Give Duke Ellington the Pulitzer Prize He Was Denied in 1965

Image by Louis Panas­sié, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Duke Elling­ton has been com­mem­o­rat­ed in a vari­ety of forms: stat­ues, murals, schools, and even Unit­ed States com­mem­o­ra­tive stamps and coins. In his life­time he received a star on the Hol­ly­wood Walk of Fame, a Gram­my Life­time Achieve­ment, a Pres­i­den­tial Medal of Free­dom, and a Légion d’hon­neur. His posthu­mous hon­ors even include a Spe­cial Pulitzer Prize award­ed in 1999, the cen­ten­ni­al year of his birth. 34 years ear­li­er, in 1965, he’d been named for–but ulti­mate­ly denied–a reg­u­lar Pulitzer Prize for Music, a deci­sion his appre­ci­a­tors are now try­ing to reverse.

“The jury that judged the entrants that year decid­ed to do some­thing dif­fer­ent,” writes jazz crit­ic Ted Gioia. “They rec­om­mend­ed giv­ing the hon­or to Duke Elling­ton for the ‘vital­i­ty and orig­i­nal­i­ty of his total pro­duc­tiv­i­ty’ over the course of more than forty years.” This broke from tra­di­tion in that the Pulitzer Prize for Music usu­al­ly hon­ors a sin­gle work: in 1945 it went to Aaron Cop­land for his bal­let Appalachi­an Spring; in 1958 it went to Samuel Bar­ber for his opera Vanes­sa; in 1960 it went to Elliott Carter for his Sec­ond String Quar­tet.

Alas, “the Pulitzer Board refused to accept the deci­sion of the jury, and decid­ed it would be bet­ter to give out no award, rather than hon­or Duke Elling­ton. Two mem­bers of the three-per­son judg­ing pan­el, Winthrop Sargeant and Robert Eyer, resigned in the after­math.” Elling­ton, for his part, react­ed to this unfor­tu­nate devel­op­ment with char­ac­ter­is­tic equa­nim­i­ty: “Fate is being kind to me,” he told the press. “Fate doesn’t want me to be famous too young” — to which Gioia adds that “he was 66 years old at the time, and in the final decade of his life.”

In an effort to retroac­tive­ly award Elling­ton his Pulitzer Prize for Music, Gioia has has launched an online peti­tion. If you sign it, you’ll join the likes of John Adams, Michael Dir­da, Steve Reich, and Gene Wein­garten, all Pulitzer win­ners them­selves, as well as oth­er lumi­nar­ies and enthu­si­asts who’ve voiced their sup­port — near­ly 9,000 of them as of this writ­ing. “We assume that Pulitzers are award­ed to work that qual­i­fies as for the ages, that push­es the enve­lope, that sug­gests not just clev­er­ness but genius,” writes the New York Times’ John McWhort­er. “There can be no doubt that Ellington’s cor­pus fits that def­i­n­i­tion.”

Revers­ing the com­mit­tee deci­sion of 1965, Gioia writes, would enhance “the pres­tige and legit­i­ma­cy of the Pulitzer — and every award needs that nowa­days, when many have grown skep­ti­cal about our lead­ing prizes.” What’s more, “it’s the prop­er thing for the music — because every time gen­uine artistry is rec­og­nized it sets an exam­ple for the present gen­er­a­tion, and lays a foun­da­tion for the future.” In recent decades, the aes­thet­ic range of Pulitzer-hon­ored music has widened con­sid­er­ably: McWhort­er points as an exam­ple to 2018’s win­ner, Kendrick Lamar’s album Damn. It could be that, as far as Elling­ton is con­cerned, it’s tak­en the rest of us 57 years to catch up with him. Sign the peti­tion here.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Such Sweet Thun­der: Duke Elling­ton & Bil­ly Strayhorn’s Musi­cal Trib­ute to Shake­speare (1957)

Duke Ellington’s Sym­pho­ny in Black, Star­ring a 19-Year-old Bil­lie Hol­i­day in Her First Filmed Per­for­mance

Decon­struct­ing Ste­vie Wonder’s Ode to Jazz and His Hero Duke Elling­ton: A Great Break­down of “Sir Duke”

How Old School Records Were Made, From Start to Fin­ish: A 1937 Video Fea­tur­ing Duke Elling­ton

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

A Virtual Tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Lost Japanese Masterpiece, the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo

Tokyo once had a hotel by Frank Lloyd Wright. Such an archi­tec­tur­al asset, one might assume, would be pre­served at all costs, yet this one was demol­ished in 1967. But the fact that Wright’s Impe­r­i­al Hotel stood for only 45 years won’t sur­prise any­one famil­iar with Japan­ese build­ing cul­ture, nor will the fact that it was only one of a series of Impe­r­i­al Hotels that have occu­pied the same site. As evi­denced by the Ise Grand Shrine, which has been demol­ished and rebuilt every twen­ty years since the eighth cen­tu­ry, a struc­ture’s val­ue in Japan has noth­ing to do with its longevi­ty. Still, this expla­na­tion may not sat­is­fy Wright enthu­si­asts, the great major­i­ty of whom have only been able to see the mas­ter’s most famous Japan­ese build­ing in pho­tographs, dia­grams, and post­cards.

