JF Ptak Science Books

God in Reverse: the First Painted View of Future Action (1912?)

JF Ptak Science Books LLC  Post 529

Jeff Donlan from Salida, Colorado, sparked this post with his comment from yesterday*.  I don't think that Matyushin  really knew where he was going , either, even though he was writing in the years (1896-1916) when this issue of time and space and motion was being hammered on god's holy anvil.  The thinking that the artist of this time were in some way responsible for shaping the social vessel necessary for the scientific development of these ideas has never been attractive to me.  Frankly this image wound up in the dead idea cemetery (along with the cemeteries of lost ideas, the cemeteries of blind ambitions, of fear, of lust-conquered-love and vice versa; the cemeteries of hollow illusion, near-achievement, and good will; the cemeteries of childhood despairs, of extra vowels, of dropped change, of the thoughts behind bad thoughts, and of ill-gotten gains.  There are no cemeteries evidently for incompetencies or mediocracies, as these things, in addition to being lifeless, cannot be killed.)

This issue is strongly entertained by Linda Dalrymple Henderson in her Princeton-published doorstopper The Fourth Dimension and Non-Euclidean Geometry in Modern Art, where she prettily and exhaustively declares "nope" to the egg-chicken possibility of the space/time issue being born in art and nurtured-up in the sciences, which is fine with me. 

That's not to say that the art produced in the sciences to illustrate fourth- and nth-dimensional space weren't without (great) artistic qualities.W.L. Stringham  ("Regular Fgures in n-Dimensional Space", 1880), E. Jouffre  (Traite elementaire de geometrie a quatre dimensions, 1903), H.P. Manning (Geometry of Four Dimensions, 1914) are excellent and early examples of gorgeous illustration illuminating complex issues, and are also published many years before the works of Braque and Picasso and Metzinger and Gleizes and Le Fauconnier and of course Duchamp.  These artists are all producing their important work before 1912, but are also definitely coming after some of the major work in the history of the fourth dimension.  

But getting back to Matyushin and to the title of this post:  I wondered when the first painted images depicting future action was painted. "God" comes into this because, I think, a case might be made for the depcition of future action via the depiction of the progression to life-after-death states (and marching towards heaven/hell.)  Removing god from the equation takes us,  maybe, to the backwards spelling of god:  "dog".

Giacomo Bella's  Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash (1912) may well be the god-reverser, the first painting of the future, with simultaneous views of space and time, wrapped up in the gift of speed.  Whether this is accurate or not I really don't know--Duchamp's Nude Descending was painted and almost and nearly exhibited in this same year (having been throw out of the art exhibition by friend and foe alike because his work was too risky)--I really like that this "first" involved the picture of a doggie, even though it is vastly inferior to the Duchamp and all.  

This is a complex issue that I'm just passing quickly through--I'm not sure that this whole issue wasn't dealt with first(artistically) in the comics, the space/time bit perhaps getting an early cover in places like Windsor McKay's Little Nemo in Slumberland (1908) and Lyonel Feininger's The Kin-der-Kids (1909).  Then there's the issue of Etinne Marey's beautiful studies of motion, which look a tremendous lot like the things to come in Duchamp et cie twenty years later, but that's another story. But I think it highly poetic that this issue boils down to a stumpy dog, Little Nemo, a French polymath with a gun camera, and M. Duchamp (who didn't take any of it seriously). 

__________

* "Pictures like these are porn for the unhappy multitasker. What Matyushin could not know in 1915 is that when we rush fast enough, our left brain shuts down and the right brain takes over suffusing us with an intense feeling of oneness. We don't really see the totality; we just feel we do. I don't know that this is true, but I feel that it is as I rush through this so I can write my library column before I forget..."  This was said in response to the following: "Mikhail Matyushin, in 1915: "Only motion cystallizes outward appearance into a single whole...a speeding train fuses the separatness of the cars into a compact mass..."  He goes on to say that "when at last we shall rush rapidly past objectness we shall probably see the totality of the whole world", though I think that he got that part of it backwards, or perhaps inside out."

Inside-Out Privacy: Hermits, St. Simeon, and Cellular Phones

JF Ptak Science Books LLC  Post 528

"Language is just no damned good."--Marcel Duchamp

It seems to me that when cellular telephones first appeared, they were to deliver a certain amount of privilege, a promise of speed in communication that would allow for more personal time and privacy.  But that was many years ago, back when paying for cable television meant no commercials.  The promise, or possibility, of privacy as a result of using this Ponzi scheme of constant data streaming is a demolished and smoldering pile, missing the smolder and the pile.  There's just nothing in that smoking promise-hole:  no smoke, and not even a hole. 

