­fused, and with his face cov­ered in white make-up. In Hol­ly­wood, Thomp­son hates the atten­tion from the cam­era crew so much–not to men­tion the tourists who assume he is a celebri­ty of some kind–that they find him hid­ing behind a parked car.

This era was indeed the end of that phase of Thompson’s career. At one point he asks Finch if he’s there to film Thomp­son or to film Raoul Duke. Finch doesn’t know. Thomp­son doesn’t know either, but he does real­ize that “The myth has tak­en over…I feel like an appendage.” He can no longer cov­er events like he did with the Hell’s Angels, or the Ken­tucky Der­by, because of his fame. He can’t cov­er the sto­ry, because he’s become part of the sto­ry, and to a real jour­nal­ist that’s death.

So per­haps that’s the appeal of Hol­ly­wood? We see Thomp­son and Stead­man meet with a screen­writer (prob­a­bly John Kaye, who wrote Where the Buf­fa­lo Roam) to dis­cuss the script.

Thomp­son had agreed to option the script because, like Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, he nev­er believed it would get made. So when it went into pro­duc­tion he had pret­ty much giv­en away cre­ative con­trol. The script, he said, “It sucks – a bad, dumb, low-lev­el, low-rent script.”

How­ev­er, Bill Mur­ray and Thomp­son hung out in Aspen togeth­er dur­ing the shoot and engaged in a sort of mind-meld, Mur­ray becom­ing a ver­sion of Duke. When Mur­ray returned to Sat­ur­day Night Live that sea­son, he came back as a cig­a­rette-hold­er-smok­ing faux-Thomp­son. Years lat­er, John­ny Depp would also find him­self being trans­formed dur­ing Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. (I noticed right after watch­ing this Omnibus spe­cial that I answered my phone in a sort of Thomp­son drawl until my friend called me out. The pow­er of the Gonzo is such.)

But the man who had an equal pow­er over Thomp­son was Richard Nixon. Since see­ing the wily politi­cian reap­pear on the nation­al stage dur­ing the Bar­ry Gold­wa­ter cam­paign in 1964, Thomp­son cor­rect­ly rec­og­nized an ene­my of every­thing he held dear, a dark side of Amer­i­ca ris­ing from the corpse of John F. Kennedy. And Nixon caused the fear and the loathing in Amer­i­ca to bear fruit. As Thomp­son says in the doc­u­men­tary:

Richard Nixon for me stands for every­thing that I would not want to have hap­pen to myself, or be, or be around. He is every­thing that I have con­tempt for and dis­like and I think should be stomped out: Greed, treach­ery, stu­pid­i­ty, cupid­i­ty, pos­i­tive pow­er of lying, total con­tempt for any sort of human, con­struc­tive, polit­i­cal instinct. Every­thing that’s wrong with Amer­i­ca, every­thing that this coun­try has demon­strat­ed as a nation­al trait, that the world finds repug­nant: the bul­ly instinct, the pow­er grab, the dumb­ness, the insen­si­tiv­i­ty. Nixon rep­re­sents every­thing that’s wrong with this coun­try, down the line.

Maybe the ques­tion is not, what would Thomp­son think of Trump, who doesn’t even feign Nixon’s hum­ble rou­tine. The ques­tion is, where is our Hunter S. Thomp­son?

Relat­ed con­tent:

Read 11 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Gets Con­front­ed by The Hell’s Angels: Where’s Our Two Kegs of Beer? (1967)

How Hunter S. Thomp­son Gave Birth to Gonzo Jour­nal­ism: Short Film Revis­its Thompson’s Sem­i­nal 1970 Piece on the Ken­tucky Der­by

Hunter S. Thompson’s Deca­dent Dai­ly Break­fast: The “Psy­chic Anchor” of His Fre­net­ic Cre­ative Life

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

How to Draw Like an Architect: An Introduction in Six Videos

That we pass through life with­out real­ly per­ceiv­ing our sur­round­ings has long been a com­mon­place. How can we cure our­selves of this regret­table con­di­tion? Before we can learn to notice more of what’s around us, we must have a process to test how much we already notice. Many artists and all archi­tects already have one: draw­ing, the process of record­ing one’s per­cep­tions direct­ly onto the page. But while artists may take their lib­er­ties with phys­i­cal real­i­ty — it isn’t called “artis­tic license” by coin­ci­dence — archi­tects draw with more rep­re­sen­ta­tion­al­ly rig­or­ous expec­ta­tions in mind.

