June 27, 2017

Classical X Games

        How’s this for a vacation activity?  This woman appears to be parasailing or windsurfing on a fishy sea monster!
        This wood block image was apparently a printer’s device used by a printer in Nuremberg in 1562.  Since it’s freestanding rather than illustrating any particular text, I have no information about the identity of the woman, or what’s actually going on here.  Is she a nymph or a goddess, or an athlete?  Is she riding the fish by necessity or for recreation?  Who devised the sail and harness, or tamed the fish, if indeed it’s tame?  Will she take off from the fish and parasail as it pulls her?  Or is she surfing fishback?  Who is the companion riding alongside our intrepid bathing beauty, on a sort of sea pony of his own?  And is that a cupid swimming in the background?  So many questions; so many possibilities.  What do you think is happening in this scene?  And just as interestingly, what do you think the artist who designed this block was thinking in the sixteenth century, presumably before either surfing or parasailing was known in Nuremberg?

[Picture: Wood block print from Sechzehen Predig by Georg Eckhard, printed by Christoff Heussler, 1562 (Image from Provenance Online Project flickr).]

June 23, 2017

Window on the World

        Here’s a fun surreal piece by Neil Brigham.  Surrealism has broad overlap with fantasy, and this could illustrate the high-tech version of my Extraordinary Book of Doors: pictures that become portals.  If only travel were so easy!
        Although primarily a printmaker, Brigham does occasionally do scratchboard, and the fineness of lines on this piece make me wonder whether it might be scratchboard.  Unfortunately, Brigham’s web site gives no details about individual pieces.  The look is the same, in either case.  It’s whimsical, fun, and a little mysterious.

[Picture: illustration by Neil Brigham, image from Neil Brigham’s web site).]

June 20, 2017

Pride and Prejudice and Fantasy

        Yes, I’m one of those countless fans who lists Pride and Prejudice among my all-time favorite books.  But as we all know, there’s nothing speculative about Jane Austen’s fiction, so what’s a fantasy fan to do?  Easy - read one of the myriad Pride and Prejudice adaptations with a fantasy twist.  You may wish to start with the most famous…
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen with additions by Seth Grahame-Smith - All right, I admit that I haven’t actually read this one.  I was duly amused by the title, but assumed that having seen the title, I had got the joke.  If I were more interested in zombies, I might have read it anyway, but I see nothing in the reviews to entice me, despite its blockbuster success.  Opening line: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.

        There are a downright stupefying number of P&P adaptations and sequels, so it’s no surprise that many of them should contain fantasy elements.  Among the offerings I see which I have not read - and have no intention of ever reading:
Mr. Darcy, Vampyre by Amanda Grange - Tagline: A married man in possession of a dark fortune must be in want of an eternal wife.
Vampire Darcy’s Desire by Regina Jeffers
Darkness Falls Upon Pemberley by Susan Adriani - in which Elizabeth is the vampire
The Pemberley Vampire Hunters by Huw Thomas
Mrs. Darcy versus the Aliens by Jonathan Pinnock - Tagline: The truth is out there, though it is not universally acknowledged.
The Ghosts at Pemberley by Fenella Jane Miller
From Pemberley to Manhattan by Laís Rodrigues - involving time travel
Death Comes to Netherfield by Jacqueline Steel - involving a zombie plague and Dracula
Pride and Platypus: Mr. Darcy’s Dreadful Secret by Jane Austen and Vera Nazarian - involving demons and were-creatures of all sorts.  Opening line: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when the moon is full over Regency England, the gentlemen are all subject to its curse.
Pemberley: Mr. Darcy’s Dragon by Maria Grace - I confess this seems a little more enticing than the others, but my library system doesn’t seem to have it, so I’ll probably never read this one, either.

