The Atlantic
진보 성향
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The Supreme Court Has Invented a Right to Discriminate
Alabama gambled on the Court’s partisanship, and won.
"INVENTED" · 총 23건
필터 보기현재 지수
50.3
0 = 부정 우세
50 = 중립
100 = 긍정 우세
최근 7일 기준 83,809건을 분석한 결과, 뉴스 심리지수는 50.2(균형)입니다. 긍정 4,210건(5.0%)·중립 77,521건(92.5%)·부정 2,078건(2.5%)이며, 중립 비중이 뚜렷하게 높습니다. 성향 지수는 종합 14.8(중도 균형)입니다.
Alabama gambled on the Court’s partisanship, and won.
OK, Monroe invented herself. But it was photographer Bruno Bernard who spotted a young Norma Jeane Dougherty and put her on magazine covers. Their fraught relationship is explored in a new book, and exhibition currently on display at the Academy Museum.
China accused the United States of using “invented allegations” to justify its terrorism case against Cuba, after Secretary of State Marco Rubio told senators he needed no new evidence to tie the island to violent leftist groups across the western hemisphere. Foreign ministry spokeswoman Mao Ning said on Thursday that Washington could not justify its blockade and sanctions against the island, adding that the decades-old embargo had wrecked Cuba’s economy. “China firmly supports Cuba in...
A former fan favorite who reinvented his career with the Boston Red Sox has been released by his new AL home in a surprising move.
The Delhi Gymkhana Club was born in 1913, raised for British officers and the colonial set, and was later inherited by bureaucrats, politicians, and the comfortably connected. None of that pedigree could save it, however, from the law. Last week India told it to vacate the land by June 5. The government read a single clause from the club’s own lease, named a public purpose, and issued the notice. The land returns to the state as do the buildings on it. The club says it will fight the decision in court, and it may. But the order is out and the clock has started. In Pakistan, the Lahore Gymkhana was born in the same year, is grander than Delhi’s and also sits on land worth a king’s ransom. But no notice to vacate has been issued. These are the facts from the government documents that explain why. India has ordered the Delhi Gymkhana Club to vacate its premises by June 5 — Credits: BBC 38 paisas a kanal The Lahore Gymkhana sits on state land ringed by The Mall, Jail Road, and Zafar Ali Road. There is no pricier address in the province. Its 1913 lease stretches back to the Raj, and has been repeatedly extended in 1921, 1960, and, in haste in 1996, five years before its expiry. This time it was extended for 50 years to cover the years 2000 to 2050. The gymkhana estate sprawls over 112 acres and the club holds three kanal and 16 marlas more than the record of rights allows — a tiny trespass that nobody thought to note until now. But that is not all. Inside Lawrence Gardens (Bagh-e-Jinnah), the Gymkhana keeps an exclusive cricket ground on three-and-a-half acres of the Agriculture Department. This was never part of the lease, there is no grant for it and no rent is paid. No paper explains how a public garden was fenced off for a private game. For the main estate, the club pays Rs5000 a year in rent. Not per kanal. In total. That comes to Rs417 a month, or under fifty paisas per kanal, for some of the most valuable earth in Pakistan. How little is Rs5000? Consider it against the government’s upper commercial rate. Total land 1,091 kanals 21,820 marla Market value 1,091 × Rs200 million/kanal Rs218.2 billion Fair annual rent 21,820 marla × Rs200,000/marla Rs4.364 billion The land is worth Rs218 billion so fair rent would be about Rs4.36 billion a year. Under the government’s 2023 policy, clubs can pay a tenth of market rent, but this would still come to Rs400 million a year. The club pays Rs5000. For years, the land’s real value sat behind a nominal colonial rent. It became visible when market figures were placed on the record. The admissions of guilt The club filed its defence with the Assembly admitting the buildings came after the lease, which said the government had to approve construction. Over the decades the club built its clubhouse, golf clubhouse, pool, two guest blocks, health club, administration block, mosque and a café in 2012. The Board of Revenue searched for permissions but none were on record. The club has not even paid its token Rs5,000 rent. The Additional Deputy Commissioner’s office sent a notice, dated 26 August 2020, saying that rent had not bee paid since 2011. Then the money. The club swears no public funds reach it but then lists them in the next breath: Rs2 million from President Zia in 1985, Rs2 million from PM Nawaz Sharif the same year, Rs50 million from CM Pervaiz Elahi in 2006, Rs10 million from CM Shehbaz Sharif in 2014. Four heads of government, four gifts from the public purse, to a private club. And who is the club for? Its rulebook answers. Every civil servant of