How the Moving Image Has Become the Medium of Record: Part 2

East­man giv­ing Edi­son the first roll of movie film, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

This piece picks up where Part 1 of Peter Kauf­man’s arti­cle left off yes­ter­day…

The epis­te­mo­log­i­cal night­mare we seem to be in, bom­bard­ed over our screens and speak­ers with so many mov­ing-image mes­sages per day, false and true, is at least in part due to the paral­y­sis that we – schol­ars, jour­nal­ists, and reg­u­la­tors, but also pro­duc­ers and con­sumers – are still exhibit­ing over how to anchor facts and truths and com­mon­ly accept­ed nar­ra­tives in this seem­ing­ly most ephemer­al of media.  When you write a sci­en­tif­ic paper, you cite the evi­dence to sup­port your claims using notes and bib­li­ogra­phies vis­i­ble to your read­ers.  When you pub­lish an arti­cle in a mag­a­zine or a jour­nal or a book, you present your sources – and now when these are online often enough live links will take you there.  But there is, as yet, no ful­ly formed appa­ra­tus for how to cite sources with­in the online videos and tele­vi­sion pro­grams that have tak­en over our lives – no Chica­go Man­u­al of Style, no Asso­ci­at­ed Press Style­book, no video Ele­ments of Style.  There is also no agree­ment on how to cite the mov­ing image itself as a source in these oth­er, old­er types of media.

The Mov­ing Image: A User’s Man­u­al, pub­lished by the MIT Press on Feb­ru­ary 25, 2025, looks to make some bet­ter sense of this new medi­um as it starts to inher­it the man­tle that print has been wear­ing for almost six hun­dred years.  The book presents 34 QR codes that resolve to exam­ples of icon­ic mov­ing-image media, among them Abra­ham Zapruder’s film of the Kennedy assas­si­na­tion (1963); America’s poet lau­re­ate Ada Límon read­ing her work on Zoom; the first-ever YouTube video shot by some of the com­pa­ny founders at the San Fran­cis­co Zoo in 2005; Dar­nel­la Frazier’s video of George Floyd’s mur­der; Richard Feynman’s physics lec­tures at Cor­nell; course­ware videos from MIT, Colum­bia, and Yale; PBS doc­u­men­taries on race and music; Wik­ileaks footage of Amer­i­ca at war; Jan­u­ary 6 footage of the 2021 insur­rec­tion; inter­views with Holo­caust sur­vivors; films and clips from films by and inter­views with Sergei Eisen­stein, John Ford, Alfred Hitch­cock, Stan­ley Kubrick, Mar­tin Scors­ese, François Truf­faut and oth­ers; footage of deep fake videos; and the video bill­boards on the screens now all over New York’s Times Square.  The elec­tron­ic edi­tion takes you to their source plat­forms — YouTube, Vimeo, Wikipedia, the Inter­net Archive, oth­ers — at the click of a link.  The videos that you can play facil­i­tate deep-dive dis­cus­sions about how to inter­ro­gate and authen­ti­cate the facts (and untruths!) in and around them.

At a time when Trump dis­miss­es the direc­tor of our Nation­al Archives and the Orwellian putsch against mem­o­ry by the most pow­er­ful men in the world begins in full force, is it not essen­tial to equip our­selves with prop­er meth­ods for being able to cite truths and prove lies more eas­i­ly in what is now the medi­um of record?  How essen­tial will it become, in the face of sys­tem­at­ic efforts of era­sure, to pro­tect the evi­dence of crim­i­nal human deprav­i­ty – the record of Nazi con­cen­tra­tion camps shot by U.S. and U.K. and Russ­ian film­mak­ers; footage of war crimes, includ­ing our own from Wik­ileaks; video of the Jan­u­ary 6th insur­rec­tion and attacks at the Amer­i­can Capi­tol – even as polit­i­cal lead­ers try to scrub it all and pre­tend it nev­er hap­pened?  We have to learn not only how to watch and process these audio­vi­su­al mate­ri­als, and how to keep this canon of media avail­able to gen­er­a­tions, but how to foot­note dia­logue record­ed, say, in a com­bat gun­ship over Bagh­dad in our his­to­ries of Amer­i­can for­eign pol­i­cy, police body­cam footage from Min­neapo­lis in our jour­nal­ism about civ­il rights, and secu­ri­ty cam­era footage of insur­rec­tion­ists plan­ning an attack on our Capi­tol in our books about the Unit­ed States.  And how should we cite with­in a doc­u­men­tary a music source or a local news clip in ways that the view­er can click on or vis­it?

Just like foot­notes and embed­ded sources and bib­li­ogra­phies do for read­able print, we have to devel­op an entire sys­tem­at­ic appa­ra­tus for cita­tion and ver­i­fi­ca­tion for the mov­ing image, to future-proof these truths.

* * *

At the very start of the 20th cen­tu­ry, the ear­ly film­mak­er D. W. Grif­fith had not yet proph­e­sied his own vision of the film library:

Imag­ine a pub­lic library of the near future, for instance, there will be long rows of box­es or pil­lars, prop­er­ly clas­si­fied and indexed, of course. At each box a push but­ton and before each box a seat. Sup­pose you wish to “read up” on a cer­tain episode in Napoleon’s life. Instead of con­sult­ing all the author­i­ties, wad­ing labo­ri­ous­ly through a host of books, and end­ing bewil­dered, with­out a clear idea of exact­ly what did hap­pen and con­fused at every point by con­flict­ing opin­ions about what did hap­pen, you will mere­ly seat your­self at a prop­er­ly adjust­ed win­dow, in a sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly pre­pared room, press the but­ton, and actu­al­ly see what hap­pened.