        Of P&P variations I have read, I’ll mention two that are mystery rather than fantasy:
Death Comes to Pemberley by P.D. James - A fine mystery, but James struggles sporadically with the Austen style for a chapter or two before giving up the unequal effort.
Jane and The Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor by Stephanie Barron - Okay, I admit this is neither fantasy nor Pride and Prejudice, being the first of a mystery series featuring Jane Austen herself as the detective.  But I include it because it’s excellent.  Barron does a great job capturing Austen’s voice; the historical setting is well researched, accurate (to the best of my knowledge, anyway), and intriguing; and the mysteries are thoroughly enjoyable.
        And finally, the P&P fantasies I’ve actually read:
Pride and Prescience by Carrie Bebris - which includes cursed artefacts and something like voodoo, maybe some mind control… I confess to remembering very little about it, except that it didn’t seem to make a lot of sense and I was thoroughly disappointed.
Heart Stone by Elle Katharine White - Pride and Prejudice and Dragons, which I enjoyed tremendously.  The magical world is well-crafted and interesting, and the translation of Austen’s characters and plot into this magical world is generally very well done.  This is not Regency England with dragons, but rather a purely fantasy world so that White can make things up as she wants without any jarring historical inaccuracy.  I enjoyed that White redeems several of Austen’s “villains” so that you don’t know everything about everyone ahead of time.  The romantic tension dissipates a little too soon, but it’s replaced by action adventure to provide suspense for the climax and finale.  Tagline: They say a Rider in possession of a good blade must be in want of a monster to slay.

[Pictures: video cover design of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies;
cover design of Mrs. Darcy versus the Aliens by Pinnock;
cover design of Heart Stone by White.]

June 16, 2017

Opposites Attract

        Here are two wood block prints entitled Opposite one and Opposite two.  I don’t know the significance, or what that’s supposed to mean, but presumably the two go together, if not from the cryptic titles then from their paired style, both figures filled with nested lines like mazes.  Weaver Hawkins (UK/Australia 1893-1977) lost the use of his right arm and hand during World War I, and thereafter had to learn how to use his left hand.  He was primarily a painter, and for someone whose arm was apparently never at full strength, cutting wood blocks must have been especially hard
work.  Hawkins specialized, according to the Australian Dictionary of Biography, in “modernist allegories of morality for an age of atomic warfare and global over-population.”  If that gives you any additional insight into these figures, you’re smarter than I am.  Certainly the man looks overwhelmed, but the woman looks quite content, I think.
        At any rate, what I do enjoy about these two pieces is their carving, simultaneously simple and busy.  I especially like the man’s left foot, and the cross-hatching in the woman’s background.  It’s very interesting how the limbs and details of the people’s bodies are both defined and disguised by the patterns of the mazy lines.

[Pictures: Opposite one, woodcut by Weaver Hawkins, 1963;
Opposite two, woodcut by Hawkins, 1963 (Images from the Art Gallery of NSW).]

June 13, 2017

El Dorado

        Humans love stories of lost cities.  I guess it just seems so much more likely that something is merely lost than that it has never existed at all.  But we have many different lost city legends, that serve many different purposes for us: Atlantis warns us about hubris, Shangri-La promises us paradise, Kitezh assures us that virtue is rewarded… and El Dorado caters to our unbridled avarice.
        The word El Dorado, “the golden one,” originally referred to a person, a chief of the Muisca or Chibcha people of Columbia.  This king was said to participate in an initiation rite in which he was covered head to toe in gold dust, and threw vast quantities of gold and emeralds into a sacred lake as offerings.  Clearly, reasoned the sixteenth century Spaniards, anyone practicing this sort of ritual had more gold than he needed.  The legend grew and morphed into conviction that there must exist a city and possibly an entire empire of unimaginable wealth.  (And as Han Solo would say, the Spaniards could imagine quite a bit.)  The name El Dorado morphed with the legend, and fueled centuries of greed-crazed expeditions.
There are some tantalizing facts associated with the legends.  Much of the search for El Dorado over the years focussed on the lake where all the gold offerings were dumped.  Lake Guatavita is one candidate, which was found by conquistadores in 1537.  They attempted to drain the lake in 1545 with a bucket chain, and a second attempt was made by a Bogatá business entrepreneur in 1580 by cutting a notch in the rim.  Each attempt recovered some gold, but not what they had hoped for.  In 1898 a British firm dug a tunnel up from the bottom and drained the lake like pulling the plug on a bathtub…  Except that there remained four feet of mud at the bottom, which then set hard and made it impossible to dig up anything.  They recovered even less than the others.  As of 1965 the poor lake is refilled (at least up to the level of the notch) and is a protected area.
        The other much-sought lake, Lake Parime, was believed by Sir Walter Raleigh to be the site of El Dorado (aka Manoa).  It appears on many old maps, but by the nineteenth century was concluded to be a myth.  Interestingly, Brazilian geologists in the twentieth century discovered evidence that there had indeed once been a large lake in that area.  Possibly an earthquake in 1690 opened a fault that eventually emptied the lake completely.  As far as I know, however, significant quantities of gold and emeralds have not been found at that site, either.  Perhaps it all washed away as the lake drained.
        About a year or so ago D and I watched a documentary which theorized that the Muisca people had so much gold not because they lived in a land of gold, but because they became wealthy by producing salt which they sold to everyone else in the region.  They valued the gold not as earthly currency, but as divine currency: the requisite offering to the gods.  It was pretty interesting and I think it must have been “Secrets: Golden Raft of El Dorado” by Smithsonian Channel, if you’re interested.
        At any rate, what’s fascinating about the legend of El Dorado is that it reveals just how incredibly powerful a force for fantasy our greed is.  No matter how outrageous the story, we long to believe it if it promises us “easy” wealth.  Think of the effort people will go to, the lives ruined, lost, and stolen, the money wasted, the laws broken, the tyrants and swindlers followed, the archaeological artefacts destroyed, the lands despoiled… all because we just can’t seem to stop ourselves from believing in the fantasy that somewhere out there is infinite wealth for the taking.  It’s certainly not our finest trait, nor the noblest use of our imaginations, but there’s no denying it’s a strong component of that infuriating mix that is humanity.

