Pollinator Week

        Did you know that this is National Pollinator Week?  Every week is something, and I'm often amused by all the things somebody goes through the trouble of making official.  (I'm not about to lobby for a National Relief Block Print Week.)  As you may have noticed, whenever I hear of a Day or Week or Month that seems worthy of celebration, I like to use it an excuse for a collection of block prints on the theme.  And pollinators are a cool thing to focus on, to be sure.  They've been getting more love recently, but many people remain unaware of their vital contributions to our food supply and all the other products we use that come from plants that require pollination.

        Over 200,000 different species of all kinds from crickets and wasps to lemurs and lizards have been discovered to be vital in pollinating certain plants.  Many plants and creatures have vey specific partnerships, too, which I find fascinating.  But perhaps the most important pollinators are bees, beetles, hummingbirds, bats, butterflies, and moths.

        To segue from last week, I began with some butterflies and moths by M.C. Escher, above.  Starting geometric and turning realistic, this piece shows Escher's ability to capture both the precise mathematical geometry of abstract patterns and the

detailed curves and patterns of realism.

        This bold alphabetic bee is quite pleasing, and her very black-and-white style makes a nice contrast to the detailed contours of the hummingbird.  Also detailed in that classic Victorian way is this lovely fruit bat.

        Just to add to the mix, here's an even older moth, from Maria Sybilla Merian, and a collage of assorted pollinators, printed and then hand-colored.

       Next time you eat a papaya, thank a moth.  Bananas are pollinated by bats, and for chocolate you have to thank a tiny midge.  Bees are responsible for the growth of at least a hundred commercial crops including apples,

almonds, and onions.  Now go out in your garden, or head to the nearest park, and appreciate all the work those busy pollinators are doing for us.

[Pictures: Butterflies, wood engraving by M.C. Escher, 1950 (Image from Saint Louis University);

B is for Bee, linocut by Steve Duffy (Image from his Etsy shop Steve Duffy Designs);

The Humming Bird, wood block print from The Illustrated Alphabet of Birds, 1851 (Image from International Children's Digital Library);

Bat, wood block print - found on-line with no information, alas;

Moth, wood block print reproduced from drawing by Maria Sybilla Merian, from Erucarum ortus, alimentum et paradoxa metamorphosis, 1717 (Image from Göttinger Digitalisierungszentrum);

Insect collage, linoleum block prints colored and collaged, by Amanda Coville (Image from her blog Mangle Prints, or visit her Etsy shop for more, including bees and moths.)]

More Escher

        In honor of M.C. Escher's upcoming one hundred fifteenth birthday (He was born June 17, 1898) it's time to feature another batch of his wood block prints.  This time I'm going to focus on a series of landmarks and views of Delft (plus a bonus scene from Corsica.)  There's nothing surreal here, no tessellations or optical illusions, none of the visual tricks for which Escher is so famous.  There's just incredibly beautiful carving of beautifully composed scenes.

        Perhaps my favorite is this first one, in which I like the balance of pure black, pure white, and intricate texture.  Plus, the scene itself, the Oostpoort, is so romantically charming with its bridge and towers.  Some interesting carving to note is the way the entire background is made less distinct simply by carving a series of thin lines right through everything.  I think if I tried that I'd only succeed in ruining all my carefully carved background details.  But Escher, of course, is all about control.  That's
particularly visible in the sky, which is composed of precisely gradated lines.  There's no impressionistic gouging for Escher.

        Compare the skies in the other pieces: all variations on carefully controlled lines, mostly straight, or this mathematically smooth curve.  Still, although the carving may be precise, the scene isn't.  This view of a canal includes cracked or stained plaster and some sort of peeling sign in the alley.  The plants in the pots look a little scraggly.  It definitely feels like a real place.  (And I have to confess that I like that many of these views have no people.  Contrary to findings about what art people like best, I tend to prefer my scenery without people.)

                I love the blacks and whites of this church, and how it dominates the smaller buildings in the background.  I like how Escher has made the largest tree show up crisply against both black and white behind it.