Though we can height­en our aware­ness of the built envi­ron­ment around us by prac­tic­ing archi­tec­tur­al draw­ing, we need not learn only from archi­tects. In the video at the top of the post, a Youtu­ber named Shadya Camp­bell who deals with cre­ativ­i­ty more gen­er­al­ly offers a primer on how to draw build­ings — or, per­haps less intim­i­dat­ing­ly, on “archi­tec­tur­al doo­dles for begin­ners.” As an exam­ple, she works through a draw­ing of Paris’ Notre-Dame cathe­dral (mere weeks, inci­den­tal­ly, before the fire of last April so dra­mat­i­cal­ly altered its appear­ance), using a sim­ple head-on view­point that nev­er­the­less pro­vides plen­ty of oppor­tu­ni­ty to prac­tice cap­tur­ing its shapes and fill­ing in its details.

Below that, archi­tect Llyan Aus­tria goes a step fur­ther by intro­duc­ing a few draw­ing prac­tices from the pro­fes­sion under the ban­ner of his “top six archi­tec­ture sketch­ing tech­niques.” Much of his guid­ance has to do with draw­ing some­thing as sim­ple — or as seem­ing­ly sim­ple — as a line: he rec­om­mends begin­ning with the most gen­er­al out­lines of a space or build­ing and fill­ing in the details lat­er, empha­siz­ing the start and end of each line, and let­ting the lines that meet over­lap. To get slight­ly more tech­ni­cal, he also intro­duces the meth­ods of per­spec­tive, used to make archi­tec­tur­al draw­ings look more real­is­ti­cal­ly three-dimen­sion­al.

When you intro­duce per­spec­tive to your draw­ings, you have three types to choose from, one-point, two-point, and three-point. A draw­ing in one-point per­spec­tive, the sim­plest of the three, has only a sin­gle “van­ish­ing point,” the point at which all of its par­al­lel lines seem to con­verge, and is most com­mon­ly used to ren­der inte­ri­ors (or to com­pose shots in Stan­ley Kubrick movies). In two-point per­spec­tive, two van­ish­ing points make pos­si­ble more angles of view­ing, look­ing not just straight down a hall, for exam­ple, but at the cor­ner of a build­ing’s exte­ri­or. With the third van­ish­ing point incor­po­rat­ed into three-point per­spec­tive, you can draw from a high angle, the “bird’s eye view,” or a low angle, the “wor­m’s eye view.”

You can learn how to draw from all three types of per­spec­tive in “How to Draw in Per­spec­tive for Begin­ners,” a video from Youtube chan­nel Art of Wei. Below that comes the more specif­i­cal­ly archi­tec­ture-mind­ed “How to Draw a House in Two Point Per­spec­tive” from Tom McPher­son­’s Cir­cle Line Art School. After a lit­tle prac­tice, you’ll soon be ready to enrich your archi­tec­tur­al draw­ing skills, how­ev­er rudi­men­ta­ry they may be, with advice both by and for archi­tec­ture pro­fes­sion­als. At his chan­nel 30X40 Design Work­shop, archi­tect Eric Rein­holdt has pro­duced videos on all aspects of the prac­tice, and below you’ll find his video of “essen­tial tips” on how to draw like an archi­tect.”

In this video and anoth­er on archi­tec­tur­al sketch­ing, Rein­holdt offers such prac­ti­cal advice as pulling your pen or pen­cil instead of push­ing it, mov­ing your arm rather than just piv­ot­ing at the wrist, and mak­ing “sin­gle, con­tin­u­ous, con­fi­dent strokes.” He also goes over the impor­tance of line weight — that is, the rel­a­tive dark­ness and thick­ness of lines — and how it can help view­ers to feel what in a draw­ing is sup­posed to be where. But we can’t ben­e­fit from any of this if we don’t also do as he says and make draw­ing a habit, switch­ing up our loca­tion and mate­ri­als as nec­es­sary to keep our minds engaged. That goes whether we have a pro­fes­sion­al or edu­ca­tion­al inter­est in archi­tec­ture or whether we just want to learn to see the ever-shift­ing mix­ture of man­made and nat­ur­al forms that sur­rounds us in all its rich­ness.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

How to Draw the Human Face & Head: A Free 3‑Hour Tuto­r­i­al

Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry Teach­es You How to Draw

Mil­ton Glaser Draws Shake­speare & Explains Why Draw­ing is the Key to Under­stand­ing Life

The Ele­ments of Draw­ing: A Free Course from Oxford

Watch 50+ Doc­u­men­taries on Famous Archi­tects & Build­ings: Bauhaus, Le Cor­busier, Hadid & Many More

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 or on Face­book.