Grade 18 and above may join for a token fee, and so may every commissioned officer of the armed forces. The other way to become a member is to inherit membership. The capture is not an accident of history. It is written into the founding charter. The roll of ordinary members, meanwhile, the club guards as confidential as if it were a list belonging to a Freemason Lodge. The instinct to maintain secrecy runs deep. When citizens used the Right to Information law to ask for the lease and the donor records, the club refused, and carried its refusal to the Lahore High Court, pleading, without blushing, that as a public limited company it was no “public body” and owed the public nothing. In January 2023, the court dismissed the plea. The land belongs to the state, the judge held. Handing over land worth billions of rupees almost free was an enormous benefit and rent of Rs5,000 a year “cannot be even termed as any rate whatsoever.” The same shrug was then offered to the Assembly when it asked who the club’s members were. Lahore Gymkhana — Credits: Express Tribune Institutionalising the giveaway The Gymkhana is no aberration. It is the template: in May 2023 the state made the template law. That month, a caretaker government in Punjab, an unelected stopgap whose only charge was to hold an election, approved a sweeping new policy. It had no mandate to make long-term land decisions but it made one anyway. On May 10 2023, the Colonies Department opened the door to hand prime state land to gymkhana clubs across the province, and fixed their rent at a tenth of market value. The discount was sewn into the rules. The Board of Revenue reports the harvest. The figure that matters is what the clubs actually pay, after the 90 per cent is shaved away: Rs20,000 an acre a year at Dera Ghazi Khan, Mandi Bahauddin, and Chiniot; Rs50,000 at Vehari, Sahiwal, and Dera Ghazi Khan; Rs60,000 at Kamalpur Syedaan in Attock; Rs100,000 at Saddar Gymkhana, Gujranwala; Rs120,000 at Jhang; Rs140,000 at Jhelum and Gujranwala City. An acre of prime city land, for the price of a secondhand motorcycle, every year. And the final irony: this generous policy, the Board says, does not reach the Lahore Gymkhana, because its lease is older. Elite enclaves on public land The Gymkhana is not the only refuge for the officer class in Lahore. Inside the GOR, that broad expanse of prime central land set aside for officialdom, stands the Punjab Civil Officers Mess on Tollington Road. At GOR’s gate stands the colonial Punjab Club. A short walk off, the Lahore Polo Club keeps its grounds and stables inside the Race Course, public parkland surrendered to horses and a handful of players. An exclusive school for the male heirs of the elite, Aitchison College (Chief’s College), spreads over 200 acres. None of these entities bought their land. It is public land, held in trust, enjoyed by the few. Islamabad tells the same story more starkly. The Islamabad Club, sprawled across 352 acres of CDA land, pays about three rupees an acre a month as its gates remain closed to ordinary citizens. The Gun and Country Club rose up on land meant for the Pakistan Sports Board; the Supreme Court declared it illegal in 2018 and ordered the land to be taken back, yet years later auditors could not trace some 38 acres, and the club sat on roughly 37 with no deed, no lease, no licence at all. The court said it aloud: there was no land in Islamabad for a public hospital [for the poor], but there was land aplenty for clubs for the rich. And the hunger has not eased. In Multan, the district administration moves to slice 15 acres off the Central Cotton Research Institute, founded in 1970, the cradle of more than forty cotton varieties, including the region’s first virus-free strain, to feed another gymkhana, while the country’s cotton reserves sit at a record low and we spend hard currency importing the very crop the institute exists to improve. The Pakistan Business Forum has written to the chief minister to stop it. The clubs took the parks. Now they reach into the seed bank. There has been an attempt to quantify this. In 2021, the UNDP put a number on the privileges captured by Pakistan’s elite. Cheap land and capital, tax breaks and soft inputs came to about $17.4 billion a year, which is nearly 6pc of the whole economy. The Gymkhana is merely a place where one may stand and watch the transfer happen: a 112 acres, for Rs5000. When the same hands value, grant, and enjoy the land This mechanism endures not through sloth but through strategy, as the actors make clear. The land belongs to the state. The men who grant it are senior civil servants in the Colonies Department, the Board of Revenue, the office of the Deputy Commissioner. The men who set the value of the land, and thus decide the rent, are with the same revenue service. And the men who enjoy the clubs are, by