[Pictures:  Muisca raft, pre-Columbian gold sculpture of the El Dorado ceremony, c 600-1600 CE (Image from Historic Mysteries);
Laguna de Guatavita, engraving by Eustacio Barreto from Papel Periódico Ilustrado, 1882 (Image from Banco de la República Columbia);
Map showing El Dorado on the bank of Lake Parime, engraving by Theodor de Bry from Grands Voyages: Americae pars VIII, 1599 (Image from Library of Congress);
King of Guaiana being covered with gold dust, engraving by Theodor de Bry from Grands Voyages: Americae achter Theil, 1599 (Image from Library of Congress).]

June 9, 2017

Venice in Relief (II)

        Here’s the second half of the relief block prints of Venice, Italy, showing some recurring themes, and some additional variety.  We begin from a distance, with an iconic gondola looking back at the iconic skyline.  I especially like the silhouette of the architecture looking like cut paper in this piece by Posterity Press.
        Moving closer, we approach the Piazza San Marco from the Grand Canal in a funny little piece that is the oldest view of Venice I have for you, by an anonymous artist from 1486.  If you notice, this is a mirror image of Venice’s
actual orientation, with the Palazzo Ducale and the winged lion pillar on the left instead of the right.  This may be evidence that the picture was copied from another; if a direct copy is used to carve a block, the whole image gets flipped when printed.  But despite its age, I think this is really quite a modern-looking piece: the elevated view, the almost Cubist flattening of the buildings and their perspective, and the gondoliers simplified into hieroglyphics.
        Moving in just a little closer, we see the same view in photographic accuracy and detail.  This is an enormous print - I count fourteen blocks on fourteen sheets of paper joined together.  It represents a procession of the doge, and you can see all kinds of people, and quite a few dogs, busy with their myriad activities.  The perspective is precise, the architecture shows every brick and flourish, and the water looks quite alarmingly choppy.  As if all that weren’t spectacular enough, Amman has also shown the heavens opening and some sort of divine apparition lending its countenance to the proceedings.
        Flying right on into the Piazza San Marco to focus on the Basilica, Frasconi’s portrait of the church is more symbolic than photographic.  He’s used intense colors and even gold ink to highlight the magnificence of the building.  The pattern on the ground is representative rather than strictly accurate, and if you didn’t know better, you’d get the impression that this building stands on its own, rather than being part of an enclosing courtyard.
        Focussing closer yet in this piece by Mietta, here’s a glimpse of just a section of paving, bridge, and walls.  It’s one little snapshot of the city, not a grand vista, and an anonymous corner rather than one of the famous postcard locations.  When I make block prints of famous places, I too usually try to figure out a less common view, or a way to show it that will somehow be different from the way everyone else has shown it.
        And the final piece I have for you today is an altogether different approach to capturing Venice.  Instead of a single view or scene, it’s a montage of greatest hits.  All different famous architectural elements are combined, collaged together, into a grand impression of Venice-ness.  It becomes a celebration of pattern, and I like all the different patterns of arches and windows.
        (For a final bonus, you can revisit Fritz Eichenberg's gorgeous yet menacing view of a Venetian canal in this previous post, and Yoshijiro Urishibara's Ponte Santa Paternina here.)
        So why all the sudden interest in Venice?  After years and years of dreaming, I will be visiting Venice this summer.  As you can imagine, I’m really looking forward to it, and hoping to come home with some photos, sketches, and inspiration for block prints of my own.