                       Although there's nothing fantastical about this view of the market in Delft, the unusual perspective definitely reminds me of some of Escher's more mind-twisting work.  The light feels like early morning to me, although I'm sure if I knew Delft I'd know whether we're looking north or south.  I love the roof tiles.  I like the roof tiles in all these pieces!

        And finally, your bonus view of Corsica, done eleven years earlier than the Delft series, and definitely a little more stylized.  It's so wonderfully dramatic.

        So, Happy Birthday, M.C., and thanks for all the wonderful woodcuts!

[Pictures: Delft: Oostpoort, woodcut by M.C. Escher, 1939;

Delft: Voldersgracht, woodcut by Escher, 1939;

Delft: Nieuwe Kerk, woodcut by Escher, 1939;

Delft: Grote Markt, woodcut by Escher, 1939;

Citadel of Calvi, Corsica, woodcut by Escher, 1928 (Images from Saint Louis University).]

Benjamin Franklin, Dabbler in Magic

        I thought I'd feature Benjamin Franklin today because according to one source I found, tomorrow is the Day of Saint Benjamin Franklin - sort of.  After the French Revolution the new government came up with a new calendar which was to be metric, egalitarian, and secular.  (Too bad a ten day work week is a slog whether or not you want to go to church on Sunday.)  All the Saints' Days were eliminated and replaced with secular honorees - including, according to the one historian, Benjamin Franklin for June 12.  But further research implies that the suggestion of new people to honor was rejected in favor of giving each day a plant or animal or something, so that June 12 became the day of honeysuckle.  At any rate, today seemed as good a day as any to think about Benjamin Franklin and his possibility as a fantasy character.

        In my current work in progress our heroes are chasing down a series of clues to find a secret fund hidden by Benjamin Franklin.  As a minor point, it's mentioned that Franklin was something of a wizard, able to recognize and use certain magical objects, including The Extraordinary Book of Doors of my story.  I feel quite justified in putting Franklin in this role, and I'll share my evidence.

        1. We all know about Franklin's interest in electricity, but in Franklin's time electricity was mostly regarded as a novelty for parlor tricks, much as a magician might perform at a birthday party.  Indeed, many scientists, including Franklin, held electrical parties where they entertained - and shocked - their guests.  Along with the shocks and hair-on-end, Franklin also performed tricks where he relit candles and made an artificial spider move mysteriously.  (He also nearly killed himself while electrocuting a turkey for an all-electric dinner.)  The line between performing "magic" tricks and conducting scientific experiments was often thin or non-existent in Franklin's day.

        2. One of Franklin's hobbies was creating magic squares, those mathematical grids in which numbers add up to the same sum in every row and column (and sometimes in other patterns, too.)  He composed a number of magic squares so impressive that today's mathematicians have yet to explain what algorithm he could have used to do it.  I say, the answer's obvious… After all, Franklin himself stated that his 16x16 square was "the most magically magical of any square ever made by any magician."

        3. Franklin enjoyed being thought a wizard.  While walking by a wind-whipped stream with friends he announced that he could magically quiet the waves.  Thereupon he made some mystical passes, waved his cane three times over the water, and the waves sank and the water became mirror-smooth.  His trick was to keep a small vial of oil in his hollow cane, so that he could drip the oil onto the water and suppress the waves.  This trick was part of a series of experiments Franklin made on oil and water and wave theory.  Clearly Franklin was not only scientifically curious, but also delighted by the magical effects that he saw in nature.

        So I think it's fun to imagine that if there were magic in our world, Benjamin Franklin might well have been one of those who noticed it, became fascinated by it, studied it, and experimented with it.

[Pictures: Work and Industry from "Poor Richard Illustrated," engraving by O. Pelton, 1887 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Reverse of paper money printed by Benjamin Franklin, using his method of leaf imprints to foil counterfeiters, 1764 (Image from Library of Congress);

Illustration of letter from "Silence Dogood" by Franklin, woodcut from New England Courant, 1722 (Image from Wikimedia Commons).]

Fantasy Limericks

        My kids love their poetry units in school, but this year P was pretty aggrieved that they didn't get to write limericks as one of their poetry styles.  So one evening I sat down with him and we worked on writing limericks.  P decided to write a limerick about each of his family members; I decided to write mine about famous fantasy characters.  Here's what I was able to come up with…

There was a respectable hobbit

Who went to a wyrm-hoard to rob it.