rule, civil servants of Grade 18 and above and senior officers of the armed forces. The same hands own the land, price the land, rent it, and carry the membership cards. When one cadre handles every aspect of a deal, its low price is no blunder. It is the purpose. No one at that table has any interest in making public land fetch a public price, for all of them gain from the opposite. The officer who would raise the rent, enforce the breach, or cancel the lease must act against his service, his colleagues, and likely his own leisure. That is what makes Sohaib Butt’s report so rare, and so telling. It took a man willing to go against the grain of his service to do the simplest thing: write down what the land is worth. This is the truth worth stating plainly. In Pakistan, real power does not change hands at the ballot box. Governments arrive and depart; the bureaucracy and elites abide. And on the matter of state land for clubs, those who never leave office and those who enjoy the clubs are one and the same. That is why such a file scarcely moves. And it is why it matters so greatly who, in the end, forced it into the open. Nestled within the Bagh-e-Jinnah, is one of the most picturesque cricket arenas of the world — Credits: Dawn archives Two-tiered justice The state can, of course, move on land with great speed if it wants. Take Islamabad, the capital that prides itself on order. For three months its bulldozers have flattened katchi abadis or the informal colonies where the city’s gardeners and nannies, washerwomen and labourers have lived for a generation. Around 25,000 people were driven out of Mulism Colony in Bari Imam alone. Settlements a quarter-century old, Rimsha Colony in H-9 and the largely Christian Allama Iqbal Colony in G-7, were marked for the same fate, along with the ancient villages of Saidpur and Nurpur Shahan.The state’s housing policy counts 60 such settlements in the city, home to between 300,000 and half a million souls; the CDA recognises barely 10 as lawful and brands the rest squatters. And here is the part that should silence the room: a Supreme Court order from 2015 was passed after the merciless clearance of the I-11 settlement left 25,000 people homeless. It stayed the summary evictions altogether. The bulldozers came regardless. The same legal system that cannot dislodge an unpaid colonial lease in 18 months had no trouble dislodging the poor in open defiance of its highest court. Punjab is no kinder about informality. It is just quieter about it. For three decades, it has promised to regularise its katchi abadis, and for three decades that promise has mostly stayed on paper. There is a law to sanction the work done and an agency to get it done but the number of settlements grows faster than the lists of “regularised” ones. Surveys are started and abandoned. Notifications are issued and forgotten. The poor who put up their housing on the edges of Lahore and Faisalabad and Rawalpindi live out their years in limbo, always one bureaucrat’s signature away from eviction. Three decades is a lifetime. A child born in one of these colonies has grown, married, and had children, and the family still cannot say for certain that the ground beneath their feet is legally theirs. Meanwhile, the new law enforcer is punishing and swift. The Punjab government created the Punjab Enforcement and Regulatory Authority (PERA), to clear what it deemed to be encroachments. It is aided by deputy and assistant commissioners and a uniformed force with black Vigos. Through 2025 PERA hired thousands of staff and opened stations across Lahore and beyond, as its drives targeted the small folk. Traders protested its methods: a shop photographed in the evening, sealed the next morning, fined Rs10,000 to Rs25,000, kept shut until the owner paid. Thella wallahs, vendors, kiosks punished for setting up on a footpath. But 112 acres of the city’s finest land, held on a dead lease, built over without leave, exempted by a rule the board invented, is “legitimate possession,” defended for generations. The bulldozer works swiftly for the weak but stalls for the strong. What Rs218 billion could buy instead of membership It is worth listing what Rs218 billion would buy in a place that cannot pay for medicine. In 2025-26, Punjab set aside Rs630.5 billion for its health sector, and proudly announced that for the first time this included Rs79.5 billion for free medicine. And yet Dawn reported that Rawalpindi’s three public hospitals (Holy Family, Benazir Bhutto, and the Teaching Hospital) were given a fraction of Rs4.5 billion they asked for. Their vendors are refusing to deliver stocks until the bills are cleared. The Lahore Gymkhana land, on the other hand, is worth Rs218 billion, or three times the free medicine funding. A single elite golf-and-dining estate, that pays Rs5000 in rent, is worth more than