Just this year, the Frank Lloyd Trust has giv­en us a way to expe­ri­ence it as nobody could in its hey­day: a vir­tu­al tour video “shot” from the per­spec­tive of a fly­ing drone. (Watch above.) It comes as an entry in Frank Lloyd Wright: The Lost Works, which “brings Wright’s demol­ished and unre­al­ized struc­tures to life through immer­sive dig­i­tal ani­ma­tions recon­struct­ed from Wright’s orig­i­nal plans and draw­ings, along with archival pho­tographs.”

Here we have Wright’s East-meets-West mas­ter­piece recon­struct­ed just as it must have looked when it opened on Sep­tem­ber 1st, 1923 — the same day, coin­ci­den­tal­ly, as the Great Kan­tō earth­quake that dev­as­tat­ed Tokyo. The Impe­r­i­al Hotel took some dam­age, but came through intact.

A less­er earth­quake had already struck the pre­vi­ous year, but it left the hotel unharmed despite its still being under con­struc­tion. (The same can’t be said of the frag­ile remains of the orig­i­nal Impe­r­i­al Hotel, built in 1890 and gut­ted by fire in 1922, that Wright had been com­mis­sioned to replace.) But over sub­se­quent decades, time took its toll in oth­er ways: “the Wright-designed Impe­r­i­al would even­tu­al­ly be con­sid­ered by the post-war trav­el­er to be dark and musty,” writes Steve Sund­berg at Old Tokyo, “and its un-air-con­di­tioned rooms too small. The hotel’s foun­da­tion, too, had by then set­tled uneven­ly into the soft sub­soil; its long hall­ways and cor­ri­dors came to have a wavy, rub­bery appear­ance about them.”

Even when new, the Impe­r­i­al Hotel had its dis­com­forts: Sund­berg quotes a 1925 Far East­ern Review arti­cle call­ing it “a hun­dred years ahead of the age in its archi­tec­tur­al fea­tures and fifty years behind in many things which make for the com­fort of its patrons.” Wright “sac­ri­ficed every­thing to his art, rais­ing a mon­u­ment to his genius and bequeath­ing to the Japan­ese the dif­fi­cult task of mak­ing it a finan­cial suc­cess.” It was finan­cial exi­gen­cies, in part, that moti­vat­ed its demo­li­tion and replace­ment with a third, high-rise Impe­r­i­al Hotel in 1967 — whose own impend­ing demo­li­tion and replace­ment was announced just last year. France-based Japan­ese archi­tect Tsuyoshi Tane has pro­duced a design for the fourth Impe­r­i­al Hotel; what trib­ute, if any, it pays Wright’s lega­cy we’ll only find out when it opens in 2036.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Take a 360° Vir­tu­al Tour of Tal­iesin, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Per­son­al Home & Stu­dio

12 Famous Frank Lloyd Wright Hous­es Offer Vir­tu­al Tours: Hol­ly­hock House, Tal­iesin West, Falling­wa­ter & More

That Far Cor­ner: Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Ange­les – A Free Online Doc­u­men­tary

Build Wood­en Mod­els of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Great Build­ing: The Guggen­heim, Uni­ty Tem­ple, John­son Wax Head­quar­ters & More

Why Japan Has the Old­est Busi­ness­es in the World? Hōshi, a 1300-Year-Old Hotel, Offers Clues

Wabi-Sabi: A Short Film on the Beau­ty of Tra­di­tion­al Japan

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Never-Seen Vincent Van Gogh Self-Portrait Discovered Behind an Earlier Painting

The name of Vin­cent Van Gogh is one of the very best known in the his­to­ry of paint­ing, and indeed the his­to­ry of art. But that does­n’t mean the man him­self enjoyed any suc­cess in his short life­time. Though he was con­vinced that he was cre­at­ing “the art of the future,” and seem­ing­ly right to believe it, the buy­ers of nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry Euro­pean art did­n’t see it quite that way. Con­se­quent­ly impov­er­ished, Van Gogh had to resort to uncon­ven­tion­al strate­gies to main­tain his artis­tic pro­duc­tiv­i­ty. Instead of pro­fes­sion­al mod­els, for exam­ple, he hired peas­ants and peo­ple from the streets. And when he could­n’t paint them, he paint­ed him­self.