What it is, I think, is privacy turned inside out:  everything on the inside is now on the outside, a great big visible and vocal outside. 

Privacy, which means to me the promise of some time in which to do a little thinking, is much more in line, say, with the pursuit of a personal space:  not necessarily like that of the beautiful hermit in the image to the left here, but it at least represents the possibility of quiet, which represents a possibility of order and image-making, which in turn represents dreaming or thought or perhaps nothing at all.  It does mean something to the lead monk in this engraving, which belongs to the beautiful Illustrium Anachoretarum Elogia sive religiosi Viri Musaeum ("The Museum of Hermits") of Giacomo Cavaccio (published in Venice in 1625).  This is a beautiful and remarkable book, with 32 full-page engravings punctuating 150 pages of text  surveying the literature and imagery of, yes, hermits.  Although living very simply, these hermits were all in order, living cleanly, with an impressive two-dozen or more books in their little huts.  St. Anthony, another very quiet thinker, lived in a similar fashion but without books and whose story was unknown until it came (post mortem by thirty years) to St. Augustine, appearing in his Confessions.

On the other hand, in the history of quiet asceticism (athletae Dei, "athlete of god"),a hermit without the need of a hermitage, or quiet, or aloneness, a hermit who turned the concept of private thought inside out, was St. Simeon Stylites.  I'm sorry to say that he sounded to me like a person in desperate need to be seen being thoughtful and to display his quiet and dedication loudly.  Chained to an ever-heightening pillar, doing sit ups and reciting his conversations with the creator of the universe, Simeon made it into heaven as a saint after treading the earth as one.  Still he seems to have been the opposite of the expected.

I wonder about this legacy of the invasion of the cell phone; I have little doubt that it is just the barest blink of future invasions of privacy to come, unstoppable and ultimately unwantable. M. Duchamp did say this about words--though he was talking about written and spoken, words--once they left the privacy of the brain, their meanings got all messed up. The interruption of privacy was what corrupted them and their meaning. ("I use it  (language) because I have to" Duchamp said.)  

I can't help but think about the speed of deliverables in the Brave New World.  It reminds me of an observation made by Mikhail Matyushin, in 1915: "Only motion cystallizes outward appearance into a single whole...a speeding train fuses the separatness of the cars into a compact mass..."  He goes on to say that "when at last we shall rush rapidly past objectness we shall probably see the totality of the whole world", though I think that he got that part of it backwards, or perhaps inside out. 

Word Balloons (continued): an Early Version in a Printed Book, 1523

JF Ptak Science Books  Post 527

 

Earlier in this blog I’ve touched on the history of the thought and/or speech balloon  (The X-Ray of the Imagination 2: Phrenology, Chinese Hell Scrolls, and the Beauty of the Thought Balloon--Internal Dialog, Demons, Humors, and Picturing the Stuff of Thought...) and I thought for sure that I had included some Renaissance examples of this very expressive additive to the medium, though it seems that I didn’t.  Everyone seems to be familiar with the idea, though perhaps it is a minority who know how old the idea is:  and it is old, the idea stretching back at least into Medieval times.  I know of at least one example from the 12^th century:  an Evangeilstary from Lower Saxony, executed ca. 1190 (though the influences are Byzantine), where the Gospel texts are introduced with an illuminated page, at least two of which are further illuminated with speech banners.  (This was on display in the monumental exhibit called “1200”, shown at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC in 1970 and pictured in the exhibition catalog.)

The idea must’ve been groundbreaking, though I wonder—as in the case of simultaneous sound-on-film talkies almost instantly replacing the silent film—if there were detractors who raised the issue of the device being a “cheat”, claiming that the art itself should be enough to convey the very thoughts or speech of it subject, which was now displayed in words right on the canvas. (Perhaps there was an implied threat to art itself?)    Is this the case with all new or different or revolutionary breakthroughs?  Were the minstrels threatened by the new professional theater?  Was the production of manuscripts put in jeopardy by movable type presses?  Was the Parisian water carrier, the purveyor of the coolest and freshest water threatened by municipal water systems? Radio by television; family cohesion by television; private thought by constant communication devices; symphony by recordings; telegraph by telephone; considered correspondence by email, and so on?  (I don’t think there was a “no” response to the above.) It seems as though the response is a time-compressed myoptically-evolutionary response.

This example, printed in Paris in 1523, is an illustration for the work of Bruno Carthisienni. St. Bruno (who lived ca. 1030 to 1101) born in Cologne and educated in Rheims, was an influential academic with a wide accumulation of knowledge and a wandering spirit he used to establish monasteries.  This woodcut is one of the earliest examples of word balloons in a printed book, while the book itself is a monument to typography and illustration.  The word balloons in this case are really quite lovely, and seem to almost life their speaker from his casket. 