the tab for medicines in a province of 120 million people. The Assembly did its job It took an elected Assembly more than one attempt to set this right. The matter was brought up at the last session but did not move ahead for “mysterious” reasons. The House pressed further. A member moved an adjournment motion and the Speaker called it out: this was elite capture of state land. The Speaker formed a committee and for the first time in history, opened its hearings to the public and TV cameras. The House’s members killed it at the first sitting by placing on the record, all of them, that they sought no membership of the club, only the public interest. In a few weeks they ferreted out from their government two documents that settled everything. The first was the valuation, ADC(R) report (shown above), which turned Rs5,000 into a scandal by comparison. The second document ended the argument. The Law and Parliamentary Affairs Department gave a clean opinion on what the state may do: Clause 6 of the 1996 lease lets the government end the lease at any time, on six months’ notice. Clause 8 says that when it ends, the club is owed nothing for any building it raised. The Board of Revenue added that the state is bound to resume the land when public purpose requires it, or when the lease is broken. India reclaimed its gymkhana land by reading one clause of a lease. Punjab’s lawyers have now confirmed the province holds the same power to take back the Rs218 billion estate, with every building on it, on six months’ notice, and pay nothing. Credit for this denouement goes to the House of elected representatives. What they cannot do alone is sign the order. That pen rests with the executive, which is the same bureaucracy that would rather keep the file shut. Inside Lahore Gymkhana Cricket Museum, the first of its kind in Pakistan — Credits: Dawn archives Options The remedy is not exotic. The simplest one is to cancel the lease. The second option is to take back the land for public use, which is what Delhi did. We don’t need to look far to find precedent. When the Royal Palm Club in Lahore defaulted on its lease of Railways land, the state took the land back and pulled down structures. Indeed, members on both benches have said if it can be done to a club on railway land in Lahore, it can be done to a club on nazul (state) land in Lahore. The most durable option is a legal statute to dedicate the gymkhana estate to a fixed public use. And one use should unite the benches. The estate is a manicured, thirsty green in one of the most poisoned cities on earth. Take it back. Grow a native forest on it the fast and thick Miyawaki way and plan a park. Such greenery traps the dust, cools the air, and pushes back against the smog that sends people to our hospitals each winter. A golf course serves a hundred men. A forest would serve millions. We say the law protects everyone alike but we must admit it does not. The thella wallah is presumed to be illegal and is not given time to prove otherwise. The Lahore Gymkhana Club is presumed to be lawful no matter what the file says. Delhi has shown us the way. There was never a question of what the law allowed if elite land had to be taken back. The Assembly has proven this twice and put proof on record. What remains is the will to choose a public forest or park over a private fairway, the many over the few, the medicine over the membership. The House has spoken. The executive has not. For now, the silence belongs to the people holding the pen, and everyone can see why they would rather not sign.
In 'My Year in Paris with Gertrude Stein,' the narrator, a writer, actually spends one month trying to understand Stein's genius, how she invented herself, and her relationship with Alice B. Toklas.
Lanza Atelier’s simple, powerful pavilion features an actual serpentine brought to life in a wave of rust-coloured brick – a material never used for the structure before Serving looks all summer on the green carpet of Kensington Gardens, the often wildly experimental Serpentine pavilion is best viewed as a piece of architectural haute couture. For the last 25 years, it has hosted all sorts of fashionistas, from the American Frank Gehry, whose pavilion resembled an explosion in a lumber yard, to Swiss magus Peter Zumthor, who built a charcoal-walled hortus conclusus (contemplative room), that tuned out the wider park landscape entirely. The Serpentine’s rules of engagement are simple: the selected architect should not have built in the UK, so it’s a chance to showcase new or unsung talent. The constellation of largely white male superstars doing elaborate parodies of themselves, which characterised the pavilion’s early imperial phase, has given way to what might be described as more nuanced midlife, featuring younger emerging architects from more diverse backgrounds. Continue reading...