Van Gogh would also econ­o­mize by re-using his can­vas­es, a prac­tice not unknown in his day. “How­ev­er, instead of paint­ing over ear­li­er works,” writes Jor­dan Ogg at Nation­al Gal­leries Scot­land, “he would turn the can­vas around and work on the reverse.”

It seems he did this with the Nation­al Gal­leries Scot­land’s own Head of a Peas­ant Woman, whose back side turns out to bear a hith­er­to unknown self-por­trait hid­den by “lay­ers of glue and card­board” for well over a cen­tu­ry. X‑ray analy­sis has revealed “a beard­ed sit­ter in a brimmed hat with a neck­er­chief loose­ly tied at the throat. He fix­es the view­er with an intense stare, the right side of his face in shad­ow and his left ear clear­ly vis­i­ble.”

Even in its ghost­ly lack of detail, this face seems to be unmis­tak­able. If it belongs to who we think it does, it will become the 36th known Van Gogh self-por­trait. It would have been paint­ed before 1884’s Head of a Peas­ant Woman, “dur­ing a key moment in Van Gogh’s career, when he was exposed to the work of the French impres­sion­ists after mov­ing to Paris.” You can learn about the ongo­ing process of this lost self-por­trait’s redis­cov­ery in the video at the top of the post. Van Gogh expressed con­vic­tion that he was paint­ing for lat­er gen­er­a­tions, but sure­ly even he would be astound­ed at the excite­ment of twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry cura­tors about find­ing anoth­er of his self por­traits — and one he saw fit to give the card­board treat­ment at that.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Vin­cent Van Gogh’s Self Por­traits: Explore & Down­load a Col­lec­tion of 17 Paint­ings Free Online

Behold the New­ly Dis­cov­ered Sketch by Vin­cent van Gogh Sketch, “Study for Worn Out” (1882)

Watch as Van Gogh’s Famous Self-Por­trait Morphs Into a Pho­to­graph

Dis­cov­ered: The Only Known Pic­ture of Vin­cent Van Gogh as an Adult Artist? (Maybe, Maybe Not)

AI & X‑Rays Recov­er Lost Art­works Under­neath Paint­ings by Picas­so & Modigliani

A Restored Ver­meer Paint­ing Reveals a Por­trait of a Cupid Hid­den for Over 350 Years

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

30,000 Photographs of Black History & Culture Are Available Online in a New Getty Images Archive


Image of Charles S.L. Bak­er with his Super­heat­ing Demon­stra­tion

Black His­to­ry Month is Feb­ru­ary in the Unit­ed States and Cana­da, and Octo­ber in the Unit­ed King­dom and Europe. It may be July right now, but if you’re inter­est­ed in a sub­ject, there’s no rea­son not to get more deeply into it all year round. This is under­scored by the open­ing, this month, of Get­ty Images’ Black His­to­ry and Cul­ture Col­lec­tion. As Petapix­el’s Matt Grow­coot writes, it con­tains “30,000 rarely seen images of the Black dias­po­ra in the Unit­ed King­dom and the Unit­ed States that date back to the 19th cen­tu­ry,” draw­ing from the domains of “pol­i­tics, sport, music, cul­ture, mil­i­tary, and celebri­ty.”

In the Black His­to­ry and Cul­ture Col­lec­tion you’ll find pic­tures of cul­tur­al fig­ures like Duke Elling­ton and Jay‑Z, Jack John­son, Venus and Ser­e­na Williams, Sojourn­er Truth, and Bernar­dine Evaris­to. These names only hint at the range of the archive, which you can also browse by cat­e­go­ry tags: “civ­il rights,” “gov­er­nance,” and “sports,” to name a few exam­ples, but also “fam­i­lies,” “fash­ion,” and “hair.”

There are, of course, an enor­mous num­ber of pho­tos filed under “Amer­i­can Cul­ture,” which would itself be unimag­in­able with­out the con­tri­bu­tions of the peo­ple doc­u­ment­ed. But the same could be said of the oth­er side of the pond; hence the inclu­sion of a “Black British Cul­ture” label as well.