[Pictures: Death in Venice, linocut by Matt (Image from Etsy shop PosterityPress);
Wood block illustration from Supplementum chronicarum by Giacomo Filippo Foresti da Bergamo, 1486 (Image from Internet Archive);
Procession of the Doge to the Bucintoro on Ascension Day, with a View of Venice, woodcut by Jost Amman, c 1565 (Image from The Met);
Basilica San Marco, color woodcut by Antonio Frasconi from Veduti di Venezia, 1969 (Image from The Veatchs);
Venice, Italy, linocut print by Miette, 2013 (Image from Etsy shop MietteGoesPlaces);
Helena’s Italy, lino print by Emma Pinnock (Image from Etsy shop Studio Pinnock).]

June 6, 2017

Venice in Relief (I)

        Here are a selection of relief block prints depicting the city of Venice, Italy.  As a famous and celebrated city for centuries, many many artists have made images of Venice and I couldn’t settle on just a few, so I have two posts’ worth of images for you.  Today’s range from the late fifteenth to early twenty-first centuries.
        Two early chronicles of world history go for the iconic views, understandably.  The earliest I have, from the Supplementum chronicarum of 1490, concentrates on the bustle on the water, with boats of all sizes going every which way.  The piazza is relatively uncrowded, with just a sprinkling of people who are so simplified they look like bollards.  I find them rather charming, like the Fisher Price peg people of my childhood.
        The city scenes in the Nuremberg Chronicle from 1493  are the equivalent of the photos in a geography textbook.  This view of Venice makes it very clear that it’s surrounded by water, and it includes lots of excellent detail on the layout and architecture of the city.  One of the magical things about Venice is just how recognizable the layout and architecture still are after 527 years!
        To focus in on some of that architecture, I have four images of Venetian palazzos by Santariello.  The first two would have been part of Venice already when those first views above were made!  In fact, entirely coincidentally, I seem to have arranged the four in chronological order.  I like their bold, clean simplicity that yet retains each building’s unique characteristics.
        This next piece evokes Venice’s crowdedness, with buildings everywhere.  I like the light and shadow, especially on the foreground arch and balustrades.  You wouldn’t know from looking at this view by Meshew that there’s water running through everything.
        By contrast, the next piece, by Frasconi, reminds us that Venice is all about the water, floating in the lagoon like a barge.  Unfortunataly this isn’t a very good image of the piece, but you can make out the reflections in the water, and I like the texture in the sky, as well.  I can’t see details well enough to be sure how many blocks and colors went into this image.  I’d guess four or five, depending on the paper color.
        And I’ll end with another canal view, by Marangoni.  This one once again features crowded architecture, but with no people visible at all.  I like the slightly irregular angles of things, and how the edges of the block are not straight.  
        That’s all for today, but tune in next time for the second half of the selection of relief block prints of Venice.






[Pictures: Venetiae Civitas Regia, wood block print from Supplementum chronicarum by Giacomo Filippo Foresti da Bergamo, 1490 illustration (Image from Lux & Umbra);
Venecie, wood block print from Nuremberg Chronicle by Hartmann Schedel, 1493 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);
4 linocuts of Venetian palazzos by Arianna Santariello (Images from Etsy shop PlumPlumCreations);
Rialto Bridge, Venice Italy, linoleum block print by Joanne Meshew (Image from Etsy shop 3StreetArt)
Midday scene, color woodcut by Antonio Frasconi from Venice Remembered, 1974 (Image from The Veatchs)
Venezia, Rio S. Andrea, wood block print by Tranquillo Marangoni, 1960 (Image from Marangoni web site).]