Hear Christopher Tolkien (RIP) Read the Work of His Father J.R.R. Tolkien, Which He Tirelessly Worked to Preserve

J.R.R. Tolkien is respon­si­ble for the exis­tence of Mid­dle-earth, the rich­ly real­ized fic­tion­al set­ting of the Lord of the Rings nov­els. But he also did his bit for the exis­tence of the much less fic­tion­al Christo­pher Tolkien, his third son as well as, in J.R.R.‘s own words, his “chief crit­ic and col­lab­o­ra­tor.” Christo­pher spent much of his life return­ing the favor, ded­i­cat­ing him­self to the orga­ni­za­tion, preser­va­tion, and pub­li­ca­tion of his father’s notes on Mid­dle-earth­’s elab­o­rate geog­ra­phy, his­to­ry, and mythol­o­gy until his own death this past Wednes­day at the age of 95.

Most fans of Tolkien père came to know the work of Tolkien fils through The Sil­mar­il­lion, the col­lec­tion of the for­mer’s pre­vi­ous­ly unpub­lished mythopoe­ic writ­ings on Mid­dle-Earth and the uni­verse that con­tains it. That book came out in 1977, four years after J.R.R. Tolkien’s death, and for a time there­after, write The New York Times’ Katharine Q. Seelye and Alan Yuhas, “Tolkien fans and schol­ars won­dered how much of The Sil­mar­il­lion was the work of the father and how much was the work of the son.”

In response, “Christo­pher pro­duced the 12-vol­ume The His­to­ry of Mid­dle-Earth (1996), a com­pi­la­tion of drafts, frag­ments, rewrites, mar­gin­al notes and oth­er writ­ings culled from 70 box­es of unpub­lished mate­r­i­al.”

Christo­pher Tolkien did­n’t just take over J.R.R. Tolkien’s duties as the stew­ard of Mid­dle-earth; he more or less grew up in the place, and even pro­vid­ed com­ments, at his father’s request, on the work that would become The Lord of the Rings. The pow­er of J.R.R. Tolkien’s sto­ry­telling, one often hears, owes in part to the writer’s thor­ough ground­ing in lit­er­ary and lin­guis­tic sub­jects like Eng­lish and Ger­man­ic philol­o­gy, hero­ic verse, Old Norse, Old Ice­landic, and medieval Welsh. Christo­pher Tolkien, in turn, made him­self into what Seelye and Yhuas call “an author­i­ty, above all, on the reams of writ­ing that his father pro­duced.” You can hear Christo­pher Tolkien read author­i­ta­tive­ly from the work of J.R.R. Tolkien in the videos pre­sent­ed here.

The first three clips from the top come two vinyl LPs released in 1977 and 1988 by Caed­mon Records (the pro­to-audio­book label that also put out Edgar Allan Poe read by Vin­cent Price and Basil Rath­bone as well as Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er read by Hem­ing­way and Faulkn­er). All of their selec­tions come from The Sil­mar­il­lion, the Tolkien text that would nev­er have seen the light of day if not for Christo­pher’s efforts (and those of Guy Gavriel Kay, who would lat­er become a fan­ta­sy nov­el­ist him­self). But as a trib­ute to the man’s life so rig­or­ous­ly devot­ed to a body of work that has fas­ci­nat­ed so many, what could be more suit­able than the video above, his read­ing of the very end of the final book in the Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy, The Return of the King. Christo­pher Tolkien kept his father’s flame alive, and thanks to his work that flame will sur­vive him — and gen­er­a­tions of Tolkien read­ers to come.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear J.R.R. Tolkien Read from The Lord of the Rings and The Hob­bit in Vin­tage Record­ings from the Ear­ly 1950s

110 Draw­ings and Paint­ings by J.R.R. Tolkien: Of Mid­dle-Earth and Beyond

Map of Mid­dle-Earth Anno­tat­ed by Tolkien Found in a Copy of Lord of the Rings

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 or on Face­book.

