Words of the Month - Gratitude

         Today will be a quick and belated Words of the Month to look at the roots of gratitude.  The adjective grate, meaning “agreeable, pleasant,” is now obsolete, but gave us quite a few words in which its spirit lives on.  First grateful, which now is used entirely for thankfulness, but you can see the earlier “pleasant” usage in Milton’s “Sweet the coming on of grateful ev’ning mild,” for example (1667).  Grateful is an unusual word because grate was already an adjective, so it didn’t need -ful to be turned into one.

        You can see it very clearly in ingrate, which was originally an adjective in the 14th century, and originally meant “unfriendly, unpleasant.”  The connection between pleasant feelings and thankfulness for the pleasantness is a recurring one, which I think is telling.  By around 1670 ingrate had come to mean the person with that quality of being unpleasant and simultaneously failing to be thankful for gifts.

        You can see the same Latin root that gave grate in congratulate, which essentially means  showing pleasure with someone.  Gratify comes from the idea of bestowing pleasure upon someone.

        Another suite of words that come from the idea of giving thanks includes

gratis - meaning something done for thanks only, rather than payment

gratuitous - which originally meant the same as gratis, but by about 1690 (some 40 years later), meant “uncalled for, done without good reason.”

gratuity - the idea being that it’s money you didn’t have to give in payment, but rather bestowed in thanks

        And speaking of thanks, that’s from all the way back in Old English, and seems to be related to think.  Again, isn’t it suggestive that thinking of the things and relationships we have is so closely related to giving thanks for them?  That’s why it’s important to count our blessings, even when there’s also so much to be concerned about.

[Picture: Mexican Fruits, wood engraving by Leon Underwood, 1927 (Image from The New Woodcut, by Malcolm C. Salaman, 1930).]

Giving Poems

         One of my family’s most beloved Christmas traditions is that we write poems to give along with the gifts under the tree.  Here’s how it works.

        1. When you give a gift, you write a poem to go with it.  In theory the poems hint at the gifts, but since they always seem to give it away outright, the giver reads the poem aloud at the same time as the gift is being opened, so as not to spoil the surprise.

        2. While serious poems are certainly acceptable, they’re very rare – wonky rhythm and grammar are tolerated, ridiculous eccentric rhymes are applauded, and references to in-jokes and family lore are gleefully encouraged.  Gift poems can be as short as limericks or even haiku, they can spoof famous poems or song lyrics, and they’re most often just a few couplets of doggerel.

        3. Each giving unit writes one poem for each receiving unit.  In other words, even if you give someone more than one gift you don’t need to write more than one poem; you can just pick one gift to write a poem for.  If the gift is for 2 people together, it’s still just one poem, and likewise if you’re giving gifts jointly, only one poem is necessary.  (My husband is happy to leave all our poem-writing to me, while my brother and his girlfriend sit down and write their poems together, and my children divvy up their gift list and each write half the necessary poems.  Whatever method people are happiest with is the right way to do it.)

        4. All poems are gratefully accepted with cheering and acclaim, no matter how simple or silly.  Just have fun with it!  It’s not a competition, and nor is it to be taken seriously.  Does it add to the holiday stress?  Well, perhaps a little, because it is one more thing you have to find time to accomplish — but it definitely shouldn’t be adding anxiety.

        As I said, these holiday poems are never in competition, but it’s still the case that over the years I’ve written some I was more pleased with than others.  Here are just a few that have given me particular satisfaction to present (and which are actually intelligible to people who don’t know all our family in-jokes).

        A Bundt cake pan for my sister-in-law

Consider the circle, a wonderful thing.

Without it, no wheel – and no tire swing.

We need it for zero, without which: no math;

We need it for lids, and the drain of the bath.

We need it for hamster wheels, bagels, and bowls,

For Christmas wreaths, bracelets, and anything that rolls.

Without any circle there’d be no letter O,

Which we need for October, oolong, and oboe,

Not to mention Ohio, O’Keeffe, and o’clock.

Yes, losing the circle would be a bad shock.

Just image the losses sustained when we bake:

Without any circle there’d be no Bundt cake!

        A set of prints of a rooster and chicken for my father

I know an old man with some chickens,

Whose heart at the sight of them quickens.

       He demands with a scowl,

       “Who says chickens are foul?

“Such bigoted speech simply sickens!” 

        A pair of shorts for my mother

The Greeks performed athletic feats untroubled by attire.

