From his earliest filmic experiments in the 1990s to international blockbusters, Wes Anderson has carved an instantly recognizable, unique, and much-memed cinematic niche. Muted hues, quirky characters, and a throwback sensibility bring off-the-wall, ensemble narratives to life.

London’s Design Museum, in collaboration with la Cinémathèque française, presents the first retrospective of the film director’s creative output, from early releases like Bottle Rocket (1996) to more mainstream hits like The Darjeeling Limited (2007) and The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014).

Including more than 600 objects, most of which will go on display in Britain for the first time, the exhibition will showcase iconic set pieces, preparatory notes, puppets, and models from numerous films. Just a few highlights include a miniature motorcycle that belonged to Mr. Fox in the titular The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), Sam Shakuski’s Scout kit from Moonrise Kingdom (2012), and Anderson’s personal notebooks from The Royal Tenenbaums (2001).

Wes Anderson: The Archives opens on November 21 and continues through July 26, 2026. Tickets are available now, and you can plan your visit on the Design Museum’s website.

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Upwards of 17 million commercial flights ferry passengers across U.S. airspace each year. (It’s more than twice that, in total, worldwide.) Those hundreds of thousands of vessels share the sky with winged things that have been around way, way longer than airliners, but it’s not always an easy relationship. Through the work of people like Norman Smith at Boston’s primary international terminal, we’re learning more every day about a remarkable species and their evolving ways of life.

“The Snowy Owls of Logan Airport” is a short documentary about Smith’s extraordinary work managing unexpected avian residents. Created by Anna Miller, who also runs The Animalia Podcast, the film highlights the unique migration patterns of the largest owls in North America and why they flock from the Arctic to such an unlikely destination every winter.

Smith has been working with snowy owls at Logan Airport since 1981. “They fly 3,000 miles just to get here,” he says. “We don’t know why they come down to the Boston area. Logan Airport has the highest concentration of snowy owls in the Northeast that we know of.”

The birds’ choice to land at a busy transportation hub might not be as surprising as you’d think at first. It comprises 1,800 acres of open fields, which resemble something like the tundra they call home farther north, full of rats and mice to eat. And on three sides, water provides another ample source of food. It might be loud, but they don’t seem to lose a wink.

Programs like the one at Logan Airport have been in place for decades following tragic incidents in which jet engines ingested birds, causing the planes to crash. One particular event in 1960 in Boston prompted airports around the nation to implement programs that managed bird populations, especially roosting areas, around active airfields. And while shooting avian species has historically been one method of removal, Smith is committed to a much more humane solution: moving them to safety elsewhere.

Snowy owls are considered “vulnerable” to extinction, and their populations are dwindling as the effects of the climate crisis continue to impact habitats in the Arctic. While it’s harder to predict what will happen in the coming years, Smith is dedicated to giving the birds he encounters the best chance of survival.

So far, he has single-handedly relocated more than 900 animals, been instrumental in implementing similar programs across the U.S., and hopes his passion for conservation and the urgent need to save these incredible creatures will influence future generations to do the same. (via Kottke)

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Known for their elaborate performances almost as much as their albums, the American band OK Go just released a new music video that is very literally a hall of mirrors. Filmed in a Budapest train station, “Love” incorporates 29 robots and 60 mirrors that move in perfect synchronicity. The result is an endlessly evolving kaleidoscope that distorts reality and illusion, connecting the band and their surroundings through a trippy, impeccably timed production.

To get a closer look at the making of this iconic video, check out the behind-the-scenes video shot from the perspective of each band member.

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Anyone who’s stood to inherit a family business knows the difficulty of charting one’s own course. “Legacy is complicated,” says Violet Oliphant-O’Neill, the daughter of the wildly prolific artist Sarah Oliphant. “(When you have) parents who are successful, being their child is complicated.”

Directed by Anna Louise Andersen, “The Promise of Spring” is an intimate portrait of a mother and daughter and the struggle of inheriting a parent’s passion. The film visits Oliphant Studios, which has painted backdrops gracing the covers of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and The New York Times and stood behind icons like Michelle Obama and Simone Biles, to name a few. It’s been in operation since 1978.

Oliphant’s output is revered globally, but for her daughter, stepping into an essential role in the studio isn’t simple. The film follows the pair as they work together and unravels each of their journeys to art-making—Oliphant through a natural proclivity that began in childhood and Oliphant-O’Neill by way of her mother.

As Andersen writes, the film grapples with “the tension between honoring family traditions and creating one’s own destiny.”

Watch “The Promise of Spring of Above,” and find more from the filmmaker on Vimeo.

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People have lived in the area around modern-day Glacier Bay National Park, along Alaska’s rugged southern coastline, for at least around 3,000 years. Nearby, in Groundhog Bay, evidence of human habitation extends back a mindboggling 9,000-or-more years.

In the mid-18th century, advancing glaciers forced ancestral Huna Tlingit people to abandon their homes. While they could visit certain areas occasionally to hunt and fish, the evolving conditions and ice prevented them from living there. And when the area was designated a national monument in 1925, it seemed possible the displacement would be permanent.

“I never, ever thought that I would ever see the day, in my lifetime, that Tlingits could return to the Homeland,” says local resident Jeff Skaflestad in the opening of the National Park Service’s short film, “Sanctuary for the Future.” But in 2016, thanks to many years’ work and a collaboration between the National Park Service and the Hoonah Indian Association—the tribal government of the Huna Tlingit clans—Xunaa Shuká Hít marked a momentous homecoming.

Both a space for tribal ceremonies and a nexus of living history, the house is a sacred place for the Indigenous community that also provides visitors the opportunity to learn about Huna Tlingit culture, history, and oral traditions.

Xunaa Shuká Hít, which roughly translates to “Huna Ancestors’ House,” was brought to life by three Tlingit craftsmen: Gordon Greenwald, Owen James, and Herb Sheakley, Sr., who spent countless hours carving their ancestors’ stories into meticulously selected trees and wooden panels.

In a large carving shed in nearby Hoonah, Alaska, the artisans, along with occasional help from friends and neighbors, worked on totem poles, boats, oars, and architectural details. “Having Elders come in and talk with us, just to share with us, that was a highlight of my days,” James says. Sheakley adds that as they began carving, it was an obvious decision to make their own tools, too, as a way of connecting to time-honored traditions.

“It was a collaboration between the clans,” says tribal administrator Bob Starbard. “We had to get the Elders to talk about what stories could be told, what crests should be on, in which order… where everything should be located.”

Popular culture often misrepresents the purpose and subject matter of totem poles, erroneously attributing the figures to gods or mythical creatures. While aesthetically remarkable and complex, ancestral Tlingits didn’t really even consider the motifs to be art. Instead, they are “chapter titles to oral history,” Greenwald says, often based on real things that have happened as opposed to mythical stories.

In Xunaa Shuká Hít, the totems serve as structural supports, literally holding up the house and framing an elaborately carved wall, or screen, which portrays a geographical representation of different clans’ histories.

Following the dedication in 2016, additional Raven and Eagle Totems were raised in front of the house in 2017, and Yaa Naa Néx Kootéeyaa, the Healing Pole, was raised a little ways away, along the Tlingit Trail, in 2018. Plan your visit to Xunaa Shuká Hít and learn more about the Huna Tlingit Homeland on the park’s website.

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In December 1988, artist Ricky Boscarino was on the hunt for real estate. Not just any property would do, though. “It was really my boyhood ambition to built my dream house, where literally all my dreams could come true,” he says in the short documentary “Electric Garden.” Little did he know that over the course of the next four decades, a dilapidated hunting cabin would transform into a veritable way of life.

Luna Parc emerged on a wooded six-acre parcel in northwestern New Jersey and has been in progress continually since 1989. “Family lore is that we were carpenters for many, many generations,” Boscarino says. “My whole life became about making things with metal, wood, glass, fabric, concrete.”