A History of Dots 4: Durer, Viennese Kids, Dalton's Chemistry Table, and Scrofula

JF Ptak Science Books LLC  Post 525

In a continuing series on the History of Dots I'd like to add the following, disconnected though they are, so I don't lose them in the coming mix.  It is also one of my few chances to actually need to use the word "scrofula"--a lonely, ugly word, a word as unpretty as "Susquehanna" is pretty, a word that should be as timid, but isn't, a word that really exercises all parts of your mouth when you say it out loud.  (Try it--there's like five or six movements involved in getting that past your lips.)

 To be truthful about it, it isn't so much about scrofula as it is about the "curing " of the disease with special little pills:  the Popular Pill!  This woodcut appears in a short sales treatise, published in London in 1675 or so, by Humphrey Nendick, (the delightfully titled)  A Compendium of the Operations Vertues and Use of Dr. Nendicks Applauded Pill, against all Chronick Diseases,m curing by the cleansing of the blood, That most successful medicine, which is so deservedly called, the Popular Pill.  For its Spcial vertues, safety and success, against the Dangerous and our Nations Popular Disease, the Scurvy.  I'm not so sure about what

Dr. Nendick was up to with the pill, but I do know that is was obtainable from grocers, bakers, cutlers, gunsmiths and barbers all over England at three shillings for forty tiny dots of possible joy.  Its imaginary Galenical powers were supposed to bear against the tedium and insolence of all manners of scurvies and popular complaints--much like its contemporary dot/pill rivals like Pilulae Anti-Scurbuticae (sold at the Carv'd Posts in Stonecutter Street between Shoe Lane and Fleet Ditch (!)). 

Albrecht Durer doesn't seem to have many dots at all in his works, though I did stumble upon this image from Sebastan Brant's Navis Stultifera (Basle, 1497)--a fool interrupting a mother and daughter who were "discussing" their game of backgammon.

On the other hand the history of the construction of the periodic table is necessarily filled with dots, as we see with the monarchical creation of John Dalton (1766-1844), in his New System of Chemical Philosophy (part II), and which was printed in 1810--these symbols were sued to visually represent the atomic structure of compounds, and were of vast importance and predictive powers, marking the true modernizing of chemistry.  It was in Part I of this work that Dalton first applied atomic theory to chemistry.

This last element for this installment on dots simplifies things enormously, sort of, even though these dots represent the very building blocks of almost everything else.  They represent counting.  And they are beautifully present in this image from Franz Brauner's Rechenbuch fuer osterreichische Volksschulen (published in 1953).  Funny that this "Rechenbuch" turns up again here in 1953--its been the major part of titles of books describing the laws of arithmetic for 450 years. 

Music, Math, and the Mathematical Piano: Pascal, 1645

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Music is the pleasure of the human soul experiences from counting without being aware that it is counting. - Gottfried Leibniz

Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), physicist and mathematician--rather, mathematician and physicist--and philosopher as well, invented the second mechanical calculator in 1645 (after that of Wilhelm Schickard (1592-1635) in 1623).  He had a phenomenal output in many different, difficult, and complex areas, all completed before he died at the improbable age of 39. (His predecessor in invention, Schickard, was dead at 43.)   We see him here, seated in front of his beautiful invention (called the Arithemtique, and the Pacalina), looking to be quite a bit older than his age at invention, which was 23.  He looked pretty content with himself, even though, I think, he didn't care all that much for the machine--at least he didn't care enough about it to perfect it, or to try to make real money on the thing.  But the picture of him here always looked to me as though he was playing an enharmomic harpsichord, or using some sort of musical instrument, or doing something more socially beautiful than the optical doing of arithmetic, though both were exhibitions of tuning the polyphonic sub-mysteries harmonies of nature.  His image seems to wed the millennial Pythagorian creation of the music of the spheres, and Leibniz’ scorn of Newton’s occult-y causes of nature’s phenomena, and of Augustine’s “distraction” of perfect creation—a polychord romance of science and music.

Or, maybe, it was just a guy sitting behind a calculator.

Crowds #5: Clarity and Confusion in Displays of Human Masses.

JF Ptak Science Books LLC  Post 523

I do enjoy looking at pictures of crowds--big crowds.  Images of the crowd are much easier to find in the 19th century and onwards (and particularly in photographs), though big displays of human seas (such as they were) began to show up in the late 15th century, and then, more as a matter of course, in the early 16th century.  What is enjoyable for me are the numerous vignettes that make up the whole, discrete visions within the larger visual field, a sweep of smallnesses that can seemingly stand on their own had they been bigger. 