The Anti-Conformist, Libertarian Philosophy That Shaped Rush’s Classic Albums

“Through­out their career, Rush have been proud­ly anti-con­formist and anti-author­i­tar­i­an,” notes the Poly­phon­ic video on recent­ly depart­ed drum­mer and lyri­cist Neil Peart, above. “This phi­los­o­phy is clear­ly reflect­ed in many of their finest works.” Since the addi­tion of Peart in 1974 after their first, self-titled album, Rush’s phi­los­o­phy has also been unam­bigu­ous­ly Lib­er­tar­i­an.

Of course, Peart also turned Rush into the most lit­er­ary of pro­gres­sive rock bands. Steeped in fan­ta­sy, sci­ence fic­tion, and moral phi­los­o­phy, he trans­lat­ed his influ­ences into a sprawl­ing sci-fi vision all his own, and one that con­sis­tent­ly exceed­ed the sum of its parts. Yet ear­ly Rush was also very much a band that wrote earnest, epic songs about Ayn Rand’s Objec­tivism.

Peart drew heav­i­ly on her work in the first three albums he record­ed with the band, includ­ing 1975’s Fly by Night, which includ­ed the song “Anthem,” an ode to tow­er­ing cre­ative genius­es that cribs from Rand’s dystopi­an nov­el of the same name. Rush’s break­out mas­ter­work, 2112, released the fol­low­ing year, expand­ed dra­mat­i­cal­ly on the theme, as you’ll see in the Poly­phon­ic break­down of its lyrics.

The 20-minute open­ing title track tells the sto­ry of a futur­is­tic, fic­tion­al city of Megadon, a place, writes Rob Bow­man in the 40th anniver­sary edi­tion lin­er notes, “where indi­vid­u­al­ism and cre­ativ­i­ty are out­lawed with the pop­u­la­tion con­trolled by a cabal of malev­o­lent Priests who reside in the Tem­ples of Syrinx.” Based on a short sto­ry by Peart, he him­self cred­it­ed its inspi­ra­tion in the orig­i­nal lin­er notes to “the genius of Ayn Rand.”

These ref­er­ences don’t seem to make Rush fans love their career-defin­ing mid-sev­en­ties con­cept albums any less. But it has meant that a great deal of talk about Rush has for­ev­er linked Peart with this phase in his life. Asked about it in Rolling Stone almost four decades after 2112’s release, he dis­avowed a last­ing influ­ence.

Oh, no. That was 40 years ago. But it was impor­tant to me at the time in a tran­si­tion of find­ing myself and hav­ing faith that what I believed was worth­while…. On that 2112 album, again, I was in my ear­ly twen­ties. I was a kid. Now I call myself a bleed­ing heart lib­er­tar­i­an.

The change came about, he says, after he saw how lib­er­tar­i­an ideals get “twist­ed by the flaws of human­i­ty.” Peart, and Rush, how­ev­er nev­er wavered from their anti-author­i­tar­i­an cham­pi­oning of indi­vid­ual rights. And denials aside, the Ran­di­an influ­ence lin­gered, espe­cial­ly in songs like “Freewill” from 1980’s Per­ma­nent Waves:

You can choose from phan­tom fears  
And kind­ness that can kill  
I will choose a path that’s clear  
I will choose free will 

Rush’s lib­er­tar­i­an streak—both the ear­ly Objec­tivist and lat­er “bleed­ing heart” varieties—can broad­ly be called their guid­ing polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy. But it should not be mis­tak­en for Peart’s sole obses­sion. His songs are full of huge themes, as well as the “thorny ques­tions” of every­day life, writes Annie Zales­ki at NPR. “Like the best song­writ­ing, Peart’s body of work was also mal­leable enough to grow with its listeners—his songs often mused about aging and the impor­tance of dream­ing.”

