Signal v. Noise pointed to a couple cool things the other day. New to me is the Humument, a really cool illustrated treatment/ reincarnation of an old Victorian novel. Check out the gallery. Also getting a blurb are Austin Kleon’s blackout poems. This brings to mind that essay in Harper’s I linked to the other day, the one about plagiarism, copyright, and public imagination.

Today, when we can eat Tex-Mex with chopsticks while listening to reggae and watching a YouTube rebroadcast of the Berlin Wall’s fall‚Äîi.e., when damn near everything presents itself as familiar‚Äîit’s not a surprise that some of today’s most ambitious art is going about trying to make the familiar strange. In so doing, in reimagining what human life might truly be like over there across the chasms of illusion, mediation, demographics, marketing, imago, and appearance, artists are paradoxically trying to restore what’s taken for ‚Äúreal‚Äù to three whole dimensions, to reconstruct a univocally round world out of disparate streams of flat sights.

The Ecstasy of Influence, a new essay in Harper’s about plagiarism.

Visual, sound, and text collage‚Äîwhich for many centuries were relatively fugitive traditions (a cento here, a folk pastiche there)‚Äîbecame explosively central to a series of movements in the twentieth century: futurism, cubism, Dada, musique concr?®te, situationism, pop art, and appropriationism. In fact, collage, the common denominator in that list, might be called the art form of the twentieth century, never mind the twenty-first. But forget, for the moment, chronologies, schools, or even centuries. As examples accumulate‚ÄîIgor Stravinsky’s music and Daniel Johnston’s, Francis Bacon’s paintings and Henry Darger’s, the novels of the Oulipo group and of Hannah Crafts (the author who pillaged Dickens’s Bleak House to write The Bondwoman’s Narrative), as well as cherished texts that become troubling to their admirers after the discovery of their ‚Äúplagiarized‚Äù elements, like Richard Condon’s novels or Martin Luther King Jr.’s sermons‚Äîit becomes apparent that appropriation, mimicry, quotation, allusion, and sublimated collaboration consist of a kind of sine qua non of the creative act, cutting across all forms and genres in the realm of cultural production.

The Galileo Project at Rice University has some awesome primary sources about everyone’s favorite astronomer. They’ve got his collection of sunspot drawings from the sumer of 1613, as well as composite movies of those. I’m trying to imagine how he felt when he first observed them. I can totally see him making little flip books of his illustrations and watching the sunspots dance across the face of the sun.
They’ve also got scans of the manuscripts from the Jupiter observations‚Äînote that the images are embedded right there in the text. So cool. And the moon drawings are pretty sweet, too.

Here’s a great essay exploring the connections between comics, games, and world-building.

Perhaps when we find ourselves disturbed or bewildered by the popularity of a new genre or medium, it‚Äôs precisely by giving it that “serious consideration” that we will begin to get to grips with what it is and how it works. But how do we do this, when the new work often seems to have so little to do with our existing aesthetic criteria?