Depicting crowds can be a chore successful and not--for example, the image to the left, an amalgamated porridge of controlled mock combat, a sweeping chaos with appreciative bystanders, is so busy, and has so many constituent parts, that there 

really isn't a "whole".  I can hardly see the thing, for crying out loud, for all of the disconnected action.  The artist who produced this remarkably good/bad image for Georg Ruexner's fantastic Anfamg, Ursprung und Herkomen de Thirnirs in Teutscher Nation (published in 1530) clearly had interest only in the details of the action; and thus the overall image is a beautiful confusion of starts and fits, defiant in its general appeal to comprehension.  The impression to me is a miserably layered oneness of discordant activity, a sloppy relief of enormous detail, the whole worth far less than the sum of its parts. 
The only place that your eye gets a chance to rest and focus is on the two dozen or so spectators who are in the windows and balconies overlooking the small square where the tournament was taking place--their appearance, and also that of the small assembly of musicians at center, offer a calming influence to the rest of the picture.
One bit that leaps out at me, though, are the two small boys who seem to be having a fistfight, right there at the bottom-right of the image.  I can tell you that pictures of boys fighting finding their way into piece of renaissance art is a very rare thing.  Perhaps the artist was trying to send us a message, after all?

(I know this is a pretty big complaint, particularly since the book is a monumental work on The Tournament, and it was done within the first 65 years or so of the invention of movable type printing, but I just found the thing so opitcally  corrosive that I wanted to surface it. )

The second example, coming to us from Antonio Mongitore (L'Atto Pubblico di Fede Solennemente Celebrato nella citta di Palermo, 1724) depicts an earlier scene, and one of complexity and order.  Unfortunately, the cohesion centers around the execution of two tried/convicted heretics--god knows what they did to deserve this cleansing sentence. It didn't take all that much during the Inquisition to find yourself in deep black waters, as Mother Church seems to have been extraordinarily thin-skinned; the slightest abrasion to their slight slate of moral indignities could result in being hurt in foul way, and then burned alive at the stake. 

But in looking closer at this image, I'm not sure sure that these two unfortunates were actually being burnt--it may be that they were being roasted alive.

They are seated, and the pyre seems to be only behind them--perhaps the flames hadn't reached them yet; but people were in fact roasted, cooked alive, which may be even more girzzly than being consumed entirely by flames.  The two are being approached, or watched, or offered too-late benedictions by a line of clerics shielded by a crucifix--perhaps they were just reminding the condemned exactly who it was that they had pissed off. 

There is no doubt that this was a popular diversion for those not in fear of being burnt at the stake, as there are probably hundreds of people in attendance, including those in a semi-circle of pre-modern "skybox" accommodations--undoubtedly the holier folks.  Piety of witnessing best in privacy and all that. 

A Beautiful Book of Terrible Things: Artillery, 1623

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Praxis Artolleriae Pyrotechnicae, printed in Osnabruck by Tilman Buchholtz for Johann Georg Schwaender, is one of those beautiful books of horrible things; beautifully designed and illustrated, with magnificent images of the horrifying necessaries that bind and tear nations and people.  Flying and land-based weapons o fall sorts filled these pages:  rocket, grenades, land mines, plus pyrotechnics and fireworks.  As jolly as this implement might seem, it is not a firework, at least not one for entertainment:  it was meant to dismember or kill.  Those "arrows" on the ring are not showing the direction of the flight of the module--they are spears.  This was a lethal weapon of the highest order--pretty, not-so-simple, and deadly.

Some other beautiful terribles, published to about the year 1600, include: 

Roberto VALTURIO 1472 Vérone De re militari

Niccolo Fontana TARTAGLIA  1537  La Nova Scientia

Vanoccio BIRINGUCCIO  1540 : De La Pirotechnia

Conrad HAAS  1556 : Kunstbuch

Girolamo CATANEO 1564 : Opera nuova di fortificare, offendere et difendere, et far gli alloggiamenti campali.

Thomas DIGGES  1579 Arithmetical military treatise.

Gabriello BUSCA 1584 Istruzione dei Bombardieri.   1585  Della espugnatione et difesa delle fortezze.  1606 :Della Architeltura militare.  

Luys COLLADO 1586 Practica manuale di artegliera.

Jean BEAVIE 1591 Liège La pyrotechnie militaire

Daniel DAVELOURT  1597 Briefve Instructions Sur Le Fait De L'artillerie de France.
- 1606  L’Artillier.
- 1608 : L'Arsenal et le magasin d'artillerie.
- 1617  L'Art et la conduite des eaux sur le fait de l'Artillerie de  et ses dépendances

Joseph BOILLOT.  1598 Modelles, artifices de feu et divers instrumens de guerre 

Gabriele BUSCA da Milano 1605 Della espugnatione et difesa delle fortezze.
1598 Istruttione de' bombardieri.  