No one yet had said, as peo­ple would a cen­tu­ry lat­er, that video will become the new ver­nac­u­lar.  But as radio and film quick­ly began to show their influ­ence, some of our smartest crit­ics began to sense their influ­ence.  In 1934, the art his­to­ri­an Erwin Panof­sky, yet to write his major works on Leonar­do da Vin­ci and Albrecht Dür­er, could deliv­er a talk at Prince­ton and say:

Whether we like it or not, it is the movies that mold, more than any oth­er sin­gle force, the opin­ions, the taste, the lan­guage, the dress, the behav­ior, and even the phys­i­cal appear­ance of a pub­lic com­pris­ing more than 60 per cent of the pop­u­la­tion of the earth. If all the seri­ous lyri­cal poets, com­posers, painters and sculp­tors were forced by law to stop their activ­i­ties, a rather small frac­tion of the gen­er­al pub­lic would become aware of the fact and a still small­er frac­tion would seri­ous­ly regret it. If the same thing were to hap­pen with the movies, the social con­se­quences would be cat­a­stroph­ic.

And in 1935, media schol­ars like Rudolf Arn­heim and Wal­ter Ben­jamin, alert to the dark­en­ing forces of pol­i­tics in Europe, would begin to notice the strange and some­times nefar­i­ous pow­er of the mov­ing image to shape polit­i­cal pow­er itself.  Ben­jamin would write in exile from Hitler’s Ger­many:

The cri­sis of democ­ra­cies can be under­stood as a cri­sis in the con­di­tions gov­ern­ing the pub­lic pre­sen­ta­tion of politi­cians. Democ­ra­cies [used to] exhib­it the politi­cian direct­ly, in per­son, before elect­ed rep­re­sen­ta­tives. The par­lia­ment is his pub­lic. But inno­va­tions in record­ing equip­ment now enable the speak­er to be heard by an unlim­it­ed num­ber of peo­ple while he is speak­ing, and to be seen by an unlim­it­ed num­ber short­ly after­ward. This means that pri­or­i­ty is giv­en to pre­sent­ing the politi­cian before the record­ing equip­ment. […] This results in a new form of selection—selection before an apparatus—from which the cham­pi­on, the star, and the dic­ta­tor emerge as vic­tors.

At this cur­rent moment of cham­pi­ons and stars – and dic­ta­tors again – it’s time for us to under­stand the pow­er of video bet­ter and more deeply.  Indeed, part of the rea­son that we sense such epis­temic chaos, may­hem, dis­or­der in our world today may be that we haven’t come to terms with the fact of video’s pri­ma­cy.  We are still rely­ing on print as if it were, in a word, the last word, and suf­fer­ing through life in the absence of cita­tion and bib­li­o­graph­ic mech­a­nisms and sort­ing indices for the one medi­um that is gov­ern­ing more and more of our infor­ma­tion ecosys­tem every day.  Look at the home page of any news source and of our lead­ing pub­lish­ers.  Not just MIT from its pole posi­tion pro­duc­ing video knowl­edge through MIT Open­Course­Ware, but all knowl­edge insti­tu­tions, and many if not most jour­nals and radio sta­tions fea­ture video front and cen­ter now.  We are liv­ing at a moment when authors, pub­lish­ers, jour­nal­ists, schol­ars, stu­dents, cor­po­ra­tions, knowl­edge insti­tu­tions, and the pub­lic are involv­ing more video in their self-expres­sion.  Yet like 1906, before the Chica­go Man­u­al, or 1919 before Strunk’s lit­tle guide­book, we have had no pub­lished guide­lines for con­vers­ing about the big­ger pic­ture, no state­ment about the impor­tance of the mov­ing-image world we are build­ing, and no col­lec­tive approach to under­stand­ing the medi­um more sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly and from all sides.  We are trans­form­ing at the mod­ern pace that print explod­ed in the six­teenth cen­tu­ry, but still with­out the appa­ra­tus to grap­ple with it that we devel­oped, again for print, in the ear­ly twen­ti­eth.

* * *

Pub­lic access to knowl­edge always faces bar­ri­ers that are easy for us to see, but also many that are invis­i­ble. Video is matur­ing now as a field. Could we say that it’s still young? That it still needs to be saved – con­stant­ly saved – from com­mer­cial forces encroach­ing upon it that, if left unreg­u­lat­ed, could soon strip it of any remain­ing man­date to serve soci­ety?  Could we say that we need to save our­selves, in fact, from “sur­ren­der­ing,” as Mar­shall McLuhan wrote some 60 years ago now, “our sens­es and ner­vous sys­tems to the pri­vate manip­u­la­tion of those who would try to ben­e­fit from tak­ing a lease on our eyes and ears and nerves, [such that] we don’t real­ly have any rights left”?  Before we have irrev­o­ca­bly and per­ma­nent­ly “leased our cen­tral ner­vous sys­tems to var­i­ous cor­po­ra­tions”?

You bet we can say it, and we should.  For most of the 130 years of the mov­ing image, its pro­duc­ers and con­trollers have been elites—and way too often they’ve attempt­ed with their con­trol of the medi­um to make us think what they want us to think. We’ve been scared over most of these years into believ­ing that the mov­ing image right­ful­ly belongs under the purview of large pri­vate or state inter­ests, that the screen is some­thing that oth­ers should con­trol.  That’s just non­sense.  Unlike the ear­ly pio­neers of print, their suc­ces­sors who for­mu­lat­ed copy­right law, and their suc­ces­sors who’ve got­ten us into a world where so much print knowl­edge is under the con­trol of so few, we – in the age of video – can study cen­turies of squan­dered oppor­tu­ni­ties for free­ing knowl­edge, cen­turies of mis­takes, scores of hot­foot­ed mis­steps and wrong turns, and learn from them.  Once we under­stand that there are oth­er options, oth­er roads not tak­en, we can begin to imag­ine that a very dif­fer­ent media sys­tem is – was and is – emi­nent­ly pos­si­ble.  As one of our great media his­to­ri­ans has writ­ten, “[T]he Amer­i­can media system’s devel­op­ment was the direct result of polit­i­cal strug­gle that involved sup­press­ing those who agi­tat­ed for cre­at­ing less mar­ket-dom­i­nat­ed media insti­tu­tions. . . . [That this] cur­rent com­mer­cial media sys­tem is con­tin­gent on past repres­sion calls into ques­tion its very legit­i­ma­cy.”