Some­times Rush spoke even more direct­ly to their aging fans. “The omi­nous ‘Sub­di­vi­sions’ railed against the con­formist sub­urbs that ‘have no charms to soothe the rest­less dreams of youth.’” Whether or not Rush fans them­selves have had an ear­ly Ayn Rand phase, all of them iden­ti­fy with Peart’s life­long desire to seize his own des­tiny and escape the mun­dane.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wit­ness Rush Drum­mer Neil Peart’s (RIP) Finest Moments On Stage and Screen

Who Are the Best Drum Soloists in Rock? See Leg­endary Per­for­mances by Neil Peart (RIP), John Bon­ham, Kei­th Moon, Ter­ry Bozzio & More

Free Audio: Ayn Rand’s 1938 Dystopi­an Novel­la Anthem 

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

Cooking with Wool: Watch Mouthwatering Tiny Woolen Food Animations

Our fas­ci­na­tion with tiny food can be traced to the mouth­wa­ter­ing illus­tra­tions in Beat­rix Potter’s The Tale of Two Bad Mice.

Just like the doll­house-sized comestibles that so con­found­ed the tit­u­lar rodents, Tom Thumb and Hun­ca­munca, ani­ma­tor Andrea Love’s minia­ture pas­ta with red sauce is as ined­i­ble as it is appe­tiz­ing.

The self-taught stop motion specialist’s medi­um of choice is wool.

In an inter­view with Drag­on Frame stop motion software’s com­pa­ny blog, when they fea­tured Cook­ing with Wool: Break­fast, above, Love explained:

I like to make short per­son­al projects exper­i­ment­ing with the dif­fer­ent ways to ani­mate wool. The tech­nique is called nee­dle felt­ing and it involves shap­ing wool with a barbed nee­dle. I love the fuzzy aes­thet­ic, and feel like the pos­si­bil­i­ties are end­less. Every­thing in this video is made out of wool or felt, and is built over rigid insu­la­tion foam. This was a weekend/evening project, done over the course of three days… It is very chal­leng­ing work­ing with tiny bits of wool, but also amaz­ing how much detail can be achieved on a small scale when you con­sid­er that it is just tiny clumps of fur.

For­get the showstoppers—the melt­ing but­ter, the fried eggs flip­ping in the pan, the steam ris­ing from cup and ket­tle…

Let’s take a moment to admire the atten­tion to detail that went into the back­ground aspects—the rub­ber spat­u­la, the bananas, the cheery flecked wall­pa­per…

The only thing miss­ing is a pothold­er to han­dle that pip­ing hot cast iron skil­let.

Per­haps she ran out of wool?

The Port Townsend, Wash­ing­ton res­i­dent, who grad­u­at­ed from Hamp­shire Col­lege with a con­cen­tra­tion in film stud­ies and sus­tain­able agri­cul­ture, whips up her tee­ny wee­ny wooly meals in the same base­ment stu­dio where she crafts pro­mo­tion­al videos for local busi­ness­es, includ­ing the yarn shop where she sources her wool rov­ings.

View more of Andrea Love’s fiber-art stop motion ani­ma­tions, includ­ing a “dig­i­tal” banana paint­ing cre­at­ed with a woolen tablet and sty­lus, on her web­site and Insta­gram page.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Online Knit­ting Ref­er­ence Library: Down­load 300 Knit­ting Books Pub­lished From 1849 to 2012

Behold an Anatom­i­cal­ly Cor­rect Repli­ca of the Human Brain, Knit­ted by a Psy­chi­a­trist

20+ Knit­ters and Cro­chet Artists Stitch an Aston­ish­ing 3‑D Recre­ation of Picasso’s Guer­ni­ca

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Feb­ru­ary 3 for New York: The Nation’s Metrop­o­lis the 21st install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Daily Routines of Famous Creative People, Presented in an Interactive Infographic


Click the image above to access the inter­ac­tive info­graph­ic.
The dai­ly life of great authors, artists and philoso­phers has long been the sub­ject of fas­ci­na­tion among those who look upon their work in awe. After all, life can often feel like, to quote Elbert Hub­bard, “one damned thing after anoth­er” — a con­stant mud­dle of oblig­a­tions and respon­si­bil­i­ties inter­spersed with moments of fleet­ing plea­sure, wrapped in gnaw­ing low-lev­el exis­ten­tial pan­ic. (Or, at least, it does to me.) Yet some peo­ple man­age to tran­scend this per­pet­u­al bar­rage of office meet­ings, com­muter traf­fic and the unholy allure of real­i­ty TV to cre­ate bril­liant work. It’s easy to think that the key to their suc­cess is how they struc­ture their day.