June 2, 2017

More Stone Creatures

        The griffin just above in the heading of this blog is based on a stone carving on one of the buildings on the Yale University campus.  I posted last week’s stone carved creatures because I knew I’d be heading to Yale for my reunion, and had Yale’s wonderful architecture on my mind.  While there I made a point of taking pictures of some of the marvelous fantastical animals I spotted.
        I do have to apologize for bad photos - distance, poor light, and phone camera don’t help, and many architectural carvings are not very accessible.  Still, I hope you can get an idea of the whimsy and creativity the anonymous stone carvers put into their work.  I say anonymous - presumably their names do exist somewhere, on payroll records deep in the college archives, as most of these carvings date from the nineteen-thirties, not the medieval era!  But I could not readily find any information about the artists.
        So, first of all I have two views of my favorite little griffin, from the back gate of Calhoun/Hopper residential college.  I love its scaly tail and feather-circled eyes like daisies.  It looks so sweet!  From Davenport, another residential college, I give you an indeterminate monster with a frog mouth, leonine haunches, and intense eyes - definitely not sweet.  From Trumbull College comes a sort of King-Kong-wannabe: something giant and monkey-like apparently climbing a steeple.  Although the other monkeys down below seem to be pantomiming that they think this guy is crazy, it seems perfectly pleased with itself.
        These bird-headed beings can be found on the arches over the entrance to the Law School.  What’s the connection between studying law and being a bird-brain?  Are the students wise as owls, or do they just parrot back their lessons?  I can’t say, but I do know that some artist was having fun.
        I’m especially sorry not to have a better picture of this monster from the Art Gallery.  It was in a dark stairwell and there wasn’t much I could do to adjust my position or the lighting.  At any rate, it appears to be a sort of fish-tailed griffin-ish thing, which is quite delightful.
        And finally a traditional lamassu, an Assyrian protective diety, often carved guarding entrances.  This one comes from above the entrance to Sterling Library, and can be attributed to the only named artists I could find: designed by Lee Lawrie (USA, 1877-1963) and executed by Rene Paul Chambellan (USA, 1893-1955).  Unlike this post’s other creatures, this was not decorative whimsy, but was part of a carefully planned symbolic array celebrating the scholarly achievements of ancient civilizations around the world.  (The Sterling entrance relief also includes inscriptions of texts representing each writing system, which I think is pretty awesome.)  You can see the Art Deco influence in his very geometric wing feathers, unlike some of the more Gothic-styled carvings.
          I’m sure there are many more mythical creatures at Yale, as there were plenty of buildings I didn’t visit and corners I didn’t inspect, and many of these carvings are tucked away in relatively out-of-the way locations.  But I hope you enjoy these, and appreciate the creativity, humor, and attention to detail that went into this work, as well as the obvious delight in fantasy creatures.

[Pictures: stone carvings from buildings of Yale University, most from the late 1920s and 1930s (All photos by AEGN).]

May 30, 2017

Words of the Month - The Brass Tacks on Rhyming Slang

        Any time you chew the fat, get down to brass tacks, or blow a raspberry, you’re using rhyming slang.  Originating probably around the 1840s in London’s East End, (or possibly Seven Dials - origins of slang are always hard to pin down), rhyming slang is based on word replacement.  The pattern usually goes like this: 1. replace the word you mean with a short phrase that rhymes with that word.  For example, if you mean feet you might say plates of meat.  2. Often the actual rhyming word begins to be dropped so that you just say plates, thus obscuring the reference still further for anyone who isn’t in the know.  3.  Occasionally the new slang word is subjected to the process again.  Instead of plates, people could say “barrels and crates,” which would then be shortened to “barrels”… “Sit down and put your barrels up!”
        The rhyming phrases are often proper nouns, with place names common in the nineteenth century, and names of figures in popular culture becoming more common in the twentieth.  Usually the rhyming phrase is quite random and unrelated to the original word, as in apples (from apples and pears) for stairs.  However, sometimes the rhyming phrase is perceived as having a logical connection or making a statement about the original word, as trouble and strife meaning wife or God forbids meaning kids.
        No one knows for sure whether rhyming slang was developed as a game, as a way to separate outsiders from the group, or as a criminal cant.  I’d guess that all three factors contributed.  At any rate, the creativity and wit of it have fascinated outsiders almost since the beginning, and popular culture has made much reference to rhyming slang, especially in the portrayal of Cockney speech.  Most interesting to me are the examples of words that originated as rhyming slang but now have become fully understood and accepted in ordinary speech (still as slang, for the most part, but not seen as dialectal).  Here are some familiar words and phrases that I hadn’t realized had their origins in rhyming slang.