The mov­ing image is like­ly to facil­i­tate the most extra­or­di­nary advances ever in edu­ca­tion, schol­ar­ly com­mu­ni­ca­tion, and knowl­edge dis­sem­i­na­tion. Imag­ine what will hap­pen once we real­ize the promise of arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence to gen­er­ate mass quan­ti­ties of schol­ar­ly video about knowl­edge – video sum­maries by experts and machines of every book and arti­cle ever writ­ten and of every movie and TV pro­gram ever pro­duced.

We just have to make sure we get there.  We had bet­ter think as a col­lec­tive how to climb out of what jour­nal­ist Han­na Rosin calls this “epis­temic chasm of cuck­oo.”  And it doesn’t help – although it might help our sense of urgency – that the Amer­i­can pres­i­dent has turned the White House Oval Office into a tele­vi­sion stu­dio. Recall that Trump end­ed his Feb­ru­ary meet­ing with Volodymyr Zelen­skyy by say­ing to all the cam­eras there, “This’ll make great tele­vi­sion.”

The Mov­ing Image: A User’s Man­u­al exists for all these rea­sons, and it address­es these chal­lenges.  And these chal­lenges have every­thing to do with the gen­er­al epis­temic chaos we find our­selves in, with so many peo­ple believ­ing any­thing and so much out there that is untrue.  We have to solve for it.

As the poets like to say, the only way out is through.

–Peter B. Kauf­man works at MIT Open Learn­ing. He is the author of The New Enlight­en­ment and the Fight to Free Knowl­edge and founder of Intel­li­gent Tele­vi­sion, a video pro­duc­tion com­pa­ny that works with cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tions around the world. His new book, The Mov­ing Image: A User’s Man­u­al, is just out from the MIT Press.

How the Moving Image Has Become the Medium of Record: Part 1

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

How did we get to the point where we’ve come to believe so many lies that 77 mil­lion Amer­i­cans vot­ed into the White House a crim­i­nal real­i­ty TV star from NBC, one groomed by a real­i­ty TV pro­duc­er from CBS, who then appoint­ed his Cab­i­net from Fox and X and World Wrestling Enter­tain­ment?

It’s a long sto­ry, but the mov­ing image had some­thing to do with it – which is to say, the way we have let tele­vi­sion, video, and screen cul­ture run almost entire­ly unreg­u­lat­ed, pure­ly for prof­it, and with­out regard to its impact on the minds of our cit­i­zens.  And it’s no acci­dent that the media and tech­nol­o­gy tycoons sur­round­ing the Pres­i­dent at his White House inau­gu­ra­tion – from Alpha­bet, Ama­zon, Apple, Face­book, Tik­Tok, X, you name it – con­trol the screens, net­works, and tech­nolo­gies that prop­a­gate the lies we’re forced to inhale every day. He invit­ed them.

What’s worse is that they accept­ed.

* * *

It’s a long sto­ry indeed – one that stretch­es back to the dawn of man, back tens of thou­sands of years to the time when our pre­de­ces­sors exist­ed on Earth with­out a sin­gle writ­ten word between them.  “Lit­er­a­cy,” the philoso­pher, Jesuit priest, and pro­fes­sor of lit­er­a­ture Wal­ter Ong has writ­ten, “is impe­ri­ous.”  It “tends to arro­gate to itself supreme pow­er by tak­ing itself as nor­ma­tive for human expres­sion and thought.”  This arro­gance, for Ong, is so over­reach­ing because the writ­ten word – writ­ing, text, and print gen­er­al­ly – is actu­al­ly such a brand-new phe­nom­e­non in the long his­to­ry of man.  Our species of Homo sapi­ens, Ong reminds us, has been around only for some 30,000 years; the old­est script, not even 6,000; the alpha­bet, less than four. Mesopotami­an cuneiform dates from 3,500 BC; the orig­i­nal Semit­ic alpha­bet from only around 1,500 BC; Latin script, or the Roman alpha­bet that you’re read­ing now, from the sev­enth cen­tu­ry BC.  “Only after being on earth some 500,000 years (to take a fair­ly good work­ing fig­ure) did man move from his orig­i­nal oral cul­ture, in which writ­ten records were unknown and unthought of to lit­er­a­cy.”

For most of human exis­tence, we’ve com­mu­ni­cat­ed with­out print— and even with­out text.  We’ve been speak­ing to one anoth­er.  Not writ­ing any­thing, not draw­ing a whole lot, but speak­ing, one to one, one to sev­er­al, sev­er­al to one, one to many, many to one.  Those who con­sid­er writ­ing, text, and print as “the par­a­digm of all dis­course” thus need to “face the fact,” Ong says, that only the tini­est frac­tion of human lan­guages has ever been writ­ten down – or ever will be.  We com­mu­ni­cate in oth­er ways besides writ­ing.  Always have.  Always will.  Ong press­es us to devel­op a deep­er under­stand­ing and appre­ci­a­tion of the “nor­mal oral or oral- aur­al con­scious­ness” and the orig­i­nal “noet­ic econ­o­my” of humankind, which con­di­tioned our brains for our first 500,000 years – and which is at it once again.  Sound and human move­ment around sound and pic­tures sus­tained us “long before writ­ing came along.”  “To say that lan­guage is writ­ing is, at best, unin­formed,” Ong says (a bit impe­ri­ous­ly him­self).  “It pro­vides egre­gious evi­dence of the unre­flec­tive chi­ro­graph­ic and/or typo­graph­ic squint that haunts us all.”

The unre­flec­tive chi­ro­graph­ic squint.  We squint, and we see only writ­ing.  Up to now, we’ve found truth and author­i­ty only in text ver­sions of the word.  But writ­ing, when it, too, first appeared, was a brand-new tech­nol­o­gy, much as we regard cam­eras and micro­phones as brand- new tech­nolo­gies today.  It was a new tech­nol­o­gy because it called for the use of new “tools and oth­er equip­ment,” “styli or brush­es or pens,” “care­ful­ly pre­pared sur­faces such as paper, ani­mal skins, strips of wood,” “as well as inks or paints, and much more.”  It seemed so com­pli­cat­ed and time- con­sum­ing, we even used to out­source it.  “In the West through the Mid­dle Ages and ear­li­er” almost all those devot­ed to writ­ing reg­u­lar­ly used the ser­vices of a scribe because the phys­i­cal labor writ­ing involved – scrap­ing and pol­ish­ing the ani­mal skin or parch­ment, whiten­ing it with chalk, resharp­en­ing goose-quill pens with what we still call a pen-knife, mix­ing ink, and all the rest – inter­fered with thought and com­po­si­tion.