Cre­at­ing the Black His­to­ry and Cul­ture Col­lec­tion involved more than just tag­ging pho­tos. You can learn more about what went into it in the short video above, which includes the voic­es of col­lab­o­ra­tors like NYU Tisch School of the Arts’ Deb­o­rah Willis and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­ni­a’s Tuku­fu Zuberi. The artist Rena­ta Cherlise speaks of the val­ue of the images of famous peo­ple, but also those of every­day life as it was lived in places and times like Harlem’s Savoy Ball­room in the nine­teen-for­ties. Whether or not your own her­itage is tied into this his­to­ry, you stand to learn a great deal from it. As Zuberi put sit, “Black cul­ture is the orig­i­nal human cul­ture, so there is no cul­ture that is alien to black cul­ture. The future of black cul­ture is the future of human cul­ture. Let’s go.”

via Petapix­el/Colossal

Relat­ed con­tent:

Take Free Online Cours­es on African-Amer­i­can His­to­ry from Yale and Stan­ford: From Eman­ci­pa­tion, to the Civ­il Rights Move­ment, and Beyond

The Names of 1.8 Mil­lion Eman­ci­pat­ed Slaves Are Now Search­able in the World’s Largest Genealog­i­cal Data­base, Help­ing African Amer­i­cans Find Lost Ances­tors

The Black Film Archive: A New Site High­lights 200+ Note­wor­thy Black Films Made Between 1915–1979

Hear the Voic­es of Amer­i­cans Born in Slav­ery: The Library of Con­gress Fea­tures 23 Audio Inter­views with For­mer­ly Enslaved Peo­ple (1932–75)

Pho­tos of 19th-Cen­tu­ry Black Women Activists Dig­i­tized and Put Online by The Library of Con­gress

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Walter Benjamin Explains How Fascism Uses Mass Media to Turn Politics Into Spectacle (1935)

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In his 1935 essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechan­i­cal Repro­ducibil­i­ty,” influ­en­tial Ger­man-Jew­ish crit­ic Wal­ter Ben­jamin intro­duced the term “aura” to describe an authen­tic expe­ri­ence of art. Aura relates to the phys­i­cal prox­im­i­ty between objects and their view­ers. Its loss, Ben­jamin argued, was a dis­tinct­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry phe­nom­e­non caused by mass media’s impo­si­tion of dis­tance between object and view­er, though it appears to bring art clos­er through a sim­u­la­tion of inti­ma­cy.

The essay makes for potent read­ing today. Mass media — which for Ben­jamin meant radio, pho­tog­ra­phy, and film — turns us all into poten­tial actors, crit­ics, experts, he wrote, and takes art out of the realm of the sacred and into the realm of the spec­ta­cle. Yet it retains the pre­tense of rit­u­al. We make offer­ings to cults of per­son­al­i­ty, expand­ed in our time to include influ­encers and revered and reviled bil­lion­aires and polit­i­cal fig­ures who joust in the head­lines like pro­fes­sion­al wrestlers, led around by the chief of all heels. As Ben­jamin writes:

The film responds to the shriv­el­ing of the aura with an arti­fi­cial build-up of the “per­son­al­i­ty” out­side the stu­dio. The cult of the movie star,  fos­tered by the mon­ey of the film indus­try, pre­serves not the unique aura of the per­son but the “spell of the per­son­al­i­ty,” the pho­ny spell of a com­mod­i­ty.

Benjamin’s focus on the medi­um as not only expres­sive but con­sti­tu­tive of mean­ing has made his essay a sta­ple on com­mu­ni­ca­tions and media the­o­ry course syl­labi, next to the work of Mar­shall McLuhan. Many read­ings tend to leave aside the pol­i­tics of its epi­logue, like­ly since “his rem­e­dy,” writes Michael Jay — “the politi­ciza­tion of art by Com­mu­nism — was for­got­ten by all but his most mil­i­tant Marx­ist inter­preters,” and hard­ly seemed like much of a rem­e­dy dur­ing the Cold War, when Ben­jamin became more wide­ly avail­able in trans­la­tion.

Ben­jam­in’s own idio­syn­crat­ic pol­i­tics aside, his essay antic­i­pates a cri­sis of author­ship and author­i­ty cur­rent­ly sur­fac­ing in the inves­ti­ga­tion of a failed coup that includes Twit­ter replies as key evi­dence — and in the use of social media more gen­er­al­ly as a dom­i­nant form of polit­i­cal spec­ta­cle.

With the increas­ing exten­sion of the press, which kept plac­ing new polit­i­cal, reli­gious, sci­en­tif­ic, pro­fes­sion­al, and local organs before the read­ers, an increas­ing num­ber of read­ers became writers—at first, occa­sion­al ones. It began with the dai­ly press open­ing to its read­ers space for “let­ters to the edi­tor.” And today there is hard­ly a gain­ful­ly employed Euro­pean who could not, in prin­ci­ple, find an oppor­tu­ni­ty to pub­lish some­where or oth­er com­ments on his work, griev­ances, doc­u­men­tary reports, or that sort of thing. Thus, the dis­tinc­tion between author and pub­lic is about to lose its basic char­ac­ter.