Eugenio GENTILINI  1598 Instruttione di artglieri.

David RIVAULT de FLURENCE 1605 Les elemens de l’artillerie concernans tant la theorie que la pratique du canon.
1608 L’invention description & demonstration d’une nouvelle artillerie qui ne se charge que d’air ou d’eau pure, & à neantmoins une incroiable force. Plus d’une nouvelle facon de pouldre a canon tres-violente qui se faict d’or, par un excellent & rare artifice non communiqué jusques à present. L’histoire du progrez & des premiers usages des armes à feu tant recentes qu’anciennes, est deduitte en l’avant-propos.  

Leonhard ZUBLER 1608  Nova geometrica pyrobolia - Neuwe geometrische Büchsenmeisterery.

From the Man who Brought you Betty Boop and Popeye: Max Fleischer and Albert Einstein

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Max Felischer (1883-1972) a nice Galician boy from Brownsville and employee of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, the patentee of the rotoscope and arts editor of Popular Science, was an inventor, artist and writer who brought into being such iconic American creations as Popeye and Betty Boop.  (Fleischer’s cartooning efforts could hardly be confused with his later nemesis, Walt Disney.  Fleischer’s cartoons were almost always edgier, darker, surreal, and slightly hidden to young eyes.  Betty Boop, for example, was quite a dish until censors toned her down, way down, into her faded obscurity; Popeye on the other hand survived magnificently but was always saying something not quite intelligible that sounded a little blue.) He also made the first full-length documentary film in 1923 explaining to the great mass Einstein’s theory of relativity, the general theory coming into being in 1916 and the special theory in 1905.   The public reception of Einstein’s theory, in 1923, was mixed:  it was hallowed, and Einstein was ultra-famous, but the theory by and large was not understood.  That really didn’t matter, because it was important and it was proven and it worked; the taxonomy of the thing didn’t come into play in the daily grind.   (After bleeding fallow for 16 years, and that would be the length of time from his four epochal papers of 1905 of which the special theory was but one, Einstein was finally “given” the Nobel prize for physics in 1921—this was actually  awarded for his work on the photo-electric effect, which is an obvious manifestation of the quantum theory of light, brought into being by Max Planck in 1899/1900. The politics of the non-giving non-award in the meantime is simply not a pretty story.)

The reception of the theory was still problematic in 1923, and Max Fleischer decided to have a stab at the story.  The result is the following 18-minute presentation—it isn’t as inspired as it is of historical peeping interest, basically a cartoon for adults that is now 86 years old, and its interesting enough just to know that it was done.

The Staggering Beauty of Barber Shops: Naive Surreal Department #22

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If I didn't already go to see Korean War Vet Mr. Jack for my (one) hair cut (and I really don't mean "haircut"), I think that I could tear myself away from that wonderful experience to go back into time's recent ankle-deep depths and go to this barbershop....or rather barber emporium.  The location or credit wasn't given in the occupational pamphlet (The Canadian Census Classification Personal Service:  Barber) in which it appeared, which is altogether too bad.  I cannot recall (can you?) ever seeing such a Busby Berkeley arrangement of barber chairs, centered around a washing station, with clouds (!!) painted on the ceiling.  I would half expect to see Mr. Zero Mostel (oh well, not every did well at HUAC) lead them all in a dance routine where everyone finishes up very leggy and in a pool.  It may well be the case in this unnamed palace that we are seeing only half of the shop--evidence in my copy shows that there is the end of a chair in the foreground, meaning that there could be 15 chairs in there, making it one heck of a busy place, clouds on the ceiling or not.  (The clouds make sense, remembering that most men in 1946 would be going in to see the barber for a shave as he would a cut or trim--and why not look at something attractive when you're on your back and someone is scraping your face with a very sharp tool?  Dentists should take heed...) 

And while we're at it, when exactly did womens beauty salons start to appear in earnest?  This pamphet states "But in 1913, when women took to "bobbed" hair, the barbers found a vast new market for their services.  In the last twenty-five years however a large part of this market has been lost to the hairdressers and beauty culture speciaists, most of whom are women."  That would mean that--at least in Canada--men were doing this new "bobbed" styling  for their "vast" new clienetelle from 1913 to 1921. It would've been a very wide and languid hayride for barbers for those years, cutting the hair of both men and women.  I can imagine the shock of the first male barber seeing the first woman-operated beauty salon swing open its no-males doors--probably there on his street--and hear that glug glug glug sound of business being drained.  Bobbed hair giveth, and bobbed hair taketh away.  