The 1400s changed all that.  Guten­berg start­ed print­ing on his press in Ger­many, in 1455.  The great his­to­ri­ans of print – Robert Darn­ton, Eliz­a­beth Eisen­stein, Lucien Feb­vre, Antho­ny Grafton – tell us about how print­ing passed through patch­es of explo­sive growth, and how that growth was unno­ticed at the time.  Thir­ty years after Guten­berg cranked up his shop in Mainz, Ger­many had print­ers in only forty towns.  By 1500, a thou­sand print­ing press­es were in oper­a­tion in West­ern Europe, and they had pro­duced rough­ly 8 mil­lion books.  But by the end of the 1500s, between 150 and 200 mil­lion books were cir­cu­lat­ing there.

Like ours, those ear­ly years, now 500 years ago, were full of chaos – the new tech­nol­o­gy seemed over­whelm­ing.  Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty Librar­i­an Emer­i­tus Robert Darn­ton has writ­ten, “When the print­ed word first appeared in France in 1470, it was so brand new, the state did not know what to make of it.”  The monar­chy (keep this in mind) “react­ed at first by attempt­ing to extin­guish it.  On Jan­u­ary 13, 1535, Fran­cis I decreed that any­one who print­ed any­thing would be hanged.”  For the mov­ing image today, with all of us on our iPhones, the mod­ern cog­nate of hang­ing every­one record­ing or shar­ing video might seem extreme.  But in the long view, we too, com­par­a­tive­ly speak­ing, don’t yet know what to “make” of this new medi­um of ours.

That’s part­ly because it, too, is so young.  The Lumiere broth­ers showed the first movie to pub­lic cus­tomers in France in 1895 – only 130 years ago.  But today video is becom­ing the dom­i­nant medi­um in human com­mu­ni­ca­tion.  It accounts for most of our con­sumer inter­net traf­fic world­wide.  The giga­byte equiv­a­lent of all the movies ever made now cross­es the glob­al inter­net every two min­utes.  Near­ly a mil­lion min­utes of video con­tent cross glob­al IP net­works every six­ty sec­onds.  It would take some­one – any­one – 5 mil­lion years to watch the amount of video that scoots across the inter­net each month. YouTube – YouTube alone – sees more than 1 bil­lion view­ers watch­ing more than 5 bil­lion videos on its plat­form every day.  Video is here, and every­where.  It’s part of every sport­ing event, it’s at every traf­fic stop, it’s at every con­cert and in every court­room.  Twen­ty net­work cam­eras active­ly film the Super Bowl.  The same num­ber work Cen­tre Court at Wim­ble­don.  It’s in every bank, in every car, plane, and train.  It’s in every pock­et.  It’s every­where.  For what­ev­er you need.  Dog train­ing.  Chang­ing a tire. Solv­ing a dif­fer­en­tial equa­tion.  Chang­ing your mood.

It’s tak­en con­trol.  It’s just us who’ve been slow to real­ize it.  Some 130 years into the life of the mov­ing image, we are in what Eliz­a­beth Eisen­stein, writ­ing about print, called the elu­sive trans­for­ma­tion: it’s hard to see, but it’s there.  If you pic­ture an air­plane flight across an ocean at night, you can sense it.  As the sky dark­ens and din­ner is served, the most notice­able thing about the plane is that almost every­one is sit­ting illu­mi­nat­ed by the video screens in front of them.  The screen and the speak­er are now at the heart of how world cit­i­zens com­mu­ni­cate.  In many ways we are the pas­sen­gers on this plane, rely­ing no longer on the print­ed page, but on the screen and its mov­ing images for much of the infor­ma­tion we are receiv­ing (and, increas­ing­ly, trans­mit­ting) about our world.  The cor­rup­tion and malfea­sance and occa­sion­al achieve­ments of our mod­ern politi­cians; sci­en­tif­ic exper­i­ments; tech­no­log­i­cal devel­op­ments; news­casts; ath­let­ic feats – the whole pub­lic record of the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry, in short – is all being record­ed and then dis­trib­uted through the lens, the screen, the micro­phone, and the speak­er.  Now text may be los­ing its hold (short as that hold has been) on our noet­ic imag­i­na­tion – espe­cial­ly its hold as the most author­i­ta­tive medi­um, the most trust­wor­thy medi­um, the medi­um of the con­tract, the last word, as it were.

Don­ald Trump and the greedy, cow­ard­ly tech­nol­o­gists that sur­round him know it.  They have the data; but they also intu­it it.  And they are clamp­ing down on our access to knowl­edge even as the oppo­site seems true – which is that Apple, Net­flix, Tik­tok, and YouTube are mak­ing video ever freer, and more ubiq­ui­tous.

This marks the end of Part 1 of Peter Kauf­man’s essay. You can now find Part 2 here.

–Peter B. Kauf­man works at MIT Open Learn­ing. He is the author of The New Enlight­en­ment and the Fight to Free Knowl­edge and founder of Intel­li­gent Tele­vi­sion, a video pro­duc­tion com­pa­ny that works with cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al insti­tu­tions around the world. His new book, The Mov­ing Image: A User’s Man­u­al, is just out from the MIT Press.

Cats in Medieval Manuscripts & Paintings

Renais­sance artist Albrecht Dür­er  (1471–1528) nev­er saw a rhi­no him­self, but by rely­ing on eye­wit­ness descrip­tions of the one King Manuel I of Por­tu­gal intend­ed as a gift to the Pope, he man­aged to ren­der a fair­ly real­is­tic one, all things con­sid­ered.

Medieval artists’ ren­der­ings of cats so often fell short of the mark, Youtu­ber Art Deco won­ders if any of them had seen a cat before.