Mason Currey’s blog-turned-book Dai­ly Rit­u­als describes the worka­day life of great minds from W.H. Auden to Immanuel Kant, from Flan­nery O’Connor to Franz Kaf­ka. The one thing that Currey’s project under­lines is that there is no mag­ic bul­let. The dai­ly rou­tines are as var­ied as the peo­ple who fol­low them– though long walks, a ridicu­lous­ly ear­ly wake up time and a stiff drink are com­mon to many.

One school of thought for cre­at­ing is summed up by Gus­tave Flaubert’s max­im, “Be reg­u­lar and order­ly in your life, so that you may be vio­lent and orig­i­nal in your work.” Haru­ki Muraka­mi has a famous­ly rigid rou­tine that involves get­ting up at 4am and writ­ing for nine hours straight, fol­lowed by a dai­ly 10km run. “The rep­e­ti­tion itself becomes the impor­tant thing; it’s a form of mes­merism. I mes­mer­ize myself to reach a deep­er state of mind. But to hold to such rep­e­ti­tion for so long—six months to a year—requires a good amount of men­tal and phys­i­cal strength. In that sense, writ­ing a long nov­el is like sur­vival train­ing. Phys­i­cal strength is as nec­es­sary as artis­tic sen­si­tiv­i­ty.” He admits that his sched­ule allows lit­tle room for a social life.

Then there’s the fan­tas­ti­cal­ly pro­lif­ic Bel­gian author George Simenon, who some­how man­aged to crank out 425 books over the course of his career. He would go for weeks with­out writ­ing, fol­lowed by short bursts of fren­zied activ­i­ty. He would also wear the same out­fit every­day while work­ing on his nov­el, reg­u­lar­ly take tran­quil­iz­ers and some­how find the time to have sex with up to four dif­fer­ent women a day.

Most writ­ers fall some­where in between. Toni Mor­ri­son, for instance, has a rou­tine that that seems far more relat­able than the super­man sched­ules of Muraka­mi or Sime­on. Since she jug­gled rais­ing two chil­dren and a full time job as an edi­tor at Ran­dom House, Mor­ri­son sim­ply wrote when she could. “I am not able to write reg­u­lar­ly,” she once told The Paris Review. “I have nev­er been able to do that—mostly because I have always had a nine-to-five job. I had to write either in between those hours, hur­ried­ly, or spend a lot of week­end and predawn time.”

Above is a way cool info­graph­ic of the dai­ly rou­tines of 26 dif­fer­ent cre­ators, cre­at­ed by Podio.com. And if you want to see an inter­ac­tive ver­sion of the same graph­ic but with rollover bits of triv­ia, just click here. You’ll learn that Voltaire slept only 4 hours a day and worked con­stant­ly. Vic­tor Hugo pre­ferred to take a morn­ing ice bath on his roof. And Maya Angelou pre­ferred to work in an anony­mous hotel room.

Note: The info­graph­ic above is very light on women. For any­one inter­est­ed in the dai­ly habits of female cre­ators, see this post and Mason Cur­rey’s relat­ed book: The Dai­ly Rit­u­als of 143 Famous Female Cre­ators.

An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in Jan­u­ary 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dai­ly Habits of High­ly Pro­duc­tive Philoso­phers: Niet­zsche, Marx & Immanuel Kant

Ursu­la K. Le Guin’s Dai­ly Rou­tine: The Dis­ci­pline That Fueled Her Imag­i­na­tion

The Dai­ly Habits of Famous Writ­ers: Franz Kaf­ka, Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Stephen King & More

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

When People Gave Anti-Valentine’s Day Cards: Revisit the “Vinegar Valentines” That Spread Ridicule and Contempt

Krampus—the Christ­mas “half goat, half demon” of Ger­man­ic folklore—has become a fig­ure of some fas­ci­na­tion in pop­u­lar cul­ture recent­ly. We might call the appetite for this “anti-St. Nicholas… who lit­er­al­ly beats peo­ple into being nice and not naughty,” Nation­al Geo­graph­ic writes, a tes­ta­ment to a wide­spread sen­ti­ment: Hang the forced cheer, Christ­mas can be dread­ful.