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Every American high schooler enrolled in a U.S. history course should be able to tell you that when Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin, the value of cotton grew exponentially. What made Whitney’s invention so innovative was how it made cotton processing more efficient, thus increasing the demand for labor. Students should also be able […]
In the 1990s, I asked Milton Friedman how I should approach charitable giving. His answer was to invest in school choice, a concept he had invented decades earlier. At the time, school choice barely existed. Now, it’s exploding. Friedman’s advice was right on — my bet has paid off. Now, it is time for all of […]
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In 1987, Richard Greenhill, a British photographer who was fascinated by (but had no actual training in) robotics, decided he wanted to build a life-size humanoid that could do useful things, like carrying luggage. He was working at a startup called Intergalactic Robots, but he couldn’t convince anyone there to build such a machine, so he set about building one himself, in his attic. To help with his project, he organized a weekly get-together of a dozen or so like-minded folks. Every Wednesday night, his wife, Sally, would make a big pot of spaghetti, and the group would tinker with components scavenged from old printers and picked up from junkyards. They called themselves the Shadow Group. They eventually constructed several different robots, but their main project was the two-legged Shadow Walker. In 1987, photographer Richard Greenhill organized a weekly gathering of DIY enthusiasts to work on projects in his attic, including the Shadow Walker. Richard Greenhill and David Buckley Greenhill’s friend David Buckley, a robotics and animatronics expert he’d met at Intergalactic, sketched out a rough design based on medical textbooks of human bone structure and muscle movement. The robot’s skeleton, made of maple, was greatly simplified—only one bone in the lower leg and a single wide toe on each foot. The ankle’s double-axis design allowed for two degrees of movement. The knee had no complicating kneecap. Greenhill didn’t want the robot to use motors, so its movement was controlled using compressed air to extend and contract 28 “air-muscles”—his version of a McKibben muscle, invented in the 1950s to mimic musculature with pneumatics. The muscles were connected to the bones across eight joints (hips, knees, ankles, toes), which provided 12 degrees of freedom. RELATED: The Short, Strange Life of the First Friendly Robot The robot’s headless torso held the control valves, electronics, and computer interfaces. It stood 168 centimeters tall and 46 cm wide and weighed about 38 kilograms. The group managed to get the robot to stand up reliably and balance itself; it could even regain its center if pushed a little. But walking turned out to be more of a challenge. Rich Walker joined the group as a teenager and began writing software to get the robot to stand. He was particularly interested in using neural networks to solve balancing problems, although he ran into a number of hardware obstacles, including the unreliability of the sensors and the valves, and the robot’s overall fragility. Over time, Walker and the team developed a standard library of routines to control the robot. Walker wrote a detailed description of the Shadow Walker in 1999, which is available on David Buckley’s website. The 1st International Robot Olympics By the time the Shadow Group began developing Shadow Walker, engineers in academia and industry had been working on robotics for several decades. The world’s first industrial robot, the Unimate, debuted in 1961, and in 1967 Donald Michie and others began building a series of Freddy robots to investigate machine intelligence. The IEEE created its first dedicated robotics organization in 1984 when it established the IEEE Robotics and Automation Council, which became the IEEE Robotics and Automation Society in 1987. Also in 1987, the nonprofit International Federation of Robotics was established to promote research, development, use, and cooperation in the field of robotics. As Shadow Walker pushed the limits for a DIY humanoid robot, industrial humanoids were also gaining ground. In 1986, Honda began working on its experimental (E-series) and later the prototype (P-series) humanoid robots, finally unveiling the P2 in 1996. The P2 stood 183 cm tall and weighed 210 kg. It was the first humanoid capable of stable, autonomous walking. This work eventually led to the development of the groundbreaking ASIMO. Greenhill’s friend, roboticist David Buckley, consulted medical textbooks to create Shadow Walker’s humanoid design.Richard Greenhill and David Buckley In the late 1980s, the public