Point tak­en, but cats were well inte­grat­ed into medieval soci­ety.

Roy­al 12 C xix f. 36v/37r (13th cen­tu­ry)

Cats pro­vid­ed medieval cit­i­zens with the same pest con­trol ser­vices they’d been per­form­ing since the ancient Egyp­tians first domes­ti­cat­ed them.

Ancient Egyp­tians con­veyed their grat­i­tude and respect by regard­ing cats as sym­bols of divin­i­ty, pro­tec­tion, and strength.

Cer­tain Egypt­ian god­dess­es, like Bastet, were imbued with unmis­tak­ably feline char­ac­ter­is­tics.

The Vin­tage News reports that harm­ing a cat in those days was pun­ish­able by death, export­ing them was ille­gal, and, much like today, the death of a cat was an occa­sion for pub­lic sor­row:

When a cat died, it was buried with hon­ors, mum­mi­fied and mourned by the humans. The body of the cat would be wrapped in the finest mate­ri­als and then embalmed in order to pre­serve the body for a longer time. Ancient Egyp­tians went so far that they shaved their eye­brows as a sign of their deep sor­row for the deceased pet.

Aberdeen Uni­ver­si­ty Library, MS 24  f. 23v (Eng­land, c 1200)

The medieval church took a much dark­er view of our feline friends.

Their close ties to pagan­ism and ear­ly reli­gions were enough for cats to be judged guilty of witch­craft, sin­ful sex­u­al­i­ty, and frat­er­niz­ing with Satan.

In the late 12th-cen­tu­ry, writer Wal­ter Map, a soon-to-be archdea­con of Oxford, declared that the dev­il appeared before his devo­tees in feline form:

… hang­ing by a rope, a black cat of great size. As soon as they see this cat, the lights are turned out. They do not sing or recite hymns in a dis­tinct way, but they mut­ter them with their teeth closed and they feel in the dark towards where they saw their lord], and when they find it, they kiss it, the more humbly depend­ing on their fol­ly, some on the paws, some under the tail, some on the gen­i­tals. And as if they have, in this way, received a license for pas­sion, each one takes the near­est man or woman and they join them­selves with the oth­er for as long as they choose to draw out their game.

Pope Inno­cent VIII issued a papal bull in 1484 con­demn­ing the “devil’s favorite ani­mal and idol of all witch­es” to death, along with their human com­pan­ions to death.

13th-cen­tu­ry Fran­cis­can monk Bartholo­maeus Angli­cus refrained from demon­ic tat­tle, but nei­ther did he paint cats as angels:

He is a full lech­er­ous beast in youth, swift, pli­ant, and mer­ry, and leapeth and reseth on every­thing that is to fore him: and is led by a straw, and playeth there­with: and is a right heavy beast in age and full sleepy, and lieth sly­ly in wait for mice: and is aware where they be more by smell than by sight, and hunteth and reseth on them in privy places: and when he taketh a mouse, he playeth there­with, and eateth him after the play. In time of love is hard fight­ing for wives, and one scratch­eth and ren­deth the oth­er griev­ous­ly with bit­ing and with claws. And he maketh a ruth­ful noise and ghast­ful, when one prof­fer­eth to fight with anoth­er: and unneth is hurt when he is thrown down off an high place. And when he hath a fair skin, he is as it were proud there­of, and goeth fast about: and when his skin is burnt, then he bideth at home; and is oft for his fair skin tak­en of the skin­ner, and slain and flayed.

Pigs and rats also had a bad rep, and like cats, were tor­tured and exe­cut­ed in great num­bers by pious humans.

The Work­sop Bes­tiary Mor­gan Library, MS M.81 f. 47r (Eng­land, c 1185)

Not every medieval city was anti-cat. As the Aca­d­e­m­ic Cat Lady Johan­na Feen­stra writes of the above illus­tra­tion from The Work­sop Bes­tiary, one of the ear­li­est Eng­lish bes­tiaries:

Some would have inter­pret­ed the image of a cat pounc­ing on a rodent as a sym­bol for the dev­il going after the human soul. Oth­ers might have seen the cat in a com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent light. For instance, as Eucharis­tic guardians, mak­ing sure rodents could not steal and eat the Eucharis­tic wafers.

Bodleian Library Bod­ley 764 f. 51r (Eng­land, c 1225–50)

St John’s Col­lege Library, MS. 61 (Eng­land (York), 13th cen­tu­ry)

It took cat lover Leonar­do DaVin­ci to turn the sit­u­a­tion around, with eleven sketch­es from life por­tray­ing cats in char­ac­ter­is­tic pos­es, much as we see them today. We’ll delve more into that in a future post.

Con­rad of Megen­berg, ‘Das Buch der Natur’, Ger­many ca. 1434. Stras­bourg, Bib­lio­thèque nationale et uni­ver­si­taire, Ms.2.264, fol. 85r

Relat­ed Con­tent

Medieval Cats Behav­ing Bad­ly: Kit­ties That Left Paw Prints … and Peed … on 15th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­scripts

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Preda­tor to Sofa Side­kick

- 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.

When Sliced Bread Got Banned During World War II

Home baked sour­dough had its moment dur­ing the ear­ly days of the pan­dem­ic, but oth­er­wise bread has been much maligned through­out the 21st cen­tu­ry, at least in the West­ern World, where carbs are vil­i­fied by body-con­scious con­sumers.

This was hard­ly the case on Jan­u­ary 18, 1943, when Amer­i­cans woke up to the news that the War Foods Admin­is­tra­tion, head­ed by Sec­re­tary of Agri­cul­ture Claude R. Wickard, had banned the sale of sliced bread.

The rea­sons dri­ving the ban were a bit murky, though by this point, Amer­i­cans were well acquaint­ed with rationing, which had already lim­it­ed access to high-demand items as sug­ar, cof­fee, gaso­line and tires.

Though why sliced bread, of all things?

Might depriv­ing the pub­lic of their beloved pre-sliced bread help the war effort, by free­ing up some crit­i­cal resource, like steel?

Not accord­ing to The His­to­ry Guy, Lance Geiger, above.