Benjamin’s analy­sis of con­ven­tion­al film, espe­cial­ly, leads him to con­clude that its recep­tion required so lit­tle of view­ers that they eas­i­ly become dis­tract­ed. Everyone’s a crit­ic, but “at the movies this posi­tion requires no atten­tion. The pub­lic is an exam­in­er, but an absent-mind­ed one.” Pas­sive con­sump­tion and habit­u­al dis­trac­tion does not make for con­sid­ered, informed opin­ion or a healthy sense of pro­por­tion.

What Ben­jamin referred to (in trans­la­tion) as mechan­i­cal repro­ducibil­i­ty we might now just call The Inter­net (and the coter­ies of “things” it haunts pol­ter­geist-like). Lat­er the­o­rists influ­enced by Ben­jamin fore­saw our age of dig­i­tal repro­ducibil­i­ty doing away with the need for authen­tic objects, and real peo­ple, alto­geth­er. Ben­jamin him­self might char­ac­ter­ize a medi­um that can ful­ly detach from the phys­i­cal world and the mate­r­i­al con­di­tions of its users — a medi­um in which every­one gets a col­umn, pub­lic pho­to gallery, and video pro­duc­tion stu­dio — as ide­al­ly suit­ed to the aims of fas­cism.

Fas­cism attempts to orga­nize the new­ly cre­at­ed pro­le­tar­i­an mass­es with­out affect­ing the prop­er­ty struc­ture which the mass­es strive to elim­i­nate. Fas­cism sees its sal­va­tion in giv­ing these mass­es not their right, but instead a chance to express them­selves. The mass­es have a right to change prop­er­ty rela­tions; Fas­cism seeks to give them an expres­sion while pre­serv­ing prop­er­ty. The log­i­cal result of Fas­cism is the intro­duc­tion of aes­thet­ics into polit­i­cal life.

The log­i­cal result of turn­ing pol­i­tics into spec­ta­cle for the sake of pre­serv­ing inequal­i­ty, writes Ben­jamin, is the roman­ti­ciza­tion of war and slaugh­ter, glo­ri­fied plain­ly in the Ital­ian Futur­ist man­i­festo of Fil­ip­po Marinet­ti and the lit­er­ary work of Nazi intel­lec­tu­als like Ernst Junger. Ben­jamin ends the essay with a dis­cus­sion of how fas­cism aes­theti­cizes pol­i­tics to one end: the anni­hi­la­tion of aura by more per­ma­nent means.

Under the rise of fas­cism in Europe, Ben­jamin saw that human “self-alien­ation has reached such a degree that it can expe­ri­ence its own destruc­tion as an aes­thet­ic plea­sure of the first order. This is the sit­u­a­tion of pol­i­tics which Fas­cism is ren­der­ing aes­thet­ic.” Those who par­tic­i­pate in this spec­ta­cle seek mass vio­lence “to sup­ply the artis­tic grat­i­fi­ca­tion of a sense per­cep­tion that has been changed by tech­nol­o­gy.” Dis­tract­ed and desen­si­tized, they seek, that is, to com­pen­sate for pro­found dis­em­bod­i­ment and the loss of mean­ing­ful, authen­tic expe­ri­ence.

You can read Ben­jam­in’s essay here, or find it in this col­lect­ed vol­ume.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Umber­to Eco Makes a List of the 14 Com­mon Fea­tures of Fas­cism

Toni Mor­ri­son Lists the 10 Steps That Lead Coun­tries to Fas­cism (1995)

Are You a Fas­cist?: Take Theodor Adorno’s Author­i­tar­i­an Per­son­al­i­ty Test Cre­at­ed to Com­bat Fas­cism (1947)

The Sto­ry of Fas­cism: Rick Steves’ Doc­u­men­tary Helps Us Learn from the Hard Lessons of the 20th Cen­tu­ry

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

The Metropolitan Museum of Art Restores the Original Colors to Ancient Statues

The idea that the human species can be neat­ly brack­et­ed into racial groups based on super­fi­cial char­ac­ter­is­tics like skin, hair, and eye col­or only devel­oped in the 18th cen­tu­ry, and main­ly took root as a pseu­do-sci­en­tif­ic jus­ti­fi­ca­tion for slav­ery and colo­nial­ism. Cen­tral to that idea was the Clas­si­cal Ide­al of Beau­ty, a stan­dard sup­pos­ed­ly set by Greek and Roman stat­u­ary from antiq­ui­ty. As beliefs in region­al suprema­cy in West­ern Europe trans­formed in the mod­ern era into “White” suprema­cy, the stark white­ness of antique stat­u­ary became a spe­cif­ic point of pride. But ancient peo­ple did not think in terms of race, and ancient sculp­tors nev­er intend­ed their cre­ations to stand around in pub­lic with­out col­or. “For the ancient Greeks and Romans,” Elaine Velie writes at Hyper­al­ler­gic, “white mar­ble was not con­sid­ered the final prod­uct, but rather a blank can­vas.”

As Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art cura­tor Seán Hem­ing­way says, “White suprema­cists have latched onto this idea of white sculp­ture — it’s not true but it serves their pur­pos­es.” Art his­to­ri­ans and con­ser­va­tors have known for decades that stat­ues from antiq­ui­ty were once cov­ered in paint, sil­ver and gild­ing, a process known as poly­chromy. Over time, the col­ors dulled, fad­ed, then dis­ap­peared, leav­ing behind only the faintest traces.

Hus­band-and-wife research team Vinzenz Brinkmann and Ulrich Koch-Brinkmann have spent over 40 years study­ing poly­chromy and recon­struct­ing ancient sculp­tures as they would have appeared to their first view­ers. “Their Gods in Col­or exhi­bi­tion has been tour­ing since 2003,” Velie writes, “and their repli­cas have been includ­ed in muse­ums around the world.”

Now four­teen of those recon­struc­tions, as well as a cou­ple dozen more cre­at­ed by Met con­ser­va­tors, sci­en­tists, and cura­tors, are scat­tered through­out the Met’s sculp­ture halls, with a small upstairs gallery ded­i­cat­ed to an exhib­it. The exhi­bi­tion explains how researchers deter­mined the stat­ues’ col­ors, “the result of a wide array of ana­lyt­i­cal tech­niques, includ­ing 3D imag­ing and rig­or­ous art his­tor­i­cal research,” writes the Met. As Art­net notes, the “rich­ly col­ored ver­sion of the Met’s Archa­ic-peri­od Sphinx finial,” which you can see at the top of the post, “serves as the cen­ter­piece of the show” – one of the only pieces placed adja­cent to its orig­i­nal so that vis­i­tors can com­pare the two (using an Aug­ment­ed Real­i­ty app to do so; see video above).

Chro­ma: Ancient Sculp­ture in Col­or, which opened on July 5th, dis­abus­es us of old ideas about the blank white­ness of antiq­ui­ty, but that’s hard­ly its only intent. As it does today, col­or “helped con­vey mean­ing in antiq­ui­ty.” The col­ors of ancient stat­ues were not sim­ply dec­o­ra­tive sur­faces – they were inte­gral to the pre­sen­ta­tion of these works. Now, col­or can again be part of how we under­stand and appre­ci­ate clas­si­cal stat­u­ary. And the full accep­tance of poly­chromy in major col­lec­tions like the Met can begin to put to rest false notions about a clas­si­cal devo­tion to white­ness as some ide­al of per­fec­tion. Learn more about the 40 recon­struc­tions in the exhi­bi­tion at the Met here, and learn more about poly­chromy and ancient uses of col­or at the links below.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Roman Stat­ues Weren’t White; They Were Once Paint­ed in Vivid, Bright Col­ors

How Ancient Greek Stat­ues Real­ly Looked: Research Reveals Their Bold, Bright Col­ors and Pat­terns

The Met Dig­i­tal­ly Restores the Col­ors of an Ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple, Using Pro­jec­tion Map­ping Tech­nol­o­gy

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

What Americans Ate for Breakfast & Dinner 200 Years Ago: Watch Re-Creations of Original Recipes

For all the oth­er faults of the 2020s, most of human­i­ty now enjoys culi­nary vari­ety the likes of which it has nev­er before known. Two cen­turies ago, the selec­tion was con­sid­er­ably nar­row­er. Back then the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca, yet to become the high­ly devel­oped leader of “the free world,” remained for the most part a fair­ly hard­scrab­ble land. This comes through in a book like Democ­ra­cy in Amer­i­ca, which Alex­is de Toc­queville wrote after trav­el­ing across the coun­ty in the 1830s — or on a Youtube chan­nel like Ear­ly Amer­i­can, which re-cre­ates life as lived by Amer­i­cans of decades before then.

Not long ago, Ear­ly Amer­i­can’s view­er­ship explod­ed. This seems to have owed to cook­ing videos like the one at the top of the post, “A Reg­u­lar Folks’ Sup­per 200 Years Ago.” The menu, on this imag­ined March day in 1820 Mis­souri, includes beef, mashed turnips, car­rots, rolls, and boiled eggs: not a bad-look­ing spread, as it turns out, though its fla­vors may leave some­thing to be desired for the twen­ty-first-cen­tu­ry palate.

