In order to be good at a craft, we need to accept and embrace the fact that we are an intelligent conduit for that craft. We are nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
Hanks says basically that in a gajillion little different ways here, and each is worth hearing.
OK, those scare quotes are unfair; this is indeed art, even if the creator is phoning in bits where he or she could certainly have applied a small amount and greatly improved their work.
Yes, “Pooky Park” is credited like so:
This is an AI-generated 1950s TV commercial for a family theme park called Pooky Park, where customers are chased by giant, somewhat terrifying puppets. Script: ChatGPT Photos: Midjourney Video: PikaLabs, Runway
That leaves the impression that someone typed “Make a 1950s TV commercial for a family theme park called Pooky Park, where customers are chased by giant, somewhat terrifying puppets” into ArtGT, hit the GO! button, and it pooped out this short, festive romp whole.
But that’s not how any of these tools work. For example, I can tell you from experience that Runway only gives you three or so seconds of footage at a time. The creator is eliding the fact that a lot has gone into editing the visuals and creating the audio. Yes, the script sounds like it’s straight ChatGPT (“Colossal howdy-doody-type puppets”? 🙄), and us thus hella week. But this is still an excellent creative application of new artistic tools—evidenced by the fact that I watched it and shared it not because of the gimmick (“AI made this!!!1!“), but because it captivated me and entertained me and unsettled me and made me want to share it with other people so they could be captivated and entertained and unsettled, too. And that, my best belovéd, is what art is all about.
I write horror, SF, and DIY stuff—occasionally in book form. If you want autographed/personalized copies for your lovelies this holiday season, I can help!
Junkyard Jam Band: DIY Musical Instruments and Noisemakers: Again, we like titles that make description redundant. These are oddball little homebrew instruments and effects: an electric ukulele, a synth or two, thumb pianos, lofi audio effects, etc.
There Was No Sound of Thunder: A Time Portal Novel: Fresh out of college Taylor lucks into a cushy job in human resources. Now he’s tangled up with dishonest bosses, domestic terrorists, meth dealers, the “Problem of Too Many Hitlers,” and threats to space-time integrity. What’s a fella to do?
There Was a Crooked Man, He Flipped a Crooked House(a cosmic horror novel): Downtrodden Glenn and his none-too-bright sidekick Lennie work for a crooked real estate baron flipping houses in downtrodden Detroit. But this latest flipper has some odd geometry, a really off library—and a knack for keeping itself occupied.
Heinrich Lossow’s “The Sin“, but it’s a throw pillow.
As an aside, the artist (Heinrich Lossow) deserves props for the best two-sentence bio on all of Wikipedia:
“Heinrich Lossow (10 March 1843 in Munich, Kingdom of Bavaria – 19 May 1897 in Schleissheim, Austria-Hungary) was a German genre painter and illustrator. He was a prolific pornographer in his spare time with an emphasis on analingus.”
This is a situation where I want to grab frame or two to put here, to entice you to click through and read the whole thing. But at the same time, I don’t wanna grab a full frame, b/c every frame of it—and the way the entire thing locks together—is So. Damn. Perfect, and such a perfect presentation of the thing it’s trying to talk about.
I love it. There’s nothing left to say. It’s 100% perfect for me. It is MAUS for this moment.
Please note that the cock-lion’s “tail” is itself another phallus. *fingertip kiss* Magnifique!
Anyway, the next time you hear someone sounding off about how hopelessly depraved and perverted the present is, just remember this 2,000-year-old ding-a-ling and laugh in their prudish faces.
“Bronze tintinabulum hung with small bells to function as a wind chime. It is decorated with a winged lion-phallus which was believed to provide magical protection against evil and to bring good luck to the household. (Date 1st-Century)” source
I take exception to Tom Moon’s characterization of Dorothy Ashbury (quoted as the title): she isn’t just among “the most unjustly under-loved jazz greats of the 1950s”; she is almost certainly the most inexplicably under-appreciate jazz great ever.
Born in 1932 in Detroit, Ashbury broke barriers at every angle: a Black female professional artist in a male dominated industry, Ashby established the harp as an improvising jazz instrument, cracking open both mainstream society’s notion’s of what was and was not appropriate for a Black woman to do (playing classical harp) and cracking up the counterculture’s notion of what could and could not be done (bringing “novelty” background instruments like harp and koto to center stage, bringing global cultural and musical tropes to Euro-American-centric jazz).
“It’s been maybe a triple burden in that not a lot of women are becoming known as jazz players. There is also the connection with black women. The audiences I was trying to reach were not interested in the harp, period—classical or otherwise—and they were certainly not interested in seeing a black woman playing the harp.”
But I kinda give zero shits about any of that; just listen to her music:
Don’t you dare click away from that track before you cross the 1min20sec mark! “Joyful Grass and Grape” is, like, 90% of the way to being a Wu Tang banger all by itself, just add some ODB and RZA.
This is why I love Ashbury: the deep, quiet Afro-futurism of this music that came 40 years earlier than it had any right to. She was sampling and mixing and beat juggling in her head, without the benefit of turntables and a sound system. In it’s infancy hiphop constantly justified itself by pointing to jazz—and sadly somehow missed its most obvious Matriarch. I am so delighted to have algorithmically stumbled upon Ashbury that my outrage about her erasure is itself entirely erased.
Here’s the initial track that joyfully blew my goddamned mind:
And there’s much much more out there. Listen. Listen!
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