Having read stories of heroes and martyrs when we were kids, we take it on faith that people should be willing to die for their beliefs. That, or we dismiss suicidal terrorists as deluded, brainwashed. But have we looked inside the brains of extremists to see what might have been happening when they made their noble or mad choices?
Stifano says he wanted "La Spigolatrice," “to represent an ideal of a woman, evoke her pride, the awakening of a conscience, all in a moment of great pathos.” He cheerfully admits that he would have preferred to sculpt her nude but was not allowed.
Novels, news, plays, debates, speeches, texts, films, podcasts, instructions—we move through life on a conveyor belt of words. Yet the most powerful are those that cannot be uttered.
In the past two decades, more than one thousand children have taken anxiety and dread deep into their bodies, falling into what has been named uppgivenhetssyndrom, a giving-up we translate as “resignation syndrome.” They withdraw into a catatonic state, showing no response to stimulus, sustained for months or even years by a feeding tube and diapers.
The explosion of interest in NFTs seems a harmless quirk of the market, like the absurd price a retro action figure, boxed and pristine, can command on eBay. But why would the mere fact of $74,000 wipe away skepticism and convince us, purely by the abstract value attached to the abstract cryptocurrency used to buy intangible pixels, that such barter holds promise for our future?
Cows see more than we realize. Hariana cows, writes Lampert, insist on authenticity and will “go quite crazy” if someone lies in their presence. Mainly, though, they contain their criticism. “Cows are among the gentlest of breathing creatures,” Thomas de Quincey wrote.
In an artist’s hands, digital technology is a toolkit whose wands and transformations grant almost magical powers. But what about the rest of us, holding up our phones everywhere we go? Now we, too, live as Photographers.
In 1998, Jakuchō Setouchi recast the refined court language of "The Tale of Genji," said to be the world’s first novel, in contemporary, highly accessible Japanese prose. Her edition—which emphasizes the heroines, not just the prince—sold more than 2.1 million copies and set off an explosion of interest in the classic. Eight years later, a grateful emperor placed the Order of Culture medal around her neck.
After resisting emojis for years, I slap them on willy-nilly, a quick nod that lets a text’s sender know I adore them and in an ideal world would write a long and thoughtful response. We are all too busy, and pictograms are fast and can be dismissive and friendly at the same time, ending an exchange that might otherwise ping-pong for far too long. But now I am told that the smiley face itself is not the least bit friendly.
I would not be at all surprised if figs, rather than apples, contained God’s knowledge. They are at once male and female, and I trust androgyny. Also, figs are not fruits at all, but hundreds of flowers turned inward.
At life’s start, we share a single heartbeat. We are connected to everything our mother feels and thinks. Now, especially when we love someone, our minds and bodies instinctively try to recapture a bit of that unity. We unconsciously mimic the physical gestures or posture of someone we like; we yawn when they do; we giggle just because they are laughing.
Hardly anybody who got addicted to Bob Ross’s show bothered to paint. They just watched, rapt. His encouragement was comforting, like a compliment with no strings attached: “You coulda gone pro!” “You should write a book!” No expectations, no judgment. Just a happy reminder that possibilities existed.