Many of Ear­ly Amer­i­can’s new com­menters, writes chan­nel co-cre­ator Jus­tine Dorn, are telling her “to add this sea­son­ing and this and that,” but “then it would no longer be loy­al to the actu­al orig­i­nal recipe, which is why you all are here to begin with.”

In the case of the reg­u­lar folks’ sup­per, its recipes come straight from an 1803 vol­ume called The Fru­gal House­wife. As for the john­ny­cakes fea­tured in “Mak­ing a Work­ing Class Break­fast in 1820,” you’ll find their recipe in Amelia Sim­mons’ Amer­i­can Cook­ery from 1796, the first known cook­book writ­ten by an Amer­i­can. The meal also includes a yeast­less bread for which no prop­er recipe exists. How­ev­er, Dorn writes, “there are sev­er­al men­tions of work­ing class peo­ple who baked bread with­out yeast in the auto­bi­ogra­phies of trav­el­ers in the eigh­teenth and ear­ly nine­teenth cen­turies. Because of this we know that it was a com­mon prac­tice.”

Made from a mod­i­fied fam­i­ly recipe passed down since the 1750s, this yeast­less bread looks appeal­ing enough, espe­cial­ly toast­ed over the fire and served with apple but­ter. But we must acknowl­edge that tastes have changed over the cen­turies. “I am not claim­ing that this food is good,” Dorn writes. “Some­times it isn’t. A lot of the foods and sea­son­ings that we take for grant­ed today were very hard to get back then or were only sea­son­al­ly avail­able.” But with sea­son­al, “local­ly sourced” ingre­di­ents in vogue these days, it’s worth exam­in­ing what, 200 years ago, real­ly went into a sim­ple Indi­an meal pud­ding or an ear­ly mac­a­roni and cheese — albeit one pre­pared, in true 2020s fash­ion, ASMR-style.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First Amer­i­can Cook­book: Sam­ple Recipes from Amer­i­can Cook­ery (1796)

Tast­ing His­to­ry: A Hit YouTube Series Shows How to Cook the Foods of Ancient Greece & Rome, Medieval Europe, and Oth­er Places & Peri­ods

An Archive of 3,000 Vin­tage Cook­books Lets You Trav­el Back Through Culi­nary Time

A Data­base of 5,000 His­tor­i­cal Cookbooks–Covering 1,000 Years of Food History–Is Now Online

Archive of Hand­writ­ten Recipes (1600 – 1960) Will Teach You How to Stew a Calf’s Head and More

10,000 Vin­tage Recipe Books Are Now Dig­i­tized in The Inter­net Archive’s Cook­book & Home Eco­nom­ics Col­lec­tion

Real Inter­views with Peo­ple Who Lived in the 1800s

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Watch the Titanic Sink in Real-Time

Minute by minute time­lines have become a sta­ple of dis­as­ter report­ing.

Know­ing how the sto­ry ends puts the pub­lic in the posi­tion of help­less bystander, espe­cial­ly at those crit­i­cal junc­tures when some­one in a posi­tion of author­i­ty exer­cised poor judg­ment, result­ing in a larg­er loss of life.

Youtu­ber Phillip W, cre­ator of Titan­ic Ani­ma­tions, allows us to expe­ri­ence the famed lux­u­ry liner’s final two and half hours as a time­stamped hor­ror show, above, with­out resort­ing to the­atrics, or a crowd pleas­ing fic­tion­al romance.

Ver­i­fied crew orders, CQD reports, and vacant lifeboat seats pro­vide ample dra­ma along­side mes­mer­iz­ing CGI recre­ations of the doomed lux­u­ry lin­er, its light­ed port­holes reflect­ed in the dark water.

It took around 2 and a half hours for the Titan­ic to sink, just four days into her maid­en voy­age, after strik­ing an ice­berg around 11:40 pm.

As the Smith­son­ian Nation­al Muse­um of Amer­i­can His­to­ry recounts:

The berg scraped along the star­board or right side of the hull below the water­line, slic­ing open the hull between five of the adja­cent water­tight com­part­ments. If only one or two of the com­part­ments had been opened, Titan­ic might have stayed afloat, but when so many were sliced open, the water­tight integri­ty of the entire for­ward sec­tion of the hull was fatal­ly breached. 

Titan­ic Ani­ma­tions tracks myr­i­ad crew mem­bers from this moment on, using fac­tu­al titles, light­ly sup­ple­ment­ed with sound effects of ocean nois­es, alarm bells, and peri­od tunes that would’ve been in the reper­toire of the band that famous­ly did (or didn’t) play on. The head bak­er directs staff to car­ry arm­loads of bread to pro­vi­sion the lifeboats. These morsels of infor­ma­tion and the rel­a­tive­ly placid views affords our imag­i­na­tion free rein to fill in the con­fu­sion, pan­ic and mount­ing des­per­a­tion of those aboard.

