The Department of Awesome Automata seldom gets an opportunity to show off, but today they’re pulling out all the stops with this breathtaking Silver Swan automaton. Housed at the Bowes Museum in North East England, this exquisite 18th century clockwork bird was designed by designed and built by John Joseph Merlin along with London inventor James Cox.
The life-size swan automaton swims in a stream made of moving glass rods along with small silver fish. When it’s clockwork is wound up, a music box plays as the swan turns its head from side to side, preening her silver feathers, eventually spotting a fish in the water and then bending down to catch it.
In effort to preserve this extraordinary creation, the Silver Swan is only operated once each day. But we can watch it as many times as we like thanks to this video:
When magic starts to return to the modern world, barely anyone notices. It doesn’t look anything like what we imagine. People don’t suddenly start developing magic powers, casting spells, or turning into elves and dwarves. In fact, people don’t really change at all, not at first. It turns out that the magic isn’t even here for us. It’s here for what we’ve built.
The change is slow, and subtle, and strange, as the magic works its way into our institutions. You mail letters to dead relatives, and the post office starts delivering their replies. Late-night bus routes stop at places never seen on any atlas. Libraries suddenly include subterranean archives where you can look anything you’ve ever forgotten, from the names of your favorite childhood books to the precise flavor of your first-ever chocolate chip cookie.
The people working at these places take the changes in stride. The letters from the dead just show up every morning, sorted and stamped and ready for delivery, so why not carry them? Bus drivers follow the maps they’re given without trouble, and learn to accept even small gold coins as more than adequate fare. Electricians get used to seeing warding symbols in circuit diagrams, while clerks at the DMV find a stack of forms for registering ghostly steeds as personal vehicles, and sigh in relief at finally having that particular bureaucratic headache solved. The firefighters are shocked the first time they see a giant of living water burst out from a hydrant, but after it rescues several of them from a burning building, they decide not to ask questions. They tell their stories to others, though, and soon word of the changes is spreading.
There’s no single moment of realization where everyone discovers that magic is real; the knowledge just creeps into day to day life a bit at a time, and society adapts. Cyber-safety programs teach people to never accept a file from the electric fairies without sharing one in return, and to never accept their Terms and Conditions without searching for the subsection on Souls, Forfeiture Thereof. Students leave offerings of coffee and boxed wine to petition the School Spirit for lower tuition or exam deferrals. Nurses learn the hours when Death stalks the hospital hallways, and keep bedside vigils in the children’s ward. They bring board games and cards for when the reaper is feeling playful, and well-worn baseball bats for when he isn’t.
There are problems, of course, like the vicious monsters of blood and fire spawned from age-old hate groups, or infestations of the writing many-mouthed worms that literally feed on governmental corruption, but really, they were already there before the change. Magic only elaborates on what we’ve made, good or ill, manifesting the latent modern mythology underpinning our society. It doesn’t offer solutions to all of life’s problem, but for a few hurting people, guarded by the concrete arms of a neighborhood come to life to protect its community, or flying away on wings of copper wire and fiber-optic cable, it’s exactly the change they needed.
A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.
Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)
When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.
Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.
Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.
Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.
Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.
‘My Perfume Doubles As Mace,’ theappleppielifestyle. (via
Motion control artist Bruce Shapiro (previously featured here) recently launched a Kickstarter campaign to created three different smaller domestic versions of his awesome Sisyphus kinetic drawing machine. Now we can enjoy this soothing geometric sand art in our own home as two different coffee tables (3 and 4 foot diameters) or an end table.
“Over time I have come to view Sisyphus as more than a kinetic art piece: it is an instrument,” said Shapiro. “As a musical instrument plays songs, Sisyphus plays paths. My goal with this Kickstarter is to get Sisyphus into people’s homes for them to enjoy as both furniture and art, but also, to inspire a community of composers to write ‘music’ for it.”
Also, I recommend that in addition to keeping up the donations, after this is done continue to donate to Native American charities and foundations. The reason they had to protest for so long was because of a lack of respect/political power.
Please stop linking to the Daily Mail, it is a hateful rag and gets ad revenue every time someone lands on their site!
We love our new book train. It’s helping to quickly transport materials from the stacks beneath the Stephen A. Schwarzman upstairs to the researchers who need them!
this is the highest quality #books content i’ve seen all season.
omg look at those hard working little cuties
I have always wanted pneumatic tubes in my home, and now I want this book train, too, even though I suspect the cats would spend all day riding it.
…and I would spend all day watching it instead of getting things done.
Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. This is the greatest invention.
Andrey Surnov evening traffic 1 subway shipyard crane cranes evening traffic 2 evening traffic 3 night shop 1 6:00 AM shooting gallery dark street pizzeria night shop 2 red café
Steel Phoenix Studios 