How much more so can Valentine’s Day feel like a big con, cooked up by mar­keters and choco­latiers? Though estab­lished 200 years after the saint’s 3rd cen­tu­ry A.D. mar­tyr­dom, and linked with roman­tic love by Geof­frey Chaucer in the 14th cen­tu­ry, its sta­tus as a day to over­spend has more mod­ern ori­gins. Even some of us who duti­ful­ly buy jew­el­ry, flow­ers, and cards each year may wish for a Valentine’s Day Kram­pus.

If you count your­self among those hum­bugs, you’ll be hap­py to learn about a once-rich anti-Valentine’s Day tra­di­tion “dur­ing the Vic­to­ri­an era and the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry,” as Becky Lit­tle writes at Smith­son­ian, “Feb­ru­ary 14 was also a day in which unlucky vic­tims could receive ‘vine­gar valen­tines’ from their secret haters.” Like the choic­es of San­ta or Kram­pus, tricks or treats, one could make the hol­i­day about love or hate.

One schol­ar, Annebel­la Pollen, who has writ­ten on the sub­ject “says that peo­ple often ask her whether these cards were an ear­ly form of ‘trolling.’” Per­haps that’s not an entire­ly accu­rate com­par­i­son. Trolls like hoax­es, and most­ly like to wit­ness the reac­tions to their provo­ca­tions. But Valen­tines cyn­ics pro­ceed­ed with the same cru­el glee. As Atlas Obscu­ra notes, anti-Valen­tines were meant to wound and shame, Kram­pus-like. Their appeal proved prof­itable:

Vine­gar valen­tines were com­mer­cial­ly bought post­cards that were less beau­ti­ful than their love-filled coun­ter­parts, and con­tained an insult­ing poem and illus­tra­tion. They were sent anony­mous­ly, so the receiv­er had to guess who hat­ed him or her; as if this weren’t bruis­ing enough, the recip­i­ent paid the postage on deliv­ery. In Civ­il War Humor, Cameron C. Nick­els wrote that vine­gar valen­tines were “taste­less, even vul­gar,” and were sent to “drunks, shrews, bach­e­lors, old maids, dandies, flirts, and pen­ny pinch­ers, and the like.” He added that in 1847, sales between love-mind­ed valen­tines and these sour notes were split at a major New York valen­tine pub­lish­er.

Some vine­gar valen­tines pub­lish­ers had anoth­er thing in com­mon with mod­ern-day trolls: they cap­i­tal­ized on a hatred of fem­i­nism. “The women’s suf­frage move­ment of the late 19th and ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry brought anoth­er class of vine­gar valen­tines, tar­get­ing women who fought for the right to vote.” These por­trayed suf­frag­ists as ugly, abu­sive, and unde­sir­able, a stereo­type found in the world of sin­cere valen­tines as well. One such card “depict­ed a pret­ty woman sur­round­ed by hearts, with a plain appeal: ‘In these wild days of suf­fragette drays, I’m sure you’d ne’er over­look a girl who can’t be mil­i­tant, but sim­ply loves to cook.’”

Vine­gar valen­tines (a lat­er name—they were called “com­ic valen­tines” at the time) prompt­ed all the sorts of con­cerns we’re used to see­ing. Teach­ers wor­ried about the effect of such com­mer­cial­ized emo­tion­al cru­el­ty on their stu­dents. One mag­a­zine enjoined teach­ers to make Valentine’s Day “a day for kind remem­brance than a day for wreck­ing revenge.” But where’s the fun in that? Vine­gar valen­tines, says Pollen, “were designed to expand this hol­i­day into some­thing that could include a whole range of dif­fer­ent peo­ple and a whole range of dif­fer­ent emo­tions,” includ­ing some very un-Valen­tine’s Day-like con­tempt.

Find a big col­lec­tion of Vine­gar Valen­tines at Col­lec­tor’s Week­ly.

via 41 Strange

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cel­e­brate Valentine’s Day with a Charm­ing Stop Motion Ani­ma­tion of an E.E. Cum­mings’ Love Poem

Tom Waits Shows Us How Not to Get a Date on Valentine’s Day

Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque Love Let­ters

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

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