War pro­duc­tion reg­u­la­tions pro­hib­it­ed the sale of indus­tri­al bread slic­ing equip­ment for the dura­tion, though pre­sum­ably, exist­ing com­mer­cial bak­eries wouldn’t have been in the mar­ket for more machines, just the odd repair part here and there.

Wax paper then? It kept sliced bread fresh pri­or to the inven­tion of plas­tic bags. Per­haps the Allies had need of it?

No, unlike nylon, there were no short­ages of waxed paper.

Flour had been strict­ly reg­u­lat­ed in Great Britain dur­ing the first World War, but this wasn’t a prob­lem state­side in WWII, where it remained rel­a­tive­ly cheap and easy to pro­cure, with plen­ty left­over to sup­ply over­seas troops. 1942’s wheat crop had been the sec­ond largest on record.

There were oth­er ratio­nales hav­ing to do with elim­i­nat­ing food waste and reliev­ing eco­nom­ic pres­sure for bak­ers, but none of these held up upon exam­i­na­tion. This left the War Pro­duc­tion Office, the War Price Admin­is­tra­tion, and the Office of Agri­cul­ture vying to place blame for the ban on each oth­er, and in some cas­es, the Amer­i­can bak­ing indus­try itself!

While the ill con­sid­ered ban last­ed just two months, the pub­lic uproar was con­sid­er­able.

Although pre-sliced bread hadn’t been around all that long, in the thir­teen-and-a-half years since its intro­duc­tion, con­sumers had grown quite depen­dent on its con­ve­nience, and how nice­ly those uni­form slices fit into the slots of their pop up toast­ers, anoth­er recent­ly-patent­ed inven­tion.

A great plea­sure of the His­to­ry Guy’s cov­er­age is the name check­ing of local news­pa­pers cov­er­ing the Sliced Bread Ban:

The Lodi News-Sen­tinel!

The Har­ris­burg Tele­graph! 

The Indi­anapo­lis Star! 

An absence of data did not pre­vent a reporter for the Wilm­ing­ton News Jour­nal from spec­u­lat­ing that “it is believed that the major­i­ty of Amer­i­can house­wives are not pro­fi­cient bread slicers.”

One such house­wife, hav­ing spent a hec­tic morn­ing hack­ing a loaf into toast and sand­wich­es for her hus­band and chil­dren, wrote a let­ter to the New York Times, pas­sion­ate­ly declar­ing “how impor­tant sliced bread is to the morale and sane­ness of a house­hold.”

The more stiff upper lipped patri­o­tism of Ver­mont home eco­nom­ics instruc­tor Doris H. Steele found a plat­form in the Barre Times:

In Grandmother’s day, the loaf of bread had a reg­u­lar place at the fam­i­ly table. Grand­moth­er had an attrac­tive board for the bread to stand on and a good sharp knife along­side. Grand­moth­er knew that a steady hand and a sharp knife were the secrets of slic­ing bread. She sliced as the fam­i­ly asked for bread and in this way, she didn’t waste any bread by cut­ting more than the fam­i­ly could eat. Let’s all con­tribute to the war effort by slic­ing our own bread.

Then, as now, celebri­ties felt com­pelled to weigh in.

New York City May­or Fiorel­lo LaGuardia found it ludi­crous that bak­eries should be pre­vent­ed from putting their exist­ing equip­ment to use.

And Hol­ly­wood actress Olivia de Hav­il­land approved of the ban on the grounds that pack­aged slices were too thick.

Watch more of the His­to­ry Guy’s videos here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dat­ing Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

See Rid­ley Scott’s 1973 Bread Commercial—Voted England’s Favorite Adver­tise­ment of All Time

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of the World’s Only Sour­dough Library

- 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.

Two Women in Their 90s Recall Their Teenage Years in Victorian 1890s London


Mud everywhere…and where there wasn’t mud, there was fog, and in between was us, enjoy­ing our­selves. — Berta Ruck

Berta Ruck and Frances ‘Effy’ Jones were teenagers in the 1890s, and while their rec­ol­lec­tions of their for­ma­tive years in mud­dy old Lon­don are hard­ly a por­trait of Jazz Age wild­ness, nei­ther are they in keep­ing with mod­ern notions of stuffy Vic­to­ri­an mores.

Inter­viewed for the BBC doc­u­men­tary series Yesterday’s Wit­ness in 1970, these nona­ge­nar­i­ans are for­mi­da­ble per­son­ages, sharp­er than prover­bial tacks, and unlike­ly to elic­it the sort of agist pity embod­ied in the lyrics of a pop­u­lar dit­ty Ruck remem­bers the Cock­neys singing in the gut­ter after the pubs had closed for the night.

“Do you think I might dare to sing [it] now?” Ruck, then 91, asks (rhetor­i­cal­ly):

She may have known bet­ter days

When she was in her prime

She may have known bet­ter days

Once upon a time…

(Raise your hand if you sus­pect those lyrics are describ­ing a washed up spin­ster in her late 20s or ear­ly 30s.)

The 94-year-old Jones reach­es back more than 7 decades to tell about her first job, when she was paid 8 shillings a week to sit in a store­front win­dow, demon­strat­ing a new machine known as a type­writer.

Some of her earn­ings went toward the pur­chase a bicy­cle, which she rode back and forth to work and overnight hol­i­days in Brighton, scan­dalous­ly clad in bloomers, or as Jones and her friends referred to them, “ratio­nal dress”.

Ruck, pegged by her head­mistress as an “indo­lent and feck­less girl”, went on to study at the Slade School of Art, before achiev­ing promi­nence as a best­selling romance nov­el­ist, whose 90 some titles include His Offi­cial Fiancée, Miss Million’s Maid and In Anoth­er Girl’s Shoes.

We do hope at least one of these fea­tures a hero­ine resent­ful­ly brush­ing a skirt mud­died up to the knees by pass­ing han­som cabs, an impo­si­tion Ruck refus­es to sweet­en with the nos­tal­gia.

