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View count: | 45,813 |
Likes: | 2,109 |
Comments: | 47 |
Duration: | 10:01 |
Uploaded: | 2024-06-07 |
Last sync: | 2024-08-22 17:30 |
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Citation formatting is not guaranteed to be accurate. | |
MLA Full: | "How Does Art Tell Stories? : Crash Course Art History #7." YouTube, uploaded by CrashCourse, 7 June 2024, www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoHsju75rKc. |
MLA Inline: | (CrashCourse, 2024) |
APA Full: | CrashCourse. (2024, June 7). How Does Art Tell Stories? : Crash Course Art History #7 [Video]. YouTube. https://youtube.com/watch?v=IoHsju75rKc |
APA Inline: | (CrashCourse, 2024) |
Chicago Full: |
CrashCourse, "How Does Art Tell Stories? : Crash Course Art History #7.", June 7, 2024, YouTube, 10:01, https://youtube.com/watch?v=IoHsju75rKc. |
From cave paintings to public murals, humans have told stories with art for thousands of years. In this episode of Crash Course Art History, we discover that visual storytelling is elementally human — and so is competing over whose story is told.
Introduction: Narrative Art 00:00
History as Story 00:55
Contradictory Stories 04:10
Official & Unofficial Stories 07:01
Review & Credits 08:51
Image Descriptions: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ETiCxe4GrVzFii7dBhF42oHx1EUCCh5y12wbtUjsH8A/edit
Sources: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GW2NKzhpMNMmRyAFJVhFJG9cSfUOMRL-QrcWuHcWcIA/edit?usp=sharing
***
Crash Course is on Patreon! You can support us directly by signing up at http://www.patreon.com/crashcourse
Thanks to the following patrons for their generous monthly contributions that help keep Crash Course free for everyone forever:
Leah H., David Fanska, Andrew Woods, DL Singfield, Ken Davidian, Stephen Akuffo, Toni Miles, Steve Segreto, Kyle & Katherine Callahan, Laurel Stevens, Burt Humburg, Perry Joyce, Scott Harrison, Mark & Susan Billian, Alan Bridgeman, Breanna Bosso, Matt Curls, Jennifer Killen, Jon Allen, Sarah & Nathan Catchings, team dorsey, Bernardo Garza, Trevin Beattie, Eric Koslow, Indija-ka Siriwardena, Jason Rostoker, Siobhán, Ken Penttinen, Nathan Taylor, Barrett & Laura Nuzum, Les Aker, William McGraw, Vaso, ClareG, Rizwan Kassim, Constance Urist, Alex Hackman, Pineapples of Solidarity, Katie Dean, Stephen McCandless, Wai Jack Sin, Ian Dundore, Caleb Weeks
__
Want to find Crash Course elsewhere on the internet?
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/thecrashcourse/
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/YouTubeCrashCourse
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/TheCrashCourse
CC Kids: http://www.youtube.com/crashcoursekids
Introduction: Narrative Art 00:00
History as Story 00:55
Contradictory Stories 04:10
Official & Unofficial Stories 07:01
Review & Credits 08:51
Image Descriptions: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ETiCxe4GrVzFii7dBhF42oHx1EUCCh5y12wbtUjsH8A/edit
Sources: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GW2NKzhpMNMmRyAFJVhFJG9cSfUOMRL-QrcWuHcWcIA/edit?usp=sharing
***
Crash Course is on Patreon! You can support us directly by signing up at http://www.patreon.com/crashcourse
Thanks to the following patrons for their generous monthly contributions that help keep Crash Course free for everyone forever:
Leah H., David Fanska, Andrew Woods, DL Singfield, Ken Davidian, Stephen Akuffo, Toni Miles, Steve Segreto, Kyle & Katherine Callahan, Laurel Stevens, Burt Humburg, Perry Joyce, Scott Harrison, Mark & Susan Billian, Alan Bridgeman, Breanna Bosso, Matt Curls, Jennifer Killen, Jon Allen, Sarah & Nathan Catchings, team dorsey, Bernardo Garza, Trevin Beattie, Eric Koslow, Indija-ka Siriwardena, Jason Rostoker, Siobhán, Ken Penttinen, Nathan Taylor, Barrett & Laura Nuzum, Les Aker, William McGraw, Vaso, ClareG, Rizwan Kassim, Constance Urist, Alex Hackman, Pineapples of Solidarity, Katie Dean, Stephen McCandless, Wai Jack Sin, Ian Dundore, Caleb Weeks
__
Want to find Crash Course elsewhere on the internet?
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/thecrashcourse/
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/YouTubeCrashCourse
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/TheCrashCourse
CC Kids: http://www.youtube.com/crashcoursekids
What can humanity's earliest artworks tell us about who we are?
Before humans wrote down stories with words, they wrote them with art. Like in prehistoric cave paintings, part-human/part-animal figures are often thought to represent shamans communing with spirits.
Some researchers believe the art depicts actual ceremonies, where people wore animal masks and tried to figure out more about life and the afterlife. But storytelling in art isn't just revealing ancient myths and rituals. It's also unveiling conflicting accounts of the same historic event, personal stories of love and loss, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be human.
Hi! I'm Sarah Urist Green, and this is Crash Course Art History. [THEME MUSIC] It’s no coincidence that the words "story" and “history” sound alike — they come from the same Latin root: “historia,” meaning a narrative of past events. And history itself is a great big, ever-evolving story, made up of lots of smaller ones.
Which we learn about in a whole host of ways: by reading verified documents, conducting research, digging for artifacts, and talking to people who were actually there. And, of course, by looking at art. Like, take this hand-painted silk scroll from 15th-century China, called, “Eighteen Songs of a Nomad Flute.” The work is thirty-nine feet long, and is an example of a narrative scroll, in which an artist tells a story that progresses as it’s unfolded.
The scroll tells the story of Lady Wenji, a poet who lived more than a thousand years prior, during China’s Han dynasty. Lady Wenji, the widowed daughter of a nobleman, was abducted during the collapse of the Han Dynasty and taken as a hostage to what is now Mongolia. She survived her captivity in part by writing poetry about her homeland.
Eventually, she married a chief and had children. Years later, she was ransomed and able to return to China — what she’d wanted for so long. But that meant leaving her husband and children behind.
In the end, she was loyal to her country but heartbroken over the loss of her family. So, the scroll shows us a different side of history than, say, a textbook might. We can see how history is made not just of the broad strokes of war, but also of the emotional realities of individuals caught in the cross-fire.
Let’s look at another major historical phenomenon: migration. History books might describe this in open-and-shut terms: this group of people moved here and that one moved there. The end.
But Ethiopian-American artist Julie Mehretu makes work that challenges that idea. This is her 1996 piece, “Migration Direction Map.” Yeah, it doesn’t seem terribly helpful to me either. And that’s intentional.
Maps tend to have clearly defined borders between places and things, suggesting divisions that are permanent and unchanging. But this map has wavy and intersecting lines. It shows boundaries overlapping and merging, arrows pointing this way and that.
You’re not sure where to start, or where you’re supposed to end up. The title clues us in to the ideas Mehretu is exploring–that the movement of people is anything but straightforward, reflecting the realities of individuals and families as they settle and resettle, blend and clash, as relationships shift over time. Even though Mehretu’s piece isn’t representational — meaning it doesn’t directly depict objects or people as they appear in the world — it does deepen our knowledge of history.
Now, art can also show us how different people tell the same stories — and histories — from totally different perspectives. Kind of like how my husband said he’d save me the last piece of pizza, but in his version of the story — huh, how weird, he can’t recall saying that. Pizza aside, let’s check out this relief sculpture, a type of carving with figures that pop out of a surface in three dimensions.
It’s from around 2250 B. C. E., and it was made by the Akkadian civilization in what’s now Iraq.
It shows their king, Naram-Sin, conquering the neighboring Lullubi people. Take a look under Naram-Sin’s foot. He’s trampling a Lullubi soldier as Akkadian soldiers look on.
Ouch. Now, here’s a different sculpture made by the supposedly tiny and crushable Lullubi people. That guy?
That’s their king, Anubanini, squashing an enemy soldier underfoot. Looks pretty familiar! While we don’t know if these sculptures portray the exact same battle, it’s clear the roles are reversed.
Both cultures are telling the story with themselves as the victor. Each side has their own version. It’s family pizza drama on a much larger scale.
Because yeah, art — and stories — are always told from a particular point of view. Which can be easy to forget, especially in the face of really compelling or unchallenged storytelling. But then you see a pair of works like these and you’re like, oh — yeah, that’s me, that’s John.
Two sides, same story. I wonder if our kids know the truth… Sometimes, there are even conflicting stories within a single artwork. Like, this Indian sculpture, known as the Great Relief at Mamallapuram, which was carved sometime in the seventh or eighth century.
It’s one of the largest relief sculptures in the world, carved from single huge stones called monoliths. Huh, we really do have a lot of heavy stone objects popping up in this series. Note to self: If you want to make art that survives, make it out of rock.
Anyway, it’s clear there’s a story on this rock, but scholars disagree about exactly which one. It could be “Arjuna’s Penance,” about an archer who fights a fellow hunter, only to find out he’s a god in disguise. Or it could be “Descent of the Ganges,” which explains the sacred origins of the Ganges River.
But scholars do agree on a few things. Like why the sculpture was created in the first place. Both stories include water and someone asking forgiveness from the gods, which would’ve represented protection to viewers at the time.
The relief was commissioned by a king to show his commitment to protecting his subjects. In fact, it’s possible the artists intentionally depicted multiple stories so that a wide variety of people could understand the same message. But, the coolest part?
On the relief, the Ganges River would have been represented by actual water flowing down the boulder. Which is what I like to call a live stream. Sorry.
All around the world, storytelling in art has highlighted parts of history that have been overlooked, or purposely hidden, by people in power. Like, in 1934, Black American artist Aaron Douglas completed this series of murals during the Harlem Renaissance, a time period that saw an explosion of painting, music, literature, and poetry by Black artists centered in and around the Harlem neighborhood of New York City. The four panels of the mural show overlapping scenes from Black American history, like emancipation from slavery, the Harlem Renaissance, and the emergence of hate groups.
One figure stands with a slip of paper in hand, possibly a voting ballot, pointing toward the U. S. Capitol Building in the distance.
A symbol of political progress for Black Americans. Like “Eighteen Songs of a Nomad Flute,” Douglas’s art tells a chronological story. His graphic style is distinct–a blend of influences, from African sculpture and jazz music to geometric abstraction.
The story is triumphant and hopeful, emphasized by these glowing concentric circles. But the work doesn’t deny the historic and ongoing struggles of Black Americans. On the left of this panel, you can see the looming shapes of Ku Klux Klan members threatening the scene.
At the time, stories of Black Americans were not often heard outside of the Black community. The mural helped amplify a missing piece of history to the broader public. Some refused to believe that Douglas’s impressive murals were made by a Black artist, which is both horrifying and also important to share.
It shows just how necessary it is to the fight against racism that we acknowledge the contributions of Black American artists, historically and today. So yeah, storytelling in art: it’s everywhere. It brings together cave painters, poets, kings, and you and me, here today.
It helps us understand history in new ways, compare different perspectives, and showcase the experiences and contributions of many. Not just the victors or the privileged, or the probable pizza stealers. Although there’s no such thing as a perfect, unbiased record, storytelling in art enriches what we know about the past, preserves memories for generations, and gets us at least a small step closer to that elusive but alluring thing we call truth.
Our next episode will explore the intersection of art, spirituality, and the divine. I’ll see you there. Thanks for watching this episode of Crash Course Art History which was filmed at the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields and was made with the help of all these nice people.
If you want to help keep Crash Course free for everyone, forever, you can join our community on Patreon.
Before humans wrote down stories with words, they wrote them with art. Like in prehistoric cave paintings, part-human/part-animal figures are often thought to represent shamans communing with spirits.
Some researchers believe the art depicts actual ceremonies, where people wore animal masks and tried to figure out more about life and the afterlife. But storytelling in art isn't just revealing ancient myths and rituals. It's also unveiling conflicting accounts of the same historic event, personal stories of love and loss, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be human.
Hi! I'm Sarah Urist Green, and this is Crash Course Art History. [THEME MUSIC] It’s no coincidence that the words "story" and “history” sound alike — they come from the same Latin root: “historia,” meaning a narrative of past events. And history itself is a great big, ever-evolving story, made up of lots of smaller ones.
Which we learn about in a whole host of ways: by reading verified documents, conducting research, digging for artifacts, and talking to people who were actually there. And, of course, by looking at art. Like, take this hand-painted silk scroll from 15th-century China, called, “Eighteen Songs of a Nomad Flute.” The work is thirty-nine feet long, and is an example of a narrative scroll, in which an artist tells a story that progresses as it’s unfolded.
The scroll tells the story of Lady Wenji, a poet who lived more than a thousand years prior, during China’s Han dynasty. Lady Wenji, the widowed daughter of a nobleman, was abducted during the collapse of the Han Dynasty and taken as a hostage to what is now Mongolia. She survived her captivity in part by writing poetry about her homeland.
Eventually, she married a chief and had children. Years later, she was ransomed and able to return to China — what she’d wanted for so long. But that meant leaving her husband and children behind.
In the end, she was loyal to her country but heartbroken over the loss of her family. So, the scroll shows us a different side of history than, say, a textbook might. We can see how history is made not just of the broad strokes of war, but also of the emotional realities of individuals caught in the cross-fire.
Let’s look at another major historical phenomenon: migration. History books might describe this in open-and-shut terms: this group of people moved here and that one moved there. The end.
But Ethiopian-American artist Julie Mehretu makes work that challenges that idea. This is her 1996 piece, “Migration Direction Map.” Yeah, it doesn’t seem terribly helpful to me either. And that’s intentional.
Maps tend to have clearly defined borders between places and things, suggesting divisions that are permanent and unchanging. But this map has wavy and intersecting lines. It shows boundaries overlapping and merging, arrows pointing this way and that.
You’re not sure where to start, or where you’re supposed to end up. The title clues us in to the ideas Mehretu is exploring–that the movement of people is anything but straightforward, reflecting the realities of individuals and families as they settle and resettle, blend and clash, as relationships shift over time. Even though Mehretu’s piece isn’t representational — meaning it doesn’t directly depict objects or people as they appear in the world — it does deepen our knowledge of history.
Now, art can also show us how different people tell the same stories — and histories — from totally different perspectives. Kind of like how my husband said he’d save me the last piece of pizza, but in his version of the story — huh, how weird, he can’t recall saying that. Pizza aside, let’s check out this relief sculpture, a type of carving with figures that pop out of a surface in three dimensions.
It’s from around 2250 B. C. E., and it was made by the Akkadian civilization in what’s now Iraq.
It shows their king, Naram-Sin, conquering the neighboring Lullubi people. Take a look under Naram-Sin’s foot. He’s trampling a Lullubi soldier as Akkadian soldiers look on.
Ouch. Now, here’s a different sculpture made by the supposedly tiny and crushable Lullubi people. That guy?
That’s their king, Anubanini, squashing an enemy soldier underfoot. Looks pretty familiar! While we don’t know if these sculptures portray the exact same battle, it’s clear the roles are reversed.
Both cultures are telling the story with themselves as the victor. Each side has their own version. It’s family pizza drama on a much larger scale.
Because yeah, art — and stories — are always told from a particular point of view. Which can be easy to forget, especially in the face of really compelling or unchallenged storytelling. But then you see a pair of works like these and you’re like, oh — yeah, that’s me, that’s John.
Two sides, same story. I wonder if our kids know the truth… Sometimes, there are even conflicting stories within a single artwork. Like, this Indian sculpture, known as the Great Relief at Mamallapuram, which was carved sometime in the seventh or eighth century.
It’s one of the largest relief sculptures in the world, carved from single huge stones called monoliths. Huh, we really do have a lot of heavy stone objects popping up in this series. Note to self: If you want to make art that survives, make it out of rock.
Anyway, it’s clear there’s a story on this rock, but scholars disagree about exactly which one. It could be “Arjuna’s Penance,” about an archer who fights a fellow hunter, only to find out he’s a god in disguise. Or it could be “Descent of the Ganges,” which explains the sacred origins of the Ganges River.
But scholars do agree on a few things. Like why the sculpture was created in the first place. Both stories include water and someone asking forgiveness from the gods, which would’ve represented protection to viewers at the time.
The relief was commissioned by a king to show his commitment to protecting his subjects. In fact, it’s possible the artists intentionally depicted multiple stories so that a wide variety of people could understand the same message. But, the coolest part?
On the relief, the Ganges River would have been represented by actual water flowing down the boulder. Which is what I like to call a live stream. Sorry.
All around the world, storytelling in art has highlighted parts of history that have been overlooked, or purposely hidden, by people in power. Like, in 1934, Black American artist Aaron Douglas completed this series of murals during the Harlem Renaissance, a time period that saw an explosion of painting, music, literature, and poetry by Black artists centered in and around the Harlem neighborhood of New York City. The four panels of the mural show overlapping scenes from Black American history, like emancipation from slavery, the Harlem Renaissance, and the emergence of hate groups.
One figure stands with a slip of paper in hand, possibly a voting ballot, pointing toward the U. S. Capitol Building in the distance.
A symbol of political progress for Black Americans. Like “Eighteen Songs of a Nomad Flute,” Douglas’s art tells a chronological story. His graphic style is distinct–a blend of influences, from African sculpture and jazz music to geometric abstraction.
The story is triumphant and hopeful, emphasized by these glowing concentric circles. But the work doesn’t deny the historic and ongoing struggles of Black Americans. On the left of this panel, you can see the looming shapes of Ku Klux Klan members threatening the scene.
At the time, stories of Black Americans were not often heard outside of the Black community. The mural helped amplify a missing piece of history to the broader public. Some refused to believe that Douglas’s impressive murals were made by a Black artist, which is both horrifying and also important to share.
It shows just how necessary it is to the fight against racism that we acknowledge the contributions of Black American artists, historically and today. So yeah, storytelling in art: it’s everywhere. It brings together cave painters, poets, kings, and you and me, here today.
It helps us understand history in new ways, compare different perspectives, and showcase the experiences and contributions of many. Not just the victors or the privileged, or the probable pizza stealers. Although there’s no such thing as a perfect, unbiased record, storytelling in art enriches what we know about the past, preserves memories for generations, and gets us at least a small step closer to that elusive but alluring thing we call truth.
Our next episode will explore the intersection of art, spirituality, and the divine. I’ll see you there. Thanks for watching this episode of Crash Course Art History which was filmed at the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields and was made with the help of all these nice people.
If you want to help keep Crash Course free for everyone, forever, you can join our community on Patreon.