They thought a dash of olive oil all that modesty required.

But our mother’s far more modest when she's working to perspire;

She considered all the angles and deduced what she desired.

 

She wanted something comfy: cotton fabric, stretchy waist;

And washable plus sturdy, as her regimen's fast-paced;

Yet nothing too revealing, as her fashion sense is chaste.

What could I find to clothe her in accordance with her taste?

 

In careful consultation I examined all reports,

Considered the demands of her activities and sports,

And contemplated what would be the best as she cavorts.

At last I settled on this gift.  Spoiler alert!  It's shorts.

        A bicycle rear view mirror for my brother

Philosophers are fond of stating

How terrible it is to focus

On things behind us, advocating

Our minds dwell on the current locus.

 

I disagree with the cognoscente;

It’s wise to look in each direction.

This gift gives hindsight 20-20

And the opportunity for reflection.

        You get the idea; now it’s your turn!  Everyone’s holiday traditions are different, of course, so by all means adapt these ideas to your own circumstances.  Whether your circle is large or small, whether you can be with people in person or have to use Zoom or mail, the important thing is to reach out to the friends and family for whom you’re most grateful, and show them that you spent a little extra time thinking about them - not to mention sharing a laugh!  Whether poetry sounds like Elizabeth Barrett Browning, or like Hallmark, or like a mangled limerick, it can draw us together in shared appreciation of the gifts we give each other, our presence in each other’s lives, and what we mean to each other.

[Pictures: Festive Gift, digital collage of block print bits by AEGNydam, 2025;

Chanticleer and Hen & Chicks, rubber block prints by AEGNydam, 2009, (about which the limerick was written!)  Originals sold out.]

Japanese Radish

         It’s been another of those days when I had no time to put together a proper blog post, so here’s just a very pleasing and deceptively simple woodblock print by Kōno Bairei (Japan, 1844-1895).  Bairei was a master of depicting birds and flowers, and he opened an art school in 1880.  This delightful radish seems quite simple and straightforward, but remember that those seemingly spontaneous lines were carefully carved and those subtle washes of color had to be carefully inked and printed.  For whatever reason, I’m just finding this piece is making me very happy today!

[Picture: Japanese Radish, woodblock print by Kōno Bairei, 1868-95 (Image from Harvard Art Museums).]

The Lure of Sirens

         Throughout history artists seem to have struggled with a lot of confusion over the nature of sirens.  It’s enough to make you wonder how many of these artists had ever even seen a siren!  But let’s start with what we know: sirens sing so beautifully that sailors are lured to their deaths.

        That’s it.  That’s all that’s certain.  Everything else is a mishmash!

        How many sirens are there?  Homer said 2, other ancient writers suggested up to 8, later artists depicted whole bevies, and some writers suggested 0, either because they didn’t believe in sirens or because they thought that the sirens all killed themselves after Odysseus passed by them without succumbing.

        Where do sirens live?  Early writers said they were in flowery meadows, and only later did they come to live on cliffs by the sea.  Later still they were plunged right down into the ocean.

        What do sirens look like?  Homer didn’t describe their appearance - it was their song that mattered - and as for everyone else?  Whew, take your pick…  Sirens generally began as human-bird hybrids, but how much bird could range from everything-except-the-face, all the way to nothing-except-the-wings.  

At some point sirens began to gain piscine traits as well, generally in the form of a fish tail that could be either instead of or in addition to any avian traits.  And finally in the nineteenth century many artists made them look like straight-up sexy human women, because nineteenth century artists were always looking for excuses to paint sexy women.  So if you’d like to design your own siren, make your choices from this handy guide:

• Face - human, most often female, occasionally male, (or in the case of one medieval illuminator included here, with the addition of a beak)

• Limbs - choose any combination of the following

        wings - 0 or 2  (you can also choose whether to place wings at the shoulders or the hips)

        arms - 0 or 2

        legs - 0, or 2 human, or 2 bird, or 2 sort of beast-looking

        tail - 1 bird, or 1 fish, or 2 fish

• Accoutrements - choose from the following

        fish - 1 or 2

        mirror

        comb

        club (for beating sailors)

        musical instrument - most often lyre, kithara, aulos, or flute

        empty bottle - according to one (and only one) medieval author, if you throw a siren an empty bottle she will be distracted playing with it, thus giving you a chance to escape

• Apparel - choose nothing, OR a diaphanