Maya Angelou Tells Studs Terkel How She Learned to Count Cards & Hustle in a New Animated Video

Blank on Blank returns with anoth­er one of their visu­al­ly-dis­tinc­tive ani­mat­ed videos. This one lets us time trav­el back to 1970 when Studs Terkel, the great Amer­i­can author, his­to­ri­an, and radio broad­cast­er, sat down with acclaimed poet Maya Angelou. The inter­view took place short­ly after Angelou pub­lished her 1969 auto­bi­og­ra­phy, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, and the con­ver­sa­tion turns, amus­ing­ly, to her child­hood years, when she learned how to hus­tle and count cards from her step father, Dad­dy Clidell. I bet Bukows­ki is applaud­ing wher­ev­er he is. Blank on Blank made this video in part­ner­ship with the Studs Terkel Radio Archive, which we fea­tured on our site late last year.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Maya Angelou Reads “Still I Rise” and “On the Pulse of the Morn­ing”

Studs Terkel Inter­views Bob Dylan, Shel Sil­ver­stein, Maya Angelou & More in New Audio Trove

Blank on Blank Ani­ma­tions Revive Lost Inter­views with David Fos­ter Wal­lace, Jim Mor­ri­son & Dave Brubeck

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Woman Takes LSD in 1956: “I’ve Never Seen Such Infinite Beauty in All My Life,” “I Wish I Could Talk in Technicolor”

A decade before tens of thou­sands turned on, tuned in, and dropped out at the Human Be-In in Gold­en Gate Park, psy­chi­a­trist Sid­ney Cohen was inves­ti­gat­ing the effects of LSD on human con­scious­ness. If his vol­un­tary sub­jects at LA’s Vet­er­an’s Admin­is­tra­tion Hos­pi­tal found them­selves sud­den­ly able to “see the music” a la Lizard Queen Lisa Simp­son, they did so in a very respectable-seem­ing, mid-1950s set­ting.

Wit­ness this ses­sion with the polite young wife of a hos­pi­tal employ­ee, above. She’s a bit ner­vous, but not because of any media-fueled pre­con­cep­tions regard­ing the trip she’s about to take. It was 1956, and anoth­er of Dr. Cohen’s guinea pigs, pub­lish­er Hen­ry Luce, had yet to regale the pub­lic with some of acid’s more col­or­ful prop­er­ties via mul­ti­ple arti­cles in both Time and Life mag­a­zines.

As such, our uniden­ti­fied par­tic­i­pant is as pure as the glass of water she’s served at the one minute mark. Pur­er, actu­al­ly, giv­en that the drink has been dosed with 1/10th of a mil­ligram Lyser­gic acid diethy­lamide.

Three hours fur­ther along, she’s trip­ping her brains out, still seat­ed demure­ly in the same chair in which her intake inter­view was con­duct­ed. Had it been filmed 20 years lat­er, her rev­e­la­tions would seem trite, but the con­text ren­ders them endear­ing. If she’s bummed out about any­thing, it’s that the nice doc­tor ques­tion­ing her about her mind blow­ing jour­ney isn’t able to see the mol­e­cules too.

I’d love to know what became of her.

Cohen con­tin­ued observ­ing LSD, with sub­jects as cel­e­brat­ed as writer Aldous Hux­ley, philoso­pher Ger­ald Heard and Bill Wil­son, co-founder of Alco­holics Anony­mous. He pub­lished his find­ings in The Beyond With­in: the LSD Sto­ry. His ulti­mate take­away was that ”beat­nik micro­cul­ture”  destroyed LSD’s chances for achiev­ing its poten­tial as a psy­chother­a­py tool.

This may be why we nev­er hear him urg­ing his sub­ject to check out the drapes, which is sure­ly what sev­er­al young men of my acquain­tance would have resort­ed to, back in the day.

David Lynch-style aus­ter­i­ty of the set­ting aside, per­haps such coach­ing was unnec­es­sary. What­ev­er this woman’s brain had her see­ing, it made her want to “talk in tech­ni­col­or.”

May I sug­gest that we’re just as delu­sion­al if we assume that some­one who could be described as a 1950s “house­wife” must have inhab­it­ed  a world we can only per­ceive in black-and-white?

via Reason.com

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Artist Draws Nine Por­traits on LSD Dur­ing 1950s Research Exper­i­ment

Watch The Bicy­cle Trip: An Ani­ma­tion of The World’s First LSD Trip in 1943

Ken Kesey’s First LSD Trip Ani­mat­ed

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

Stephen Fry Explains Humanism in 4 Animated Videos: Happiness, Truth and the Meaning of Life & Death

Answers to life’s big ques­tions don’t come cheap, but they very often come free, or at least we feel they should. Which answers you find com­pelling among your avail­able options is up to you. In the wide­ly plu­ral­ist parts of the world—or at least in their urban centers—the answers come as often in the form of sec­u­lar human­ism as they do in any oth­er vari­ety, and they gen­er­al­ly come with a cer­tain amount of sat­is­fac­tion that it is human­ism, in part, that makes such vari­ety pos­si­ble. So what is human­ism and why is it some­times so proud of itself? You could do much worse than ask Stephen Fry, the genial Eng­lish actor, come­di­an, writer, and pas­sion­ate activist and advo­cate.

Fry nar­rates the video series here, “That’s Human­ism,” for the British Human­ism Asso­ci­a­tion. He begins in “How do we know what is true?” at the top of the post by telling us what human­ism is not. It is not a belief that knowl­edge comes from a super­nat­ur­al source, from rev­e­la­tions, prophet­ic visions, or divine­ly inspired books. While many a human­ist has found poet­ic inspi­ra­tion in such things, as Fry explains, it’s only the sci­en­tif­ic method that pro­vides us with reli­able infor­ma­tion about the nat­ur­al world.

In the video just above, Fry takes an evi­dence-based approach to the ques­tion of ques­tions: what hap­pens when we die. The human­ist answer, as he plain­ly states, seems per­fect­ly obvi­ous to anyone—everyone dies, and every­one can live on in the lives of the peo­ple who’ve loved them. We leave the work we’ve done behind, and our bod­ies return to the ele­ments from which they came. Any­thing else, he sug­gests, is wish­ful think­ing.

The third video con­fronts the ques­tion that runs neck and neck with fear of death as a rea­son peo­ple seem to believe in the super­nat­ur­al. “What makes some­thing right or wrong?” Fry asks, then goes on to con­trast in layman’s terms two moral the­o­ries: divine com­mand and a gen­er­al­ly altru­ist, proso­cial eth­i­cal stance. Not all human­ists sub­scribe to his ethics and not all, as Fry does above, would describe empa­thy as the prime motive of moral choice. He also cites “Rea­son,” “Expe­ri­ence,” and “Respect for Oth­ers” as meth­ods by which human­ists deter­mine right from wrong, and he touch­es super­fi­cial­ly on the role of cul­ture as a con­tain­er of moral­i­ty, though he avoids the many thorny issues implied in that asser­tion.

The fourth video of the series, below, takes on the much more clas­si­cal­ly philo­soph­i­cal ques­tion, “How can I be hap­py?” For Fry, who has can­did­ly dis­cussed his strug­gles with bipo­lar dis­or­der and sui­ci­dal depres­sion, the ques­tion is not a pure­ly abstract one. His answers eschew grand cos­mic nar­ra­tives for the val­ue of the nat­ur­al, the famil­ial, and the observ­able. Through­out the series, Fry remains upbeat and con­fi­dent, but if you think him inno­cent of life’s cru­el­ties, I invite you to read the brief biog­ra­phy in this Guardian arti­cle.

If this seems like evan­ge­lism, per­haps it is. The British Human­ist Asso­ci­a­tion is, after all, the orga­ni­za­tion behind Richard Dawkins’ athe­ist bus cam­paign in Eng­land, which plas­tered signs on “bendy bus­es” around Lon­don say­ing “There’s prob­a­bly no God. Now stop wor­ry­ing and enjoy your life.” But Fry is a much more approach­able, avun­cu­lar face of human­ism than the can­tan­ker­ous, some­times cal­lous, Dawkins (or the con­fronta­tion­al Sam Har­ris). What these videos don’t address are the spe­cif­ic advo­ca­cy goals and pro­grams of the British Human­ist Asso­ci­a­tion, which include such peren­ni­al­ly con­tro­ver­sial sub­jects as assist­ed dying and abor­tion rights. Learn more about the association’s cam­paigns, goals, and out­reach attempts at their web­site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen Fry: What I Wish I Knew When I Was 18

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Six Great Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Shakespeare’s Satir­i­cal Son­net 130, As Read By Stephen Fry

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

Alain de Botton’s School of Life Presents Animated Introductions to Heidegger, The Stoics & Epicurus

Why is West­ern phi­los­o­phy so dif­fi­cult, so abstruse, and so damned wordy? Per­haps it’s sim­ply a mat­ter of job secu­ri­ty. It’s gen­er­al­ly well-known, after all, that some of the most tac­i­turn philoso­phers were also some of the poor­est—Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, who was inde­pen­dent­ly wealthy, notwith­stand­ing. But if you fol­low the for­mat Alain de Bot­ton lays out in the phi­los­o­phy depart­ment of his video series, “The Big Ideas,” you can pick up some Hei­deg­ger, a lit­tle Sto­ic thought, and the ideas of Epi­cu­rus each in under ten min­utes of light­heart­ed com­men­tary, accom­pa­nied by quirky ani­ma­tion from a stu­dio called Mad Adam (who favor a very Ter­ry Gilliam-like approach to their art). There are those crit­ics who think de Bot­ton glib and shal­low, a “self-help guru to the British middle-class—a life coach.” In a cer­tain sense, I sup­pose he’d have to agree with that assess­ment, giv­en that his “cul­tur­al enter­prise,” The School of Life, has as its tagline “good ideas for every­day life.” Do the dead Euro­pean philoso­phers of ages past have help­ful tips for our mun­dane 21st cen­tu­ry exis­tence, and do de Botton’s videos do any jus­tice to the qual­i­ty of their thought?

As to the first ques­tion, I sup­pose we’d have to answer, yes. As for the second—I leave it to the philoso­phers to weigh in. At the top of the post, we have Mar­tin Heidegger—“the most incom­pre­hen­si­ble Ger­man philoso­pher that ever lived”—in just over five min­utes. It turns out that “beneath the jar­gon, Hei­deg­ger tells us sim­ple, even at times home­spun truths” about things like mean­ing and free­dom. Once a rank­ing mem­ber of the Nazi par­ty, Hei­deg­ger, de Bot­ton says, “saw the error of his ways,” a claim peo­ple often repeat with­out a great deal of evi­dence. But Heidegger’s Nazi past aside, his thought, de Bot­ton says, helps us get back in touch with the mys­tery of exis­tence, what the philoso­pher called das sein, or “Being.” This term more or less sums up the core of Heidegger’s entire project, and I con­fess I nev­er real­ly grasped what he means by it. Maybe you will after tak­ing de Botton’s very short course.

Next up, we have the Sto­ics, not a spe­cif­ic move­ment or group as such, but an entire school of thought that “flour­ished for 480 years in ancient Greece and Rome.” Sto­icism offered a nar­row range of respons­es to the ancient prob­lem de Bot­ton defines as “Life is very dif­fi­cult,” and it appealed to com­mon­ers and aris­to­crats alike because of its uni­ver­sal con­cern with suf­fer­ing. De Bot­ton gives us the gist by refer­ring to the way we typ­i­cal­ly use the word “sto­ic” these days, as a syn­onym for “brave.” He says a bit more, of course, about Stoicism’s answers to life’s chal­lenges, lis­ten above.

Final­ly, we have Greek philoso­pher Epi­cu­rus, who “helps us think about mon­ey, cap­i­tal­ism, and our run­away con­sumer soci­ety.” This despite the fact that Epi­cu­rus pre­dates cap­i­tal­ism and con­sumer soci­ety by well over two-thou­sand years. Nonethe­less, his thought is eter­nal­ly rel­e­vant, giv­en that its pri­ma­ry con­cern, “What makes peo­ple hap­py?” is a prob­lem unlike­ly to be solved in anyone’s life­time. But Epi­cu­rus had some answers, and he pur­veyed them—like de Botton—by found­ing his own school. He and his dis­ci­ples, Epi­cure­ans, were rumored to be debauched and wicked lib­ertines steeped in exces­sive food, drink, and sex. In fact, the oppo­site was true: Epi­cu­rus was an aus­tere and sober man, who urged restraint in mat­ters sex­u­al and fis­cal, mak­ing him, in a way, a gen­uine con­ser­v­a­tive.

De Botton’s “Big Ideas” cur­ricu­lum cur­rent­ly includes two oth­er videos that func­tion as gen­er­al defens­es of the human­i­ties: “What is Art for?” and “What is Lit­er­a­ture for?” Both ques­tions might sound mean­ing­less to some refined aes­thetes, but for a great many peo­ple get­ting on with the painful, some­times drea­ry, and often har­ried busi­ness of dai­ly life, ques­tions about util­i­ty are sen­si­ble enough. New big ideas videos are on the way—in the mean­while, vis­it de Botton’s School of Life Youtube chan­nel for video shorts on “Mood,” “Rela­tion­ships,” and more.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Art Can Answer Life’s Big Ques­tions in Art as Ther­a­py

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Six Great Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Alain de Bot­ton Pro­pos­es a Kinder, Gen­tler Phi­los­o­phy of Suc­cess

Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger Talks Phi­los­o­phy with a Bud­dhist Monk on Ger­man Tele­vi­sion (1963)

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

1797 Temperance Thermometer Measures the Moral & Physical Impact of Your Drinking Habits

temperance2

Ques­tion for the drinkers out there:

Does strong beer tak­en in mod­er­ate quan­ti­ties at meal­times make you cheer­ful?

Yeah, me too!

That gives us a tem­per­a­ture of 10 accord­ing to 18th-cen­tu­ry physi­cian John Coak­ley Lett­som’s “moral and phys­i­cal ther­mome­ter,” one of his Hints Designed to Pro­mote Benef­i­cence, Tem­per­ance, and Med­ical Sci­ence (1797).

It’s noth­ing to be ashamed of—anything above zero con­sti­tutes a pass­ing score. The founder of the Med­ical Soci­ety of Lon­don, Lett­som was a pro­po­nent of true tem­per­ance, not total absti­nence. Accord­ing to his rubric, a “small beer” has all the virtues of milk and water.

Dip below a zero, though, and you’re in for a bumpy night.

Punch is appar­ent­ly the gate­way to such demon influ­ences as flip, shrub, whiskey and rum. Gosh. You may as well just skip the punch and go straight for the hard stuff, if, as in Lettsom’s view, they all end in the same vices and dis­eases.

Puk­ing and Tremors of the Hands in the Morn­ing?

Yes, on occa­sion.

Peev­ish­ness, Idle­ness, and Obscen­i­ty?

Yep, that too.

Mur­der, Mad­ness, and Death?

Mer­ci­ful­ly, no. At least not yet.

While not entire­ly free of stig­ma, alco­holism is now some­thing many view through the lens of AA, a prob­lem best reme­died through a sys­tem of per­son­al account­abil­i­ty shored up by a net­work of non­judg­men­tal, sym­pa­thet­ic sup­port.

Back in Lettsom’s day, when an alco­holic hit rock bot­tom, it was assumed he or she would stay there, a task made eas­i­er when the wages of this par­tic­u­lar sin includ­ed the poor house, a one way tick­et to the Botany Bay penal colony, and the gal­lows.

Such loom­ing con­se­quences are eas­i­ly laughed off when you’ve had a snoot, which may be why Lett­som also pub­lished the illus­trat­ed ver­sion of his ther­mome­ter below. A pic­ture is worth a thou­sand words, par­tic­u­lar­ly when depict­ing the pre-Dick­en­sian mis­ery that awaits the drunk­ard and his fam­i­ly.

Termometro morall

via Rebec­ca Onion and Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

George Washington’s 110 Rules for Civil­i­ty and Decent Behav­ior

Thomas Jefferson’s Hand­writ­ten Vanil­la Ice Cream Recipe

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: An Ad for London’s First Cafe Print­ed Cir­ca 1652

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

Allen Ginsberg Talks About Coming Out to His Family & Fellow Poets on 1978 Radio Show (NSFW)

Allen_ginsberg_erads howl

Image by Michiel Hendryckx, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Recent MacArthur Fel­low and poet Ter­rence Hayes appeared on NPR yes­ter­day to read and dis­cuss his work; he was asked if he found “being defined as an African-Amer­i­can poet” to be lim­it­ing in some way. Hayes replied,

I think it’s a bonus. It’s a thing that makes me addi­tion­al­ly inter­est­ing, is what I would say. So, black poet, South­ern poet, male poet — many of those iden­ti­ties I try to fold into the poems and hope that they enrich them.

It seemed to me an odd ques­tion to ask a MacArthur-win­ning Amer­i­can poet. Issues of both per­son­al and nation­al iden­ti­ty have been cen­tral to Amer­i­can poet­ry at least since Walt Whit­man or Langston Hugh­es, but espe­cial­ly since the 1950s with the emer­gence of con­fes­sion­al and beat poets like Allen Gins­berg. With­out the cel­e­bra­tion of per­son­al iden­ti­ty, one might say that it’s hard to imag­ine Amer­i­can poet­ry.

Like Hayes, Gins­berg enfold­ed his var­i­ous identities—Jew, Bud­dhist, gay man—into his poet­ry in enrich­ing ways. Thir­ty-six years ago, he gave a radio inter­view to “Stonewall Nation,” one of a hand­ful of specif­i­cal­ly gay radio pro­grams broad­cast in 1970s West­ern New York. In an occa­sion­al­ly NSFW con­ver­sa­tion, he dis­cussed the expe­ri­ence of com­ing out to his fel­low Beats and to his fam­i­ly.

  1. Intro­duc­tion (5:21): MP3
  2. On being clos­et­ed (2:09): MP3
  3. Excerpts from “Don’t Grow Old” (2:32): MP3
  4. On com­ing out to his fam­i­ly (3:01): MP3
  5. On desire and com­pas­sion (1:41): MP3
  6. On the Brig­gs amend­ment (8:54): MP3
  7. On the Beats and nature (3:24): MP3
  8. On Rocky Flats (2:19): MP3
  9. Gins­berg sings “Every­body Sing” (2:37): MP3

Dur­ing the inter­view Gins­berg talks about being clos­et­ed and hav­ing a crush on Jack Ker­ouac, who was “very tol­er­ant, friend­ly,” after Gins­berg con­fessed it. Above he tells a fun­ny sto­ry about com­ing out to his father, then reads a mov­ing unti­tled poem about his father’s even­tu­al accep­tance after their mutu­al “timid­i­ty and fear.” He also recalls how the rest of his fam­i­ly, par­tic­u­lar­ly his broth­er, react­ed.

The inter­view moves to broad­er top­ics. Gins­berg dis­cuss­es his views on desire and com­pas­sion, defin­ing the lat­ter as “benev­o­lent and indif­fer­ent atten­tive­ness,” rather than “heart-love.” Bud­dhism per­vades Gins­berg’s con­ver­sa­tion as does a rogu­ish vaude­vil­lian sen­si­bil­i­ty mixed with sober reflec­tion. He opens with a long, boozy sing-along whose first four lines con­cise­ly sum up core Bud­dhist doc­trines; he ends with a fun­ny, bawdy song that then becomes a dark explo­ration of homo­pho­bic and misog­y­nis­tic vio­lence.

Gins­berg and host also dis­cuss the Brig­gs Ini­tia­tive (above) a piece of leg­is­la­tion that would have been an effec­tive purge in the Cal­i­for­nia school sys­tem of gay teach­ers, their sup­port­ers, even those who might “take a neu­tral atti­tude which could be inter­pret­ed as approval.” This would pre­clude even the teach­ing of Whitman’s “Song of Myself” (or one par­tic­u­lar sec­tion of it), which, Gins­berg says, “would make the teacher liable for encour­ag­ing homo­sex­u­al activ­i­ty.” The amendment—one that, appar­ent­ly, for­mer gov­er­nor Ronald Rea­gan strong­ly opposed—failed to pass. These days such pro­pos­als tar­get Ginsberg’s poet­ry as well, and we still have con­ver­sa­tions about the val­ue of things like “benev­o­lent and indif­fer­ent atten­tive­ness” in the class­room, or whether poets should feel lim­it­ed by being who they are.

In the pho­to above, tak­en by Her­bert Rusche in 1978, you can see Gins­berg (left) with his long-time part­ner, the poet Peter Orlovsky (right).

via PennSound

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First Record­ing of Allen Gins­berg Read­ing “Howl” (1956)

Jack Ker­ouac, Allen Gins­berg & Mar­garet Mead Explain the Mean­ing of “Beat” in Rare 1950s Audio Clips

“Expan­sive Poet­ics” by Allen Gins­berg: A Free Course from 1981

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

81-Year-Old Professor Charlie Warner Goes to Burning Man: A Short Documentary (NSFW)

Char­lie Warn­er. He’s an 81-year-old media pro­fes­sor and for­mer media exec­u­tive from New York. He’s had bone mar­row can­cer. (It’s now in remis­sion.) He had open-heart surgery. He still has dia­betes. And yet he made the jour­ney to the Burn­ing Man fes­ti­val, in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, to expe­ri­ence some­thing tran­scen­dent. And the fes­ti­val did­n’t dis­ap­point. Film­mak­er Jan Bed­degenoodts doc­u­ment­ed Warn­er’s expe­ri­ence in a short film called Char­lie Goes to Burn­ing Man. You can watch the touch­ing short in an embed­ded for­mat above. But it’s even bet­ter to go to the film’s web­site, where you can view it in a visu­al­ly-appeal­ing, full-screen for­mat. Be warned: It’s Burn­ing Man, so there are some Not Safe for Work (NSFW) moments in the film.