And now, speaking completely through my hat, I wonder about where women got their hair cut in the 19th century.  My guess:  they didn't go "out" to have it cut; when they did cut it, they did so at home.  I cannot recall seeing any pre-WWI advertisements for hair cutting for women--as a matter of fact the overwhelming memory I have of women and hair going back into the mid 19th century is for hair care products showing women with enormously long hair adding balms and salves and lustreizers and so forth to it.  I can't force a memory of an ad for anything having to do with cutting womens' hair--not even an ad for shears.  Of course a very low percentage of women were in the workforce before WWI, and the women who were wealthier and could afford evening clothing could certainly afford to have someone come over and take care of their hair. Slipping back into the 18th century and slightly before, there was the issue of wigs and extenders--or whatever it was that society women would add to their hair to make it impossibly tall and full.  But that was a very restrictive percentage of women enjoying that privelege, and I'm not sure that it counts for my purposes here.

My guess is that the money just wasn't there.  Or it wasn't there until women sorta started to work, and there was a shortish hairstyle that was not too complicated or time consuming to cut.   Again, I'm just guessing all of this out, but it does seem to make sense.  

Confusing Iconography from Out of Place Things in the Sky: Television, the Atom and post War America, 1946

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The war was over for a year, the soldiers were pretty much home, the atomic bomb had been used (three times) to morph the coming future--a future that a quick-artist tried to show in this catalog cover for Allied Radio in 1946.  Probably the artist was just grinding out some more piece work when he did this cover, probably--though he did come up with something pretty interesting, whether he knew it or not.  He did get a good strong sniff of the Something that was coming, and that was the reflection, or capture, or incubation, of the city in the iconoscope tube as it hovered over a verdant America.  The tube was for the next generation of televisions in the post-War forties; by the 1950's, the television had actually captured most of the United States.  The tube also looked a lot like the Mercury space capsule, but that I think doesn't mean anything. 

The growth of the television world in the U.S. was extraordinary:  from 6,000 sets in 1946 came the following growth:

1947: 142,000
1948: 977,000
 1949: 3.6 mil
1950: 9.7 mil
1951: 15.6 mil
1952: 21.7 mil
1953: 25.2 mil

and by 1962, television set ownership reached 90% of the American population, or about 160 million sets. 
So, the artist did capture something, though it wasn't the slightly science fiction-y image of the city in the tube; it was the city in the tube, that t he tube wasn't actually reflecting anything, but absorbing it. 

In the 1950s there were at least 102 TV manufacturers in the U.S., which in light of what is going on in today's world, is epic.  For example, I've included those companies beginning with ABC and S,T,U,W,Z to give you an idea of the scope of these companies:

Admiral,  Aircastle,  Air King, Airline,AMC,American Television, Andrea , Ansley, Arvin, ATR, Automatic Radio Manufacturing, Base Television Corp, Bell Television, Bendix Brunswick, Capehart-Farnsworth, CBS-Columbia (Air King), Certified Radio Labs, Conrac, Cornell, Crosley

AND

Scott, Sentinel.Setchell Carlson, Shaw Television. Shevers, Harold, Gotham Television Corp., Silvertone (Sears), Singer, Snaider,Sonora, Sparton, Starrett, Stewart-Warner,Stromberg-Carlson, Sylvania, Tech-Master, Tele-King, Tele-Tone,Telequip, Television, Inc., Televista Corp. of America (TECO), Templetone Mfg. Co., Trad, Transvision, Trans-Vue, Truetone - Western Auto, TraV-ler, UST (United States Television), Vidcraft Television Corp., Video Corp. of America - Cornell Television Inc., Video Products Corp. - Sheraton Television, Warwick, Wells-Gardner, Western Auto - Truetone, Westinghouse,  and Zenith.

It is just phenomenal.  This list is lifted from a wonderful site that provide PICTURES of all of these sets, at tvhistory.tv.

Stepping UP to Heaven: the Beautiful Dead of Los Angeles

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DEAD, adj.

Done with the work of breathing; done
With all the world; the mad race run
Though to the end; the golden goal
Attained and found to be a hole!
      —Squatol Johnes (Amrbose Bierce in his Devil's Dictionary.)

A first step up toward Heaven? What was Mr. Barton thinking, outside, perhaps, of filling up pages with words so that he could collect 10-cents apiece for them?  His pen was so filled with sugar (I'm sure that I got a case of The Diabetes just from reading the words) and his exaltations of being in the cemetery were so gloriously and morbidly obese that one could only but fling oneself under the next trolley to Burbank  to get to the luscious dirtnap promised for the departed at Forest Lawn. I mean, dirt never tasted sooo good.  This pamphlet, published in 1935, was basically a sales brochure for tourists--the sales number made for prospective departeds would have to had been something far more enticing--at least it would have had to cost a lot more to print.  But what I think the Forest Lawn people were doing was trying to control a little bit of public attention and sympathy to generate ever more interest in the

sales of cemetery privileges and internment bric-a-brac for the noticables who could afford it.  It was still very expensive to sleep with the worms at Forest Lawn, even in the Depression--it seems as though the price of admission at the lowest end was in the order of a few thousand dollars, which was a lot in those days. But if a lot is what is cost to be dead in an expensive place, well, then so be it.  The place was decorated with casts of Renaissance statues and other High Art exuda that it was, well, perfectly awful.  (Or  in the words of Darren McGavin, who plays/was the wonderful father from A Christmas Story, when gazing for the first time on a spectacularly ugly table lamp made of a resin model of a woman's (provocative) leg, gasps (just as you're thinking he's about to retch into his own hands): "Its...indescribably beautiful!".).  Forest Lawn is just so.  I guess that it must be, because there's a quarter of a million people buried in there, and a million people visit them a year.  What with sections called Eventide, Babyland (for infants, shaped like a heart), Graceland, Inspiration Slope, Slumberland (for children and adolescents), Sweet Memories, Vesperland, Borderland (on the edge of the cemetery), and Dawn of Tomorrow, how could this place not be indescribably beautiful?  Listen:  it is beautiful enough for people to get married there.  Ronald Reagan did.  Case closed. 

A History of Smallness, Part 3: Dew and Space (Charles William Wells, 1814)

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Little things comfort us because little things distress us. Blaise Pascal

Science is simply common sense at its best. ~Thomas Huxley

Physics is imagination in a straight jacket. ~John Moffat

Science does not know its debt to imagination. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Moderation, which consists in an indifference about little things, and in a prudent and well-proportioned zeal about things of importance, can proceed from nothing but true knowledge, which has its foundation in self-acquaintance. Plato

William Charles Wells (1757-1817), a Charleston-born Londoner who was the physician to St. Thomas's Hospital from 1800-1817, did one of those great, little experiments (sort of but not really like Charles Darwin crawling around on his imaginarily-sick tummy at Downs watching worms) from which big things were born. The experimentation, lovely and penetrating and elegant, took place over several years from 1812 to 1814, were published in this semi-slender, 146 page tract, which the great Thomas Huxley called "a model of wise inquiry and lucid exposition". (Actually, 146pp on dew might seem like a lot until you consider what dew is all about.) What Wells so ably exposed about dew was its great terrestrial demeanor--that the movement of dew, its accumulation and dissipation, was due to nothing less than radiation from space, regulated (or interrupted) by the action of the Sun and clouds, 'introducing a clear view of what is now called the radiation balance of the atmosphere". (W. Middleton, A History of the Theories of Rain, pp 188-191).  So this is a bit of smallness, something small and seemingly insignificant, leading from its own bit of nothingness into a theory of radiation from space and a theory of the atmosphere, a result almost completely unanticipated.  It is too in its own way somewhat like Robert Hooke re-introducing the often seen and little liked flea--showing people what the flea actually was, under magnification for the first time, showing what sort of world was going on in front of us that was simply just too small to see. 

Van Helmont's Lovely Title Page and his Sorry Slip into Curative Magnetism

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Joan Baptiste van Helmont's A ternary of paradoxes : the magnetick cure of wounds, nativity of tartar in wine, image of God in man.
(printed in London  by James Flesher for William Lee, 1650), offers its own unintended paradoxes (and joined the field of relatively few books with the word "paradox" in their title).  Purportedly a work of science, van Helmont offers the reader his views on the curative powers of the loadstone.  Of particular interest is Helmont's (1579-1644) discussion of the weapon salve, a cure for injuries caused by knives and swords. The unique feature of this ointment was that it was not applied to the wound but to the weapon which caused the wound, though in the midst of other very problematic scientific observations, this wasn't so bad.  For example, Helmont presented a recipe for making scorpions, which involved bricks, sunlight and basil, from which a scorpion would come. 

And what exactly is Helmont's place in the history of science?  Difficult to say:  he did make several important physical discoveries, and did present what some have called the modern approach to experimentation (firm insistence on relateable objects in empirical observation and so on); however, he was a reaching alchemist misty mystic who rejected syllogistic thought, mathematics*, human reasoning.  These are hard bits to let go.

