Ebook rtf mathematics Feynman, Richard Surely You’…

everybody
, so what 
percentage
of the community must 
accept something in order for it to be 'acceptable to the community'?" 
The lawyer suggests a figure. The other lawyer objects. The judge calls a recess, and they all go into chambers for 15 minutes before they can 
decide that "acceptable to the community" means accepted by 50% of the community. 
In spite of the fact that I made them be precise, I had no precise numbers as evidence, so I said, "I believe that topless dancing is accepted by 
more than 50% of t he community, and is therefore acceptable to the community." 
Gianonni temporarily lost the case, and his, or another one very similar to it, went ultimately to the Supreme Court. In the meantime, his place 
stayed open, and I got still more free 7-Ups. 
Around that time there were some attempts to develop an interest in art at Caltech. Somebody contributed the money to convert an old plant 
sciences building into some art studios. Equipment and supplies were bought and provided for the students, and they hired an artist from South Africa 
to coordinate and support the art activities around Caltech. 
Various people came in to teach classes. I got Jerry Zorthian to teach a drawing class, and some guy came in to teach lithography, which I tried 
to learn. 
The South African artist came over to my house one time to look at my drawings. He said he thought it would be fun to have a one-man show. 
This time I was cheating: If I hadn't been a professor at Caltech, they would have never thought my pictures were worth it. 
"Some of my better drawings have been sold, and I feel uncomfortable calling the people," I said. 
"You don't have to worry, Mr. Feynman," he reassured me. "You won't have to call them up. We will make all the arrangements and operate the 
exhibit officially and correctly." 
I gave him a list of people who had bought my drawings, and they soon received a telephone call from him: "We understand that you have an 
Ofey." 
"Oh, yes!" 
"We are planning to have an exhibition of Ofeys, and we're wondering if you would consider lending it to us." Of course they were delighted. 
The exhibition was held in the basement of the Athenaeum, the Caltech faculty club. Everything was like the real thing: All the pictures had titles, 
and those that had been taken on consignment from their owners had due recognition: "Lent by Mr. Gianonni," for instance. 
One drawing was a portrait of the beautiful blonde model from the art class, which I had originally intended to be a study of shading: I put a light 
at the level of her legs a bit to the side and pointed it upwards. As she sat, I tried to draw the shadows as they were--her nose cast its shadow rather 
unnaturally across her face--so they wouldn't look so bad. I drew her torso as well, so you could also see her breasts and the shadows they made. I 
stuck it in with the other drawings in the exhibit and called it "Madame Curie Observing the Radiations from Radium." The message I intended to 
convey was, nobody thinks of Madame Curie as a woman, as feminine, with beautiful hair, bare breasts, and all that. They only think of the radium 
part. 
A prominent industrial designer named Henry Dreyfuss invited various people to a reception at his home after the exhibition--the woman who 
had contributed money to support the arts, the president of Caltech and his wife, and so on. 
One of these art-lovers came over and started up a conversation with me: "Tell me, Professor Feynman, do you draw from photographs or from 
models?" 
"I always draw directly from a posed model." 
"Well, how did you get Madame Curie to pose for you?" 
Around that time the Los Angeles County Museum of Art had a similar idea to the one I had, that artists are far away from an understanding of 
science. My idea was that artists don't understand the underlying generality and beauty of nature and her laws (and therefore cannot portray this in 
their art). The museum's idea was that artists should know more about technology: they should become more familiar with machines and other 
applications of science. 
The art museum organized a scheme in which they would get some of the really good artists of the day to go to various companies which 
volunteered some time and money to the project. The artists would visit these companies and snoop around until they saw something interesting that 
they could use in their work. The museum thought it might help if someone who knew something about technology could be a sort of liaison with the 
artists from time to time as they visited the companies. Since they knew I was fairly good at explaining things to people and I wasn't a complete 
jackass when it came to art (actually, I think they knew I was trying to learn to draw)--at any rate, they asked me if I would do that, and I agreed. 
It was lots of fun visiting the companies with the artists. What typically happened was, some guy would show us a tube that discharged sparks in 
beautiful blue, twisting patterns. The artists would get all excited and ask me how they could use it in an exhibit. What were the necessary conditions 
to make it work? 
The artists were very interest ing people. Some of them were absolute fakes: they would claim to be an artist, and everybody agreed they were an 
artist, hut when you'd sit and talk to them, they'd make no sense whatsoever! One guy in particular, the biggest faker, always dressed ftmny; he had a 
big black bowler hat. He would answer your questions in an incomprehensible way, and when you'd try to find out more about what he said by asking 

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him about some of the words he used, off we'd be in another direction! The only thing he contributed, ultimately, to the exhibit for art and technology 
was a portrait of himself. 
Other artists I talked to would say things that made no sense at first, but they would go to great lengths to explain their ideas to me. One time I 
went somewhere, as a part of this scheme, with Robert Irwin. It was a two-day trip, and after a great effort of discussing back and forth, I finally 
understood what he was trying to explain to me, and I thought it was quite interesting and wonderful. 
Then there were the artists who had absolutely no idea about the real world. They thought that scientists were some kind of grand magicians who 
could make anything, and would say things like, "I want to make a picture in three dimensions where the figure is suspended in space and it glows 
and flickers." They made up the world they wanted, and had no idea what was reasonable or unreasonable to make. 
Finally there was an exhibit, and I was asked to be on a panel which judged the works of art. Although there was some good stuff that was 
inspired by the artists' visiting the companies, I thought that most of the good works of art were things that were turned in at the last minute out of 
desperation, and didn't really have anything to do with technology. All of the other members of the panel disagreed, and I found myself in some 
difficulty. I'm no good at criticizing art, and I shouldn't have been on the panel in the first place. 
There was a guy there at the county art museum named Maurice Tuchman who really knew what he was talking about when it came to art. He 
knew that I had had this one-man show at Caltech. He said, "You know, you're never going to draw again." 
"What? That's ridiculous! Why should I never. 
"Because you've had a one-man show, and you're only an amateur." 
Although I did draw after that, I never worked as hard, with the same energy and intensity, as I did before. I never sold a drawing after that, 
either. He was a smart fella, and I learned a lot from him. I could have learned a lot more, if I weren't so stubborn! 

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