was both fascinated and horrified by the potential of robots. Businesses saw robots as a way to increase productivity, while workers worried they would take their jobs. Children viewed them as wondrous toys, while people with disabilities embraced them as tools of liberation. Military experts hoped robots would fight wars without endangering human soldiers, while politicians pondered if robots might eventually get to vote. Philosophers thought robots could challenge our notions of intelligence (and stupidity), while the religious struggled with concerns about the human race in a robot-dominated future. Shadow Walker’s simplified anatomy included only one bone in the lower leg and a single wide toe on each foot.Science Museum Group Peter Mowforth, cofounder of the Turing Institute in Glasgow, noted these disparate visions for robots when he announced the 1st International Robot Olympics, to be held in 27 and 28 September 1990 and hosted by the Turing Institute and the University of Strathclyde. The Olympics would round up the world’s best robots and showcase them head-to-head. Mowforth himself thought all of the competing visions of robots were overblown. Steeped in machine learning research and robotics development, he knew firsthand the limitations of the state of the art: Robots rarely worked as intended, easily broke down, and glitched over seemingly trivial problems. He envisioned the Robot Olympics as a testbed to assess what the latest generation of robots could and could not do. At the 1990 Robot Olympics, held in Glasgow, Shadow Walker wore pants to conceal its pneumatic “air-muscles” from competitors.Adam Hart-Davis/Science Source The call for participation was wide open. Instead of having predetermined categories of competition, the organizers opted to see who applied to compete and then group them based on their claimed capabilities. In addition to picking the winners of individual events, the judges would select an overall Olympic champion based on the quality of the hardware, the sophistication of behavior, and novelty. Other prizes were given for young competitors, technologies that showed commercial potential, and design. In the end, more than 50 robots were entered, from a mix of universities, industry, and hobbyist groups from Canada, France, India, Japan, Mexico, the Soviet Union, the United States, the United Kingdom, and Yugoslavia. There were plenty of disappointments. Trolleyman, a golf-cart-like wheeled robot, suffered a power failure while carrying the opening Olympic torch through the streets of Glasgow. The pile rug in the arena tripped up many robots that had been trained only on flat, smooth floors. David Buckley later concluded that the events were too difficult, and that the Olympics didn’t push development forward. Of course, there were winners. In a surprise triumph for vintage technology, the fully mechanical 19th-century Japanese Archer from the Museum of Automata in York, England, won gold in javelin, beating out competitors more than 100 years its junior. The overall Olympic Champion was Yamabico, Shoji Suzuki’s entry from the University of Tsukuba, in Japan, which won bronze in obstacle avoidance and gold in wall following, but was disqualified in the talking category for not speaking English. The Shadow Group had high hopes for Shadow Walker. Unfortunately, though, it failed to take a step, and the biped race was won by the Cardiff University Biped. Shadow Walker now resides in the collections of the Science Museum in London. The Legacy of Shadow Walker In 1997, a paying customer in search of a robotic leg compelled the Shadow Group to get serious and become a registered company. Shadow Robot is now Britain’s oldest robotics company. Rich Walker, who had left the Shadow Group to earn a B.A. in mathematics and a diploma in computer science at the University of Cambridge, joined Shadow Robot in 1999 as technical director. Today he’s the director of the company. Shadow Robot specializes in durable robot hands rather than walking robots. But the focus on hands is also a legacy of the Shadow Group. Walker remembers that the Shadow Group’s first humanoid hand in the late 1990s was impressive simply for being able to pick up a pint of beer (a smooth-sided, thin-walled glass). Today, Shadow Robot’s hands are testbeds for dexterity. Gone are the pneumatic muscles, replaced by actuators that move each finger with precision. The classic model contains 20 motors, allowing for abductive and adductive movement with 24 degrees of freedom. Shadow Walker’s operator wore a data suit that captured his movements and allowed the robot to copy them.Richard Greenhill In a recent blog post, Sejal Parsotomo, senior marketing executive at Shadow Robot, wrote that while humanoid robots are great for public relations, specialized dexterity is