As the British Film Institute’s Patrick Rus­sell writes in 100 British Doc­u­men­taries, the Yesterday’s Wit­ness series, and Jones and Ruck’s episode, in par­tic­u­lar, pop­u­lar­ized the oral his­to­ry approach to doc­u­men­tary, in which the direc­tor-inter­view­er is an invis­i­ble pres­ence, cre­at­ing the impres­sion that the sub­ject is speak­ing direct­ly to the audi­ence, unprompt­ed:

The series’ mak­ers suc­cess­ful­ly resist­ed any temp­ta­tions to patron­ize or edi­to­ri­al­ize, and aimed at sym­pa­thet­ic curios­i­ty rather than nos­tal­gia. The two women tell their sto­ries flu­ent­ly, humor­ous­ly, intel­li­gent­ly — offer­ing con­sid­ered ret­ro­spec­tive com­ment on their generation’s assump­tions, nei­ther sim­ply accept­ing nor reject­ing them…Unlike text­books, and oth­er types of doc­u­men­tary, films like Two Vic­to­ri­an Girls gave the youth access to the mod­ern past as pri­vate­ly expe­ri­enced. 

- 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.

Footage of Flappers from 1929 Restored & Colorized with AI

The flap­per is the Roar­ing 20s’ endur­ing emblem — a lib­er­at­ed, young woman with bobbed hair, rolled down stock­ings, and a pub­lic thirst for cock­tails.

(My grand­moth­er longed to be one, and suc­ceed­ed, as best one could in Cairo, Illi­nois, only to mar­ry an old­er man at the age of 17, and give birth to my father a few months before the stock mar­ket crashed, bring­ing the friv­o­li­ty of the decade to an abrupt halt.)

Our abid­ing affec­tion for the flap­per is stoked on F. Scott Fitzger­ald’s Jazz Age novel­la, The Great Gats­by, and its many stage and screen adap­ta­tions, with their depic­tions of wild par­ties fea­tur­ing guests like Miss Baedeck­er (“When she’s had five or six cock­tails she always starts scream­ing like that”) and Lucille (“I nev­er care what I do, so I always have a good time.”)


The vin­tage fash­ion blog Glam­our Daze’s new­ly col­orized footage of a 1929  fash­ion show in Buf­fa­lo, New York, at the top of this post, presents a vast­ly more sedate image than Fitzger­ald, or Ethel Hays, whose sin­gle-pan­el dai­ly car­toon Flap­per Fan­ny was wild­ly pop­u­lar with both young women and men of the time.

 

 

The scene it presents seems more whole­some than one might have found in New York City, with what Fitzger­ald dubbed its “wild promise of all the mys­tery and the beau­ty in the world”. The mod­els seem more eager ama­teurs than run­way pro­fes­sion­als, though lined up jaun­ti­ly on a wall, all exhib­it “nice stems.”

My young grand­moth­er would have gone ga ga for the cloche hats, tea dress­es, bathing suits, loung­ing paja­mas, golf and ten­nis ensem­bles, and evening gowns, though the Deep Exem­plar-based Video Col­oriza­tion process seems to have stained some mod­els’ skin and teeth by mis­take.

The orig­i­nal black and white footage is part of the Uni­ver­si­ty of South Carolina’s Fox Movi­etone News col­lec­tion, whose oth­er fash­ion-relat­ed clips from 1929 include pre­sen­ta­tions fea­tur­ing Wash­ing­ton debu­tantes and col­lege coeds.

Added sound brings the peri­od to life with nary a men­tion of the Charleston or gin, though if you want a feel for 20s fash­ion, check out the col­lec­tion’s non-silent Movi­etone clip devot­ed to the lat­est in 1929 swimwearthis is a mod­ernistic beach ensem­ble of ray­on jer­sey with diag­o­nal stripes and a sun back cut

It’s the cat’s paja­mas. As is this playlist of hits from 1929.


Explore Glam­our Daze’s guide to 1920s fash­ion his­to­ry here.

Watch the orig­i­nal black and white footage of the Buf­fa­lo, New York fash­ion show here.

- 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.

Explore the Entire World–from the Comfort of Quarantine–with 4K Walking Tours

Many of us right now are shel­ter­ing in place, or in quar­an­tine, dream­ing of that day when we can once again trav­el the world. And that day will come, friends, that day will come.

But until then, there are already sev­er­al YouTube chan­nels set up to pro­vide you with a chance to go on walk­ing tours around the world, with only the sounds of the envi­ron­ment in your head­phones.

I was alert­ed to this by good friend Phil Gyford, who found this via Sarah Pavis (via Fave­Jet), and pro­vid­ed sev­er­al links to this large selec­tion of vir­tu­al trav­el­er. Your mileage my vary, as they say, but here’s some trips I found par­tic­u­lar­ly relax­ing in these anx­ious times.

Above, I start­ed here with this walk through Pim­mit View Park in Falls Church, Vir­ginia. Despite an umbrel­la dip­ping into view, I found this a relax­ing walk­ing in the rain through a ver­dant won­der­land, with occa­sion­al paus­es to admire the flow­ing streams. Love­ly.

From here I was feel­ing a bit peck­ish, so I bopped over to the Pha­tra Mar­ket in Bangkok to have a look at the var­i­ous foods on offer. Lazy­Tourist, the per­son who filmed this, nev­er strays too long at any stall, but knows enough to linger.

A YouTu­ber called 4K Urban Life pro­duces the occa­sion­al walk­ing tour of Euro­pean cities, and here they show us Tus­cany, start­ing in a very non-descript side­street until ven­tur­ing out into the heart of old Italy. This one is near­ly four hours long, so bring a bot­tle of wine but skip the sun­screen. Enjoy the lack of social dis­tanc­ing, and pray for Italy.

Night has fall­en and it’s time to ven­ture out into the West End of Lon­don in this evoca­tive video from Watched Walk­er. It’s rainy and wet, but no mat­ter, the streets of Lon­don look love­ly and this hour-plus takes us through “Covent Gar­den, Leices­ter Square, Pic­cadil­ly Cir­cus, Oxford Cir­cus, Oxford Street, Carn­a­by Street and Soho.”