His relations all said

He was wrong in the head,

Since with wizards and dwarves he'd hobnob it.

There was a poor orphan named Potter

Who overcame many a plotter.

He had quite a struggle,

Though he was no Muggle,

But he beat Voldemort, that old rotter.

There once was a girl from the prairie

Who killed wicked witches unwary.

One she fatally housed,

While another she doused,

So they thought her a powerful fairy.

Sir Lancelot was a parágon

Who said, "Let us all raise a flagon:

The best knight ever seen -

We all know whom I mean."

How they wished he'd been et by a dragon.

        Are they works of genius?  Alas, no, though I claim the excuse that they had to be composed while I was also trying to help P find rhymes for assorted family names and characteristics.  But some of you out there must be able to do better than I.  Give it a try, and when you come up with a good one, post it in the comments.  I look forward to some comic fantasy gems of more sparkle and polish than mine!

[Picture:  King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, woodcut from William Stansby's edition of The most ancient and famous history of the renowned prince Arthur King of Britaine by Thomas Malory, 1634 (Image from Cardiff University).]

Ocean Alphabet

        This Saturday is World Oceans Day, and I couldn't let such an important occasion go by without a little block print celebration.  And having just discovered an appropriately nautical abecedary, what better way to celebrate the ocean than with some ocean images from block printed ABC books?  "Oh boy," I can hear you saying, "She's right!  There is no better way to celebrate than with block prints!"  I'm so glad we agree!
        Life began in the oceans, life continues to teem in the oceans, and new life forms are still being discovered in the oceans.  I don't have any block prints representing the bizarre and alien creatures from the deepest trenches or the boiling deep sea vents, or even a good old-fashioned coelacanth.  I also didn't want to repeat images I've posted here before,

including sea turtles, cormorants, flying fish and walrus…  Nevertheless, perhaps today's small sampling can still serve as a reminder of how much we stand to lose by failing to take care of our oceans.

        I begin with the ocean itself: S is for sea.  After that I've put the images in alphabetical order, in honor of their sources in alphabet books.  I include fish, crustacean, mammal, and cephalopod, plus the human-made craft for exploring the ocean (or, of course, exploiting it).  The printing blocks are carved from wood, linoleum, and rubber.

        As always, I'm admiring the range of different styles, and how each artist brings a different way of carving, resulting in a very different sort of look.  Compare the swirly doodling patterns of Anderson's sea with the straight lines of Robinson's xiphias

(swordfish).  Compare the textured detail of Pease's fish with the large solid areas of Dodds's schooner.  Compare the intense colors of Wormell's lobster and narwhal with the stark black and white of my nautilus.  Each so different, and each so interesting and beautiful.  Now isn't this a fun celebration?

[Pictures: Sea, linoleum block print by Walter Inglis Anderson, 1930's (Image from The Walter Anderson Shop);

F stands for fish, wood block print by R.H. Pease, hand painted, from The Ladder to Learning by Miss Lovechild, 1852 (Image from Project Gutenberg);

Lobster and Narwhal, linoleum block prints with multiple blocks by Christopher Wormell, from An Alphabet of Animals, 1990;

Nautilus, rubber block print by AEGN, 2009, from Amazing, Beguiling, Curious, 2010;

Schooner, linoleum block print by James Dodds, from Alphabet of Boats, 1998;

Xiphias, woodcut by Alan James Robinson, 1982, from An Odd Bestiary, 1986.]

Boats by Dodds

        Some friends of mine, upon hearing that I like block-printed alphabet books, lent me on Sunday Alphabet of Boats.  This is a charming little book, just under five inches square, featuring a bold, simple linoleum block print representing a sailing boat for every letter of the alphabet.  Now, I'm not much of a boat buff, but, like many people, I've always found sailboats beautiful.  Moreover, I think their lines and shapes make them great subjects for black and white block printing.