key for success: A robot that can walk into your factory may be impressive, but a robot that can reliably manipulate objects is transformative. In its struggles to take more than a few steps, the Shadow Walker showed the inherent difficulty that robots had in mastering even low-level skills. In August 2025, Beijing hosted the World Humanoid Robot Games. Competing in sports such as gymnastics, soccer, and track events, as well as more “useful” tasks like hotel cleaning and sorting medicine, these robots could literally have run circles around the competitors in the first Robot Olympics 35 years earlier. And yet, there is still so much work needed in order for robots to navigate the human-built environment. Despite the astonishing progress, we’re still not all that close to actually useful humanoid robots. Part of a continuing series looking at historical artifacts that embrace the boundless potential of technology. An abridged version of this article appears in the June 2026 print issue as “Learning to Walk.” References Richard Greenhill gives an overview of his life and the founding of the Shadow Group in a post on Shadow Robot’s corporate website. David Buckley has a compilation of resources on the Shadow Biped Walker, including specifications from the 1999 iteration and a brochure from the 1st International Robot Olympics. There is coverage of the Robot Olympics worthy of a gossip sheet in La Repubblica and lovely footage of the competition in this TV-am interview of Peter Mowforth by Lorraine Kelly.
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The comedy legend, who adopted his silent persona because of stage nerves, did occasionally address his audience, as revealed by a new archive release Groucho was the cigar-chomping wit with the improbable moustache, Chico was the piano-playing rustic grifter and Zeppo played the straight man and the lover. But as any Marx Brothers fan knows, Harpo was the pantomime, who cracked up the audience without saying a word, dressed in his tattered raincoat and curly wig. His persona was childlike and mischievous but also musical – he let his harp and his taxi horn do the talking. But now we get to see, or rather hear, a new side to Harpo Marx. A very special recording has been unearthed of Harpo in 1964 speaking to an audience, in character. Arthur “Harpo” Marx was born Adolph Marx in New York in 1888. He started performing with his brothers in 1910, and his nickname probably came about because of his instrument of choice – he was an entirely self-taught musician. By 1915, due to his nerves around speaking on stage, Harpo reinvented himself as a mute clown, and stayed that way, even when he was offered $50,000 to speak a single word (“Murder!”) in the Marx Brothers film A Night in Casablanca (1946). Continue reading...
President Donald Trump formally endorsed Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, ahead of the most important election in Armenia’s history. Pashinyan has completely reinvented the small nation’s foreign policy, drifting away from its long-lasting alliance with Russia and towards friendly relations with the United States, the West, and its longtime rivals, Turkey and Azerbaijan. On Wednesday, […]
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Wolterton, Norfolk From an explosion of plywood chairs to something akin to bubblegum stuck to the walls, this imaginative exhibition reverberates with Barlow’s punk irreverence Wolterton Hall is folded so deeply into the countryside of the Bure Valley that you can’t even see the grand Palladian mansion when you enter the gates to the estate. This was once one of the four power houses of Norfolk, built by Thomas Ripley for Horatio Walpole. Inside, Wolterton is dripping in 18th-century treasures, furniture, then-fashionable Belgian tapestries, fusty old portraits of important types – but now also, knobbly bodily things, strange almost familiar shapes stuck to walls and chucked down the stairs, as if someone– namely Phyllida Barlow – had come in and trashed the place. It’s a difficult thing to know what to do with these former country stately homes. Many have adopted a contemporary art programme as a way of challenging their history and bringing in new visitors. Simon Oldfield – Wolterton’s artistic director, brought in by the new owners, the Ellis family, two years ago – has done more than that. He has reinvented the space, making room for new ideas to take over. There’s no better artist for that than Barlow, whose works seem to take on a life of their own wherever they go. Her exhibition begins at the entrance, where the explosive installation Untitled: Stacked Chairs greets you. The cacophony of red plywood chairs feels like a statement about throwing things out and starting again. It’s rebellious, disruptive and direct. Continue reading...