With numerous additions and labyrinthine levels, Luna Parc includes a kind of living museum, where Boscarino adds new work all the time, plus studios devoted to various mediums, living spaces, and an expansive sculpture garden. At 5,000 square feet, the self-described “madcap” artist’s vibrant, elaborately ornamented home evokes a fairytale dwelling or a whimsical, Tim Burton-esque construction.

Boscarino continues to add new details to Luna Parc, whether electrifying a concrete sculpture garden with colored lights or adding new works to the museum. The house occasionally opens to the public during the summer months, and you can learn more and plan your visit on Boscarino’s website. Watch the documentary in full on Vimeo.

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From the studio to her childhood bedroom in Columbus, Georgia, to the museum, a new film from Art21 presents a broad portrait of Amy Sherald. The artist is perhaps best known for her depiction of former First Lady Michelle Obama and her signature images of Black Americans rendered in grayscale.

In “Singular Moments,” the Art21 team peers into Sherald’s process and captures the intricacies of creating a work. Reference photos taped to a wall and paint squirted onto white paper plates accompany the artist as she works on her increasingly large-scale canvases.

Sherald frequently paints people she knows, beginning with their faces and eyes before moving on to the rest of their figures. As the title of the film suggests, her focus is on a single moment of beauty. “I think beautiful paintings are important,” she says in the film. “I say figuration is like the soul food of art making. It’s what takes you back home and what you eat when you need comfort, and we all need that at some point.”

The film comes ahead of Sherald’s first solo exhibition at a New York museum, American Sublime, which will present about 50 works from 2007 to today next month at the Whitney Museum of American Art. In addition to a visit to the artist’s parents’ home, filled with grade-school pictures and teenage art projects, viewers also witness the creation of some of her more recent works, particularly those exploring what it means to be an American.

Watch “Singular Moments” above, and be sure to read our conversation with the artist in which she discusses anxiety and finding respite in her work.

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Already more intricate than digital techniques, stop-motion animation typically involves sets and characters designed to make subtle movements so that filmmakers can capture minute shifts frame by frame. Directors Jack Cunningham and Nicolas Ménard, of Eastend Western, have chosen the even more involved process of replacement animation for their recent project.

Popularized by George Pal in the 1930s and ’40s, replacement animation involves creating distinctive models for each movement. Where Pal used wooden characters, though, Cunningham and Ménard opted for 3D-printed figures for their new anthology, TRIPLE BILL.

Comprising a trio of films all under two minutes, the collection spans “three genres to survey the atmospheric potential of the technique,” the directors say. The first is “BLUE GOOSE,” a western mocking the current state of social media, that features an enormous cowboy statue that leaves his post at the gas station. Just to have the figure walk across the set required eight unique models.

The second two are similarly labor-intensive. “CLUB ROW” is a dizzying film noir about data privacy featuring an endlessly spinning staircase, and “MYTHACRYLATE” is a fantastic glimpse at the battles we have with ourselves.

As the behind-the-scenes photos below show, each model had to be cut, sanded, and painted individually before being precisely placed in position. Ménard told It’s Nice That that elements like lighting, sound, and camera angles were particularly important to help convey emotion in TRIPLE BILL, which envelops viewers in a hypnotic critique of technology and its effects.

Find more from Eastend Western on Vimeo. For a similar technique, you also might enjoy these bears on stairs.

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On the site of the former Scott’s Grove Baptist Church, artist Tony M. Bingham has constructed a monumental work of contemplation and reflection. Two wood-paneled walls stand parallel in the serene clearing with stained glass windows, a Sylacauga marble floor, and a steel cutout depicting members who once worshiped on its grounds.

A tribute to local history, Bingham’s work is titled “The Praise House,” which takes its name from the vernacular structures people who were enslaved often built on plantations throughout the Southern U.S. as a space for prayer. “My way of addressing the power and the legacy is to just begin to look at some of the possible sources of opposition that the enslaved community could have participated in,” the artist says.

A new short documentary follows Bingham as he visits The Wallace Center for Arts and Reconciliation and installs the work. Located just outside of Birmingham in Harpersville, Alabama, the former plantation house is now a space for healing and reconciliation run by descendants of both the enslaved and enslavers.

Today, the center hosts a variety of art and culture programming to reflect on its history, and “The Praise House” is one such commission. After learning more about the enslaved communities, Bingham wanted to create a work that honored their legacy. “Using organic, repurposed, and cast-off materials, I make art that tells the story of my cast-off people,” he says, adding:

The house was being historically renovated, and planks of lumber were being replaced. I imagined that these old boards were the very surfaces enslaved people walked on or touched, and I sought to bring those materials back together in a way that could inspire reflection on the history of the enslaved people who once lived there.

Directed by Tyler Jones of 1504, the film is a poignant, enlightening glimpse into the lengthy process behind “The Praise House.” Bingham, who is a professor at Miles College in Birmingham, frequently invokes the historical realities of the location and returns to fundamental questions about the purpose of his work and art more broadly. “Who will speak for my people if not the artist?” he asks. “Who will help those outside of the art dialogue to understand the creative potential they possess?”

Watch “The Praise House” above, and find more from the artist on Instagram.

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Given the emphasis on functionality and design for industrial production, the Bauhaus movement is rarely associated with disciplines like dance. But for Oskar Schlemmer (1888-1943), translating its principles into movement and performance was as compelling as a well-conceived chair or building.

In the last century, the Bauhaus has indelibly shaped our modern built environments and the ways we think of the relationship between form and function (it even inspired conceptual cookbooks). German architect Walter Gropius founded the school in 1919 in Weimar, Germany, with the intention of uniting architecture, fine arts, and crafts. The school focused on minimalism and creating for the social good and involved artists and designers like Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, László Moholy-Nagy, Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee, and Anni and Josef Albers.

The Master of Form at the Bauhaus theatre workshop, Schlemmer was a painter, sculptor, and choreographer responsible for the under-known Triadic Ballet, a striking, playful dance structured around groups of three. Debuted in 1922, the avant-garde production comprises three colors—yellow, pink or white, and black—and three costume shapes—the square, circle, and triangle.

“Building on multiples of three,” says an explanation from MoMA, “transcended the egotism of the individual and dualism of the couple, emphasizing the collective.”

In true Bauhaus form, the idea was to eliminate the decorative frills associated with ballet, including tutus that allow bodies to bend, twist, and explore a full range of mobility. Instead, Schlemmer’s costumes restrict movement and add a modern quality as dancers appear stifled and almost mechanical, a nod to the movement’s focus on accessibility through mass production and turning “art into industry.”

Several of Schlemmer’s illustrations for the ballet are available online, including his bizarre sculptural costume designs with wide, bubbly skirts and vibrantly striped sleeves. MoMA’s collections contain a print titled “Figures in Space,” which reveals one of the performance’s foremost preoccupations: how bodies move and interact in space.

As seen in a fully colorized film of the dance from the 1970s, the dancers are incredibly deliberate as they navigate sparse sets with clean lines. Open Culture notes that they appear almost like pantomimes or puppets “with figures in awkward costumes tracing various shapes around the stage and each other.”

A few years back, Great Big Story created a video visiting the Bavarian Junior Ballet as it prepared for a performance. The costumes are faithful to Schlemmer’s vision and retain the rigid geometries and bright palettes. As noted by director Ivan Liška, the strange attire combined with the jilted, robotic choreography often leaves the audience laughing. “It’s very successful because the audience can’t believe this is 100 years old,” he says. “There you see the visionary power of Oskar Schlemmer.”

Triadic Ballet is rarely reproduced, but Bavarian Junior Ballet will bring the work back to the stage this June to celebrate its 15th anniversary. And if you’re in New York, you can see one of Schlemmer’s studies in Living in the Age of the Machine at MoMA. It’s also worth exploring The Oskar Schlemmer Theatre Estate and Archives, which boasts a trove of archival imagery and drawings on its website.

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