Now let’s drop in on one of New York City’s most pop­u­lar tourist des­ti­na­tions, Times Square. Wind Walk Trav­el Videos has a lot of these short (30 mins or less) vis­its to Amer­i­can loca­tions, and this is one of their most pop­u­lar. Try not to think about how emp­ty these spaces are now, and enjoy the ambi­ence, sketchy Elmo and all.

Here’s Ram­bal­ac walk­ing Shin­juku at night, check­ing out the side streets and test­ing out his bin­au­r­al mic. This is a treat with head­phones on, so make this full screen and order in some ramen.

A final thought: recent­ly I’ve been focus­ing on 4K “remas­ter­ing” (by way of AI) of turn of the (20th) cen­tu­ry films, a look back to a dif­fer­ent age. In these above videos, we can see the tra­di­tion con­tin­ues, a fas­ci­na­tion in watch­ing life go on as we sit and look into our devices. Think on both those long since deceased folk in the 1900s and a record of our once-nor­mal lives (only a month ago, as of this writ­ing), and keep them both in your hearts.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Walk­ing Fos­ters Cre­ativ­i­ty: Stan­ford Researchers Con­firm What Philoso­phers and Writ­ers Have Always Known

A 5‑Hour, One-Take Cin­e­mat­ic Tour of Russia’s Her­mitage Muse­um, Shot Entire­ly on an iPhone

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Brazil’s Nation­al Muse­um & Its Arti­facts: Google Dig­i­tized the Museum’s Col­lec­tion Before the Fate­ful Fire

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

Traditional Inuit Thoat Singing and the Modern World Collide in This Astonishing Video

Let’s just get this out of the way…

Musi­cal­ly speak­ing, Inu­it throat singing—or kata­j­jaqis not going to be everyone’s cup of tea.

For all those who find this tra­di­tion­al form mes­mer­iz­ing, there are oth­ers who get antsy with no lyrics or eas­i­ly dis­cernible melody on which to hang their hat, or who expe­ri­ence the bleak sound of the Arc­tic wind cou­pled with the singers’ pre­lim­i­nary breath­ing as a hor­ror movie sound­track.

If, as a mem­ber of one of the lat­ter camps, you feel inclined to bail after a minute or so of Wapikoni Mobile’s Sun­dance-endorsed video above—you get it, it’s some­thing akin to Mon­go­lian or Tuvan throat-singing, it’s cir­cu­lar breath­ing, there’s a lot of pic­turesque snow up therewe beg you to recon­sid­er, on two counts.

1) In an era of auto­tuned “everyone’s‑a-star” per­fec­tion, Kata­j­jaq is a hearty hold-out, a com­mu­ni­ty-spir­it­ed singing game whose com­peti­tors seek nei­ther star­dom nor rich­es, but rather, to chal­lenge them­selves and amuse each oth­er with­out screens through­out the long win­ter nights.

Prac­ti­tion­er Evie Mark breaks it down thus­ly:

One very typ­i­cal exam­ple is when the hus­bands would go on hunt­ing trips.  The women would gath­er togeth­er when they have noth­ing to do, no more sewing to do, no more clean­ing to do, they would just have fun, and one of the ways of enter­tain­ing them­selves is throat-singing.

It goes like this. Two women face each oth­er very close­ly, and they would throat sing like this:

If I would be with my part­ner right now, I would say A, she would say A, I would say A, she would say A, I say C, she says C.  So she repeats after me.  It would be a sort of rolling of sounds.  And, once that hap­pens, you cre­ate a rhythm.  And the only way the rhythm would be bro­ken is when one of the two women starts laugh­ing or if one of them stops because she is tired.  It’s a kind of game.  We always say the first per­son to laugh or the first per­son to stop is the one to lose.  It’s noth­ing seri­ous.  Throat singing is way of hav­ing fun.  That’s the gen­er­al idea, it’s to have fun dur­ing gath­er­ings.  It is also a way to prove to your friends around you or your fam­i­ly that if you are a good throat-singer, you’re gonna win the game.

Throat-singing is a very accu­rate tech­nique in a sense that when you are singing fast, the per­son who is fol­low­ing the leader has to go in every lit­tle gap the leader leaves for her to fill in.  For instance, if I was to say 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, the ones being what I sing and the plus­es the gaps, she would go in-between the ones, singing on the plus­es.  Then, if I change my rhythm, this woman has to fol­low that change of rhythm and fill in the gaps of that new rhythm.  She has to be very accu­rate.  She has to have a very good ear and she has to fol­low visu­al­ly what I am doing.

Throat singing is not exact­ly easy on your diaphragm.  You are using a lot of your mus­cles in your diaphragm for breath­ing in and breath­ing out.  I have to find a space between sounds to breath in in order for me to throat-sing for 20 min­utes or more.  20 min­utes has been my max­i­mum length of time to throat-sing.  You have to focus on your lungs or your diaphragm.  If you throat-sing using main­ly breath­ing, you are gonna hyper­ven­ti­late, you’re gonna get dizzy and dam­age your throat.

2) The video, star­ring Eva Kaukai and Manon Cham­ber­land from Kan­gir­suk in north­ern Québec (pop­u­la­tion: 394), deflates con­ven­tion­al notions of tra­di­tion­al prac­tices as the prove­nance of some­where quaint, exot­ic, taxi­der­mied…

Begin­ning around the 90-sec­ond mark, the singers are joined by a drone that sur­veys the sur­round­ing area. View­ers get a glimpse of what their Arc­tic home­land looks like in the warm sea­son, as well as some hunters flay­ing their kill pri­or to load­ing it into a late mod­el pick up, pre­sum­ably bound for a build­ing in a whol­ly sub­ur­ban seem­ing neigh­bor­hood, com­plete with tele­phone poles, satel­lite dish­es, andgaspelec­tric light.

Via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Hu, a New Break­through Band from Mon­go­lia, Plays Heavy Met­al with Tra­di­tion­al Folk Instru­ments and Throat Singing

An MRI Shows How a Singer Sings Two Tones at Once (With the Music of Mozart and Bri­an Eno)

How to Sing Two Notes At Once (aka Poly­phon­ic Over­tone Singing): Lessons from Singer Anna-Maria Hefele

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC for the new sea­son of her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

 

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