        The artist of this Alphabet of Boats is James Dodds (UK, b. 1957), who apprenticed as a shipwright before going to art school.  So, unlike me when I get an idea to go make a block print of some random thing, he really knows whereof he carves.  At the end of the book there's a very brief explanation of how the development of the different boats related to each other through history and geography.  This gives some context to the fact that some of the boats look very similar, while others have more obvious differences.

        All the pictures have the same strong, graphic format: the boat in silhouette against a textured sky, with a thick black border.  Does this make for visual consistency or for boredom?  I suppose that's a matter of opinion, but I like it.  I also really like the endpapers, with their grid of tiny black boats.

        Now, those of you with a mathematical bent might have noticed, as I did, that there are 32 little boats on the endpapers, and only 26 letters in the alphabet.  I set out comparing all the pictures to discover what the extras were - and I found to my surprise that only 22 of the illustrations from the alphabet are actually represented on the endpapers, while there are ten bonus boats.  Just a little extra nautical fun for those who want more!

        I also went looking up James Dodds on the internet, and I liked what I found so much that I plan to feature more of his work another day.  So stay tuned for Dodds's much more detailed work later.

[Pictures: Cutter and Dhow, linoleum block prints by James Dodds;

Wherry and Xebec, lino prints by Dodds;

Endpapers, lino prints by Dodds,

Yawl, lino print by Dodds, all from Alphabet of Boats by James Dodds, 1998.]

Words of the Month - People and Persons Unknown

        As I child I never thought too much about why the plural of person is people.  It was just one of those quirky English things, like geese, or children.  Then I started hearing the word persons, and thought how pretentious and silly it sounded.  But an etymological search reveals a funny thing: person and people are etymologically totally unrelated.  I can't think of any other English word in which the singular and plural forms are actually not the same word at all.  Can you?

        Let's start with people.  The Latin word for humans in general was populus, from which we get popular, populate, and population.  Public, republic, and publish are also related, coming to us from another Latin form of the word.  We get the form people from alterations the Latin word experienced while coming to us by way of French.

        As for person, our word comes ultimately from the Latin word for an actor's mask, with the roots meaning "sound through," because of the way the actor spoke through the mouth hole.  Yep, it gives new meaning to the idea that we're all just actors wearing masks in the face of the world!  We also have the word persona, which is closer to that original idea, but which wasn't introduced until the twentieth century.  The same Latin (and possibly Etruscan) root gave us parson, and, more obviously, personality.

        Technically, going by the roots, people would be the correct plural for a group of humans when the emphasis is on the group, while persons would be the plural for a collection of specific individuals.  And some people do try to make this distinction in their rules on usage.  But in my experience people is simply the normal, everyday plural in any situation, while persons is the plural used in legal and official contexts.

        So that's taken care of - but if you think English's variety of person words ends there… oh no.  Of course not.  Just to round out our look at words for people, Latin had other words for humans.  The word meaning "being of earth" (as distinct from the gods) was humanus, from which (by way of Old French) we get human and such related words as humane and humanity.  The Latin word denoting the common people was plebs.  From this root we get, naturally, plebeian.  This may be related to the Greek word pléthos, meaning "multitude," from which derives our plethora.  And ancient Greek had another word for the people living in a particular district: demos.  When they participate in government we get a democracy, hopefully of the people, by the people, for the people.

[Picture: Intertwined, rubber block print by AEGN, 2003.]

Brown's Birds

        I've been enjoying my local birds this spring, especially the chickadees that are nesting in the little birdhouse I put up under the eave of the front porch.  I've also been enjoying the comments of the song sparrows who must be nesting somewhere very near my studio window and are always perched nearby, making their presence know.  Then yesterday I noticed two new birds, a lovely little yellow-breasted warbler in the bushes (Nashville warbler, I think), and a sudden swoop of barn swallows skimming past my window.  That made me think of the series of lovely wood engravings by Peter Brown.

        Peter Brown has been illustrating British birds for about fifteen years, in meticulous little wood engravings.  I like them very much and thought today would be a good day to share them with you, starting, of course, with the swallow.  Swallows embody the joy of flight the way dolphins swim.  They have such a magnificent combination of power and effortlessness, and Brown's swallow captures the wonderful curve of the swoosh.