All this said, what with scorpions and magnetic treatment of wounds, he comes close to the generation of infection in wounds:  "Upon the solution of Unity in any part the ambient air...repleted with various

evaporations or aporrhoeas of mixt bodies, especially such as are then suffering the act of putrefaction, violently invadeth the part and thereupon impresseth an exotic miasm or noxious diathesis, which disposeth the blood successively arriving at the wound, to putrefaction, by the intervention of fermentation. " With his magnetic sympathy, Van Helmont expressed clearly the doctrine of immunity and the cure of disease by immune sera: "For he who has once recovered from that disease hath not only obtained a pure balsaamical blood, whereby for the future he is rendered free from any recidivation of the same evil, but also infallibly cures the same affection in his neighbour...and by the mysterious power of Magnetism transplants that balsaam and conserving quality into the blood of...'
Problematic greatness just needs to be understood in greater detail than simply disregarding everything because someone disdains logic...

Note:

The interesting image in the middle of the title page is more religious symbolism than what seems to be a straightforward physics reference, and the bulk of it lies in the "lumen de lumine" inference, which in the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed confesses faith in Jesus Christ as Lumen de Lumine (Light from Light).  Once you replace the optics with the divine, the rest of the image and its relationship to the contetns of the obok becomes more clear.

* Helmont thought about the restrictiveness of mathematics, and that the quantitative aspects of things that math addressed missed their interior qualities, thus making mathematics not able to see what things are.  Oopsie.

The Discovery of Nothing: Things out of Place Deparment #4 AND a History of Blank and Empty Things #32

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This is really just another bit of fun--the four objects in the sky weren't unrelated to the scene, not at all, though if you wanted you could certainly create a fantastically rigorous and bizarre story for them; they certainly did define the concept of "nothing" for the Blank & Empty Things thread of this blog.  here is no doubt that the image has a very quiet, possibly Dadist origin.  In fact, this is one illustration from one of the greatest experimental physics books of the 17th century, coming as it does from Otto von Guericke's  Experiemnta nova (ut vocantur) Magdeburgica de vacuo spatio (Amsterdam, 1672).  In another minute department, this one is also I guess the greatest book ever written by a Mayor of anywhere (as von Guericke (1602-1886) was mayor of

Magedeburg for 33 years).  The image shows the greatest of von Guericke's efforts, and one of the greatest (or most important) experiments in experimental science--the dramatic demonstration of the vacuum, showing here that teams of horses could not pull apart two halves of an evacuated sphere, and of course the efficacy of air pressure operating against it (um, the vacuum). The "floating" bits in the sky were an exploded view of the sphere that was the subject of the experiment. 

What was more important though, and what the general reader today might easily miss, was that von Guericke created something that many scientists and philosophers said didn't, and couldn't, exist:  the vacuum.  In modern times, Copernicus depicted the universe as a vast void; Descartes came in the back door (following the ancient and interesting though incorrect theory of Aristotle*), not liking the idea very much, and claiming that such empty space couldn't exist.  Von Guericke provided the proof that the vacuum, that nothing, did exist. 

_______

*Aristotle (384-322 BCE) theorized that as air became thinner objects moving through it would move faster, which is true; he further speculated that if there was no air at all, that if vacuums did exist, then objects would move infinitely fast, which he correctly assumed was not possible, and thus the vacuum could not exist. 

The Zero Minus Zero Department: David Lynch Marionette Explains Surviving a Nuclear Holocaust

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I wouldn't look at this linked video if it is bedtime where you are.  It is a singularly creepy experience, at least for me, to watch this exceptionally bad marionette go through the paces of explaining how rural folks should/could prepare for the consequences of Atomic Armageddon.  Delivered to god knows where by the Department of Defense in  1965, this cretinous, bunch-crotched, simian-fingered, dead eyed, helmet haired, waxy marionette with a Joker mouth that goes from ear-to-ear wants to help in ways that make you want to run into the flames to drink a flaming glass of Pure Radiation.  As we watch the ten or so shorts unfold, the creepiness grows denser and bolder, watching the shaky walls behind hay bales in the basement fortress, collecting the errant cow to stuff it into the bomb shelter with a pat on the butt, the deeply disturbing profile of Marionette Man watching tv, the fully-dressed-wide-eyed-shocked-into-consciousness-zombie sleep, the black mirror, and on and on. 

These films are bizarre, errant, meaningless masterpieces, sugar coating the End of Things with flippant advice from a scary man moved with shining string--could such an important message be delivered with less care and still be delivered? Well, yes, of course, as anyone who can still remember "duck and cover" exercises can tell you. These supposedly "uniquely" stupid messages bombed onto the American population were basically part of an entire genre of visual seduction that induced an intellectual collitis that enabled such broadcast monologues to be delivered in the first place.  The best way to lie and have your message be believed is Lie Big, and these public betterment messages were among the Biggest Lies of the decade.