Don’t for­get to sign up for our dai­ly email. Once a day, we bun­dle all of our dai­ly posts and drop them in your inbox, in an easy-to-read for­mat.

Charles Schulz Draws Charlie Brown in 45 Seconds and Exorcises His Demons

Would that we had a dime for every car­toon­ist whose course was chart­ed hap­pi­ly copy­ing Charles Schulz’s sem­i­nal strip, Peanuts, while oth­er, more ath­let­ic chil­dren played togeth­er in the fresh air and sun­shine.

Such admis­sions pro­lif­er­ate in inter­views and blog posts. They’re near­ly as numer­ous as the online tuto­ri­als on draw­ing such beloved Peanuts char­ac­ters as Wood­stock, Linus Van Pelt, and Schulz’ sad sack stand-in Char­lie Brown.

The short video above melds the edu­ca­tion­al ease of a YouTube how-to with the self-direct­ed, per­haps more artis­ti­cal­ly pure aspects of the pre-dig­i­tal expe­ri­ence, as Charles Schulz him­self pen­cils Char­lie Brown seat­ed at Schroeder’s toy piano in well under a minute.

You’ll have to watch close­ly if you want to pick up Sparky’s step-by-step tech­nique. There are no geo­met­ric point­ers, only a spir­i­tu­al dis­clo­sure that “poor old Char­lie Brown” was a scape­goat whose suf­fer­ing was com­men­su­rate with that of his cre­ator.

His voiceover down­grades the psy­chic pain to the lev­el of lost golf and bridge games, but as car­toon­ist and for­mer Peanuts copy­ist Bill Wat­ter­son, cre­ator of Calvin and Hobbes, point­ed out in a 2007 review of David Michaelis’ Schulz biog­ra­phy, Schulz’s unhap­pi­ness was deep seat­ed:

Schulz always held his par­ents in high regard, but they were emo­tion­al­ly remote and strange­ly inat­ten­tive to their only child. Schulz was shy and alien­at­ed dur­ing his school years, retreat­ing from near­ly every oppor­tu­ni­ty to reveal him­self or his gifts. Teach­ers and stu­dents con­se­quent­ly ignored him, and Schulz nursed a life­long grudge that so few attempt­ed to draw him out or rec­og­nized his tal­ent…

Once he final­ly achieved his child­hood dream of draw­ing a com­ic strip, how­ev­er, he was able to expose and con­front his inner tor­ments through his cre­ative work, mak­ing inse­cu­ri­ty, fail­ure and rejec­tion the cen­tral themes of his humor. Know­ing that his mis­eries fueled his work, he resist­ed help or change, appar­ent­ly pre­fer­ring pro­fes­sion­al suc­cess over per­son­al hap­pi­ness. Des­per­ate­ly lone­ly and sad through­out his life, he saw him­self as “a noth­ing,” yet he was also con­vinced that his artis­tic abil­i­ty made him spe­cial.

Good grief. I have a hunch none of this found its way into the life­long workaholic’s own guide to draw­ing Peanuts char­ac­ters. It’s not a secret, how­ev­er, that a dark side often comes with the ter­ri­to­ry as a slew of recent auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal graph­ic nov­els from those drawn to the pro­fes­sion will attest.

Via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the First Ani­ma­tions of Peanuts: Com­mer­cials for the Ford Motor Com­pa­ny (1959–1961)

The Con­fes­sions of Robert Crumb: A Por­trait Script­ed by the Under­ground Comics Leg­end Him­self (1987)

New York­er Car­toon Edi­tor Bob Mankoff Reveals the Secret of a Suc­cess­ful New York­er Car­toon

23 Car­toon­ists Unite to Demand Action to Reduce Gun Vio­lence: Watch the Result

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

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