Chew the fat rhymes with have a chat.

Bread is short for bread and honey, which rhymes with money.

Plonk is short for plinkety plonk, which rhymes with vin blanc, meaning cheap wine.

Get down to brass tacks - Brass tacks rhymes with facts (or at least they rhyme in the original dialect).

My dogs are tired - Dogs is short for dog’s meat, which rhymes with feet.

Blow a raspberry - Raspberry is short for raspberry tart, which rhymes with fart.

Rabbit on about nothing - Rabbit is short for rabbit and pork, which rhymes with talk (in the original dialect, anyway).

Use your loaf - Loaf is short for loaf of bread, which rhymes with head.

Put up your dukes, and duke it out! - Dukes is short for Duke of Yorks, which rhymes with forks, which is eighteenth century slang meaning hands.

        It’s very tempting to devise new rhyming slang of your own, but unfortunately, like any word-coining, it doesn’t work if no one else understands you!  What new words would you devise if you could?


[Pictures: Himbeere (Rasberry), wood block print from 1783 edition of Kräuterbuch by Adam Lonicer, first published 1557 (Image from Heinrich Heine Universität);
The First Position, or setting-to, engraving from The Modern Art of Boxing by Daniel Mendoza, 1790 (Image from Scribd).]

May 26, 2017

Here's Something Cool: Fantastic Arch

        This twelfth century carved stone arch from France now resides in the Met Cloisters in New York.  It is its own mini bestiary, including wonderful depictions of some of our old fantasy favorites.  From left to right we get a manticore, a pelican (not fantasy, but a staple of medieval mythology), a basilisk/cockatrice, a harpy, a griffin, a wyvern, a centaur, and a lion (also not fantasy, of course).  The anonymous artist or artists who produced these carvings had a sure hand and a great eye for detail.  I love the textures of feathers, scales, and fur, and the botanical flourishes on the lower planes of the arch.  My favorite thing, however, is the care put into the creatures’ tails, an appendage that might have been an afterthought for lesser artists.  The manticore, basilisk, and wyvern all have serpent-headed tails.  The wyvern seems almost to be consulting with his tail’s head, and the basilisk sharing an affectionate kiss with his, but the wyvern’s tail is biting him on the bum!  Meanwhile the harpy and centaur have tails sprouting into luxuriant flourishes of foliage, and the lion’s tail looks like one of those electrostatic dusters as seen on TV, a very useful beast.  These are tails worth telling!

[Picture: Arch with eight animals, marble carving by anonymous sculptor, c 1150-75 (Image from The Met).]

May 23, 2017

Overheard on a Saltmarsh

        We’ve had a long run of relief prints and now it’s definitely time for a fantasy poem.  This is one I encountered as a child that really caught my imagination.  The title Overheard on a Saltmarsh sets the scene and tells us all that we know of context.  That’s part of the fun of the poem: it isn’t a whole story; it’s just a rare passing glimpse of that other world that most of us never see or hear at all.
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin.  Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
                              No.
Give them me.  Give them me.
                                                            No.

Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man’s fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.

Give me your beads, I want them.
                                                            No.
I will howl in a deep lagoon
For your green glass beads.  I love them so.
Give them me.  Give them.
                                                            No.

        Why is the goblin so entranced by the beads?  How did a nymph steal beads from the moon?  Did the anonymous narrator see the beads?  Or the nymph or goblin?  Or only hear the voices at dusk, hidden among the grass?  What will happen next?  
        This was first published in 1920 by the poet Harold Monro, who is hardly a household name these days, but who was apparently an influential editor and a mentor to many other poets.  According to one literary historian, “Perhaps no one did more for the advancement of twentieth-century poetry.”  Be that as it may, this particular poem seems magical to me precisely because of its seeming modernity and straightforwardness.  The characters aren’t discussing some mythical artifact of precious gems, a crown or a magical sword.  They don’t speak “ye olde” language.  It’s a simple necklace of green glass beads - and yet to them it is magical, and they are magical to us, and the scene is a magical glimpse into a world that is strange, mysterious, other, and yet exists just beside our own everyday paths.  You never know - you might encounter it at any time.