        This little warbler is shaded all with long lines and I really admire how Brown has shown the dark and light areas with differing widths of black and white.  He's made the warbler look sleek while still giving it a pattern.  I love the tangle of leaves, too.  If you look closely you can see that the smaller sprigs in the background have been pressed with less pressure than the bird and foreground so that they are a little greyer and less distinct.  This keeps the focus on the bird.

        And for a third example I've picked this hobby, a small falcon we don't get in the Americas.  Brown's bird is eyeing the dragonflies hungrily.  I like the way the background has been suggested without outlines, but simply with areas of

different amounts of criss-crossing texture.  (I think of it as criss-crossed texture because that's the pattern that was carved.  In fact the black texture is more like a pattern of small squares or rectangles.  It's the white that makes the lines.)  I also really like the pattern on the falcon's wings and body, and I like the composition with the grass and dragonfly in the foreground.

        What birds do you enjoy where you are, and how would you capture their special qualities in art?

[Pictures: Swallow, wood engraving by Peter Brown;

Garden Warbler, wood engraving by P. Brown;

Hobby, wood engraving by P. Brown (All images from Little Brown Birds).]

Secret Doors

        Oh how I love secret doors.  It does occur to me how vital they are for sneaking from the conservatory to the lounge with your brass candlestick and lead pipe, and unfortunately crime just naturally goes with secret doors.  The sad truth seems to be that most secret rooms you hear about in real life are more creepy or depressing than cool.  After all, given that I never murder or torture anyone, I'm not a paranoid dictator, and I have yet to

amass a collection of stolen art masterpieces, what use do I really have for secret doors to secret vaults?  But nevertheless, the thought of secret doors is so very much more alluring than the dark reality.  They're essential in the fantasy genre, too, where they're generally less awful and more awesome.  Fantasy worlds from Narnia to Droon are discovered through secret doors.  (As for sci-fi, what is a worm hole, really, but a secret passageway?)  Without secret

doors how would Bilbo burgle Smaug's lair or Harry Potter reach Diagon Alley or Platform 9 3/4… or any number of other locations in the wizarding world?  How would Princess Celie save the day in Tuesdays at the Castle?  Even Alice's rabbit hole is a secret door of a sort.  Think of all the magic and adventure made possible by secret doors.  Now, don't you long for one of your own?  I know I do!  So I've collected a few possibilities.

        Several companies specialize in secret doors, including the hidden walk-through, the trap-door, the trick fireplace, and the slick opening staircase.  Doors can be disguised in panelled walls, or in brick or stone, behind appliances or grandfather clocks, or, of course, the ever-popular bookcase (hinged, sliding, or revolving).  I admit, the classic bookcase door is my all-time favorite and the one I'd most love to have in my house.  At the top is a classic example from the Admont Abbey Library, built in 1776 in Austria.  This one scores extra points for concealing a twisty staircase, but loses points for

being a mere facade instead of a real bookcase that holds real books.  So here's another gorgeous one, from another eighteenth century Austrian monastery.  Clearly secret bookcase doors were all the rage in eighteenth century Austrian monastic architecture.  Good times.  Please excuse me while I wipe up my drool.

        Now the problem is just to think of where I can put a secret door, and where it can lead…  Alas, my house's staircases are nested atop each other like the stairs in most houses, my walls are less than a foot thick, my attic and basement are already accessible by prosaically unsecret doors.  Sigh…  Maybe some day when money is no object and I build my magical library/cabinet of curiosities with the spiral staircase I'll be able to fit in a secret door somewhere… or maybe a couple… with a secret passageway between them…  Yes, I like the sound of that...

        But before I sink down completely into my happy reverie…  I don't have space here for all the cool stuff I spent my morning discovering, but here are a few links to some additional secret-entry-related coolness.  Check them out:

                Secret garage

                Secret subway access

                Secret basement

[Pictures:  Admont Abbey library door (Image from The Olympia Press);

Stone wall door;

Stairway door, (Images from Creative Home Engineering);

Fireplace door from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989);

St Florian library door (Image from dcuartielles);

Bookcase door, (Image from Creative Home Engineering).]