This real time sink­ing ani­ma­tion is ren­dered with­out human fig­ures, but Titan­ic Animation’s Twit­ter indi­cates that Phillip W has been hard at work on a new project that places crew and pas­sen­gers on deck, a — for­give us — titan­ic under­tak­ing that also finds him striv­ing to recre­ate every riv­et and rip­ple. A sta­tus update from ear­li­er this spring reads, “2.5 months in. 52,035 frames completed.178,364 left to go.”

The orig­i­nal ani­ma­tion, above, took mul­ti­ple years to com­plete:

A friend and I start­ed work­ing on the first ver­sion back in 2012/2013 and it was released in 2015. It’s been updat­ed over the years, and now I’m the only one left after my friend depart­ed after los­ing inter­est. So around 8–9 years, give or take, and about $8000 in research and ren­der­farms to com­plete.


If you’re inclined to mess around with your own Titan­ic ani­ma­tions, Philip W. has shared a Cin­e­mat­ic Film­ing Mod­el of the Titanic’s exte­ri­or, fea­tur­ing accu­rate port­hole place­ments, telegraphs, fun­nels, rig­ging, ven­ti­la­tion equip­ment place­ments, lifeboats, and approx­i­mate­ly 95,000 riv­ets.

Sub­scribe to Titan­ic Ani­ma­tions here. Those with an inter­est in 3D ani­ma­tion will appre­ci­ate archived livestreams that give a peek at the process.

Nav­i­gate to key moments in real time sink­ing ani­ma­tion using the links below.

00:00:00 — Intro

00:05:00 — Ice­berg Col­li­sion

00:10:00 — 10 Degree List to Star­board

00:11:00 — Steam begins to escape the Fun­nels

00:15:45 — Mail Room begins to flood

00:25:00 — Mid­night

00:30:00 — Squash Court begins to flood

00:37:15 — Lifeboats ordered to be read­ied

00:42:00 — Band Begins Play­ing

00:49:40 — Thomas Andrews relays news to Capt. Smith

00:51:40 — First Dis­tress Call is Sent

01:01:18 — Dis­tress Coor­di­nates are Cor­rect­ed

01:01:38 — Carpathia Makes Con­tact

01:04:00 — Boat 7 (First Boat) is Launched

01:06:00 — The Straus’ Refuse Entry to Boat 8

01:07:00 — Grand Stair­case F‑Deck Begins Flood­ing

01:08:10 — Boat 5 is Launched

01:10:00 — Box­hall & Smith spot Carpathia

01:12:10 — 1st Dis­tress Rock­et Fired

01:15:00 — Grand Stair­case E‑Deck Begins Flood­ing

01:20:00 — Boat 3 is Launched

01:21:00 — Titan­ic Begins Send­ing SOS

01:25:00 — 1AM Boat 8 is Launched

01:30:00 — Boat 1 is Launched

01:35:00 — Boat 6 is Launched

01:35:15 — Boil­er Room 5 Floods

01:40:00 — Water Climbs Grand Stair­case

01:44:30 — Boil­er Room 4 is Aban­doned

01:45:00 — Boat 16 is Launched

01:50:00 — Boat 14 is Launched

01:55:15 — Boats 9 and 12 are Launched

02:00:00 — Boat 11 is Launched

02:04:00 — Titan­ic lists to Port

02:05:00 — Boat 13 is Launched

02:06:00 — Boat 15 is Launched

02:09:00 — D‑deck Recep­tion Room Floods

02:10:00 — Boat 2 is Launched

02:12:00 — Well Deck is Awash

02:14:00 — D‑Deck Recep­tion Room Goes

02:15:00 — Boat 10 is Launched

02:15:10 — Boat 4 is Launched

02:25:00 — 2AM Boat C is Launched

02:26:10 -  Pow­er Begins to Fade

02:29:00 — Boat D is Launched

02:37:15 — Near­er My God to Thee

02:40:00 — Final Plunge

02:42:00 — Breakup

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Titan­ic Sur­vivor Inter­views: What It Was Like to Flee the Sink­ing Lux­u­ry Lin­er

The Titan­ic: Rare Footage of the Ship Before Dis­as­ter Strikes (1911–1912)

How the Titan­ic Sank: James Cameron’s New CGI Ani­ma­tion

“Titan­ic Sink­ing; No Lives Lost” and Oth­er Ter­ri­bly Inac­cu­rate News Reports from April 15, 1912

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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