[Picture: Cranes in the Mist, color woodblock print by Andrea Rich, 2008 (Image from Andrea Rich Woodcuts);
Moon at Dawn, color woodcut by Micah Schwaberow, 2016 (Image from Annex Galleries).]
Quotation by Dominic Hibberd from Wikipedia.

May 19, 2017

Block Printmakers Zorach

        To end the A-Z Challenge with a bang, I have for you today a Two-for-the-Price-of-One deal.  William and Marguerite Zorach were an art power couple who were among the first artists to introduce cubism, fauvism, and European modernist styles into American modernism.  William (Lithuania/USA, 1887-1966) was actually given Zorach as his first name at birth, but it was changed when he went to school in the USA.  He and Marguerite (USA, 1887-1968) adopted Zorach as their family name when they married in 1912.
        Neither was primarily a printmaker, although William Z did somewhat more, but I have selected a couple of pieces from each of them.  You can see that they share a style.  Compare these first two pieces, one by each of them, yet with the same white on black, the same breaking up of the nude bodies into defined areas of musculature, the same tipped narrow oval heads, and even the same circle-within-a-diamond shape in the upper center.  My husband D is not an artist, and I’m fascinated by the idea of what it would be like sharing art so intimately with a life partner.  However, this level of similarity may be sharing a little too much for me!  I think I like a little more personal variation.
        Here’s one by William Z.  I like the way mother and child are embracing, and I like the fish in the stylized water, but what I like best is the view of Provincetown, Massachusetts in the background, with its waterfront houses, mounding trees, and Pilgrim Monument tower on the high ground.  (The tower, which was completed in 1910, was only six years old when William Z printed this image.)  There’s something rather funny going on with the sail, which appears to be transparent except at the very top, but I don’t mind; I think it succeeds in suggesting a sailboat just fine, and I like being able to see the buildings.
        And here’s one by Marguerite Z.  It’s much later than the others, and was made as a Christmas card, so I’m guessing Marguerite Z viewed it as more casual than the “real Art.”  This impression is also imperfectly printed, as you can see on the ziz-zaggy triangle in the middle.  However, I find the leaping deer rather pleasing - what can I say, I do tend to like prints of animals better than people!

        Here’s my only other Z printmaker:
        And thus concludes the 2017 A-Z Challenge!

[Pictures: Provincetown Players, linoleum block print by Marguerite Zorach, c 1915;
Swimmer, metal relief cut by William Zorach, c 1915 (Images from Smithsonian American Art Museum);
Sailing Provincetown, linocut by William Zorach, 1916 (Image from the Cleveland Museum of Art);
Christmas Card, linoleum block print by Marguerite Zorach, 1963 (Image from Phillips Museum of Art).]


A-Z Challenge, all posts for the letter Z

May 17, 2017

Block Printmaker Yamanaka

        When I decided to feature Gen Yamanaka (Japan, b 1954) today, and was searching around for more images of his work, I recognized one.  Turns out I actually have posted a piece from him before, but only as a thumbnail.  So today I have that piece again, big enough to appreciate better, and a couple of others, each of which has a slightly different sort of style (though they all have the same horizon).
        Yamanaka belongs, according to one biography, “to a leading group of contemporary Japanese woodblock artists who are guided by pure abstractions and symbolic representations of contemporary life.”  This first piece definitely looks symbolic of something - perhaps the isolation of modern life or something.  But I’m not so sure about the others!  So let’s forget meaning and look at technique.
        There’s a slightly different ink effect on each of these pieces.  On the first, you can see the marks of the ink being painted onto the block, leaving brush strokes.  The use of opaque white ink in places adds to a feeling of paintiness.  In the second piece, by contrast, the wood grain in the “sky” is quite clear, and there is some bleeding of color around the “figures,” which imply a very thin, watery ink.  On the other hand, perhaps the effect was artificially achieved by double printing a slightly smaller area over a slightly larger one in order to leave a thin border; I can’t quite tell.  As for the third piece, it looks almost more like a paper collage with its totally flat, geometric shapes.  Adding to the effect is the use of opaque white ink instead of allowing uninked paper to be the image’s white.
        Once again, this artist is almost exactly contemporary with the previous two (W and X), but working in a completely different milieu, and with a completely different style.
        
        Looks like if you don’t count Yamanaka himself, I have previously featured one Y printmaker:
Young, Sarah

[Pictures: The Night Piece I, color woodblock by Gen Yamanaka, 1985 (Image from the Verne Collection);
White Night, color woodcut by Yamanaka, 1990 (Image from the Cleveland Museum of Art);
Seven Houses, color woodcut by Yamanaka, 2014 (Image from the Verne Collection).]






A-Z Challenge, all posts for the letter Y

May 15, 2017

Block Printmaker Xu

        Xu Bing (China, b 1955) is an eclectic artist famous for large-scale installations in a variety of media, but he has a background in printmaking and often returns to it.  This first piece is an early one, wholly representational although stylized.  It almost suggests a schematic, with its electric wires across the top and water shore across the bottom, and the buildings arranged in a higgelty-piggelty grid filling the space between.  I like the rhythm of it.
        The second two pieces are both parts of Five Series of Repetitions, in which (as far as I can make out from various descriptions) 20 blocks were printed on a double-sided scroll.  Many of Xu’s works are large, multi-part installation pieces with grand philosophical meaning, although I couldn’t tell you what the meaning is.  But I like the tadpoles, especially in this season of vernal pools in my neck of the woods.  In the third piece, the rows of small plants resemble Chinese characters, a recurring theme that Xu has explored in many ways throughout his career.  In both of these pieces you can see that Xu was making a shift from representation toward more abstract and conceptual art.
        Xu has been something of a darling of the art world, even receiving a MacArthur “genius grant,” but I find that I like some of his work very much, while some I very much dislike.  These relatively small, straightforward wood block prints aren’t the sort of thing that makes him famous, but I judge an artist by his block prints!

        And here’s my sole previously featured X printmaker:


[Pictures: Shang Cheng (Mountain City), woodcut by Xu Bing, 1982 (Image from Booklyn);
Life Pond, woodcut by Xu, 1987;
Moving Clouds, woodcut by Xu, 1987 (Images from Ashmolean).]




A-Z Challenge, all posts for the letter X

May 12, 2017

Block Printmaker Whitman

        Karen Whitman (USA, 1953 -) was born in New York City and that city is her chief inspiration.  Her scenes, therefore, tend to be very crowded and busy with a great use of interesting and varied patterns to differentiate between different areas.  I am especially drawn to her night scenes without people, which give that bittersweet feeling of being alone in a crowd.  The stark blacks and bright whites of night scenes are a great match with block prints, as are the strong shapes and contrasting textures of architecture.
        This first piece is very characteristic of Whitman’s work, with its rooftop water tower against a backdrop of city skyline and night sky.  Like many of her pieces, although there are no visible people, there are implied people.  Someone’s cat rests on the armchair they’ve put out on the roof, while an airplane crosses the sky, its own separate world.
        Next a more vertiginous view downwards into the space between buildings.  I love how the  tree and the water tower’s shadow are depicted without outlines, and purely by absence - a tree grows in the spaces between carved lines.  I always envy that look, but can’t quite seem to trust my carving enough to get there myself.
        The one light sky in this bunch is particularly interesting and impressionistic, perhaps even expressionistic.  Spots are an unusual choice for sky, but they work for van Gogh, and they work here.  The somewhat oppressive feeling is increased by the angle of the buildings and signposts.  Notice that all the signs and lights are shutting off the viewer.  On the other hand, I like the pigeons watching over the scene like benign spirits.

        Finally, another rooftop view with jumbled angles and even rather Seussian curves to the architecture.  There’s another cat, and for extra credit spot the water tower - there’s one in each of today’s pieces.  I confess I really like water towers, too!

        And here is my collection of W printmakers from prior posts:
Wormell, Christopher (no single post on Wormell, but his prints are sprinkled throughout this blog.  To find them all, search on his name in the “Search This Blog” feature in the sidebar.)


[Pictures: Moonlit Tower, linoleum cut by Karen Whitman, 2009;
Airshaft, linoleum cut by Whitman, 2003;
One Way, linoleum cut by Whitman, 2007;
Towers, linoleum cut by Whitman, 2000
(All images from The Old Print Shop).]



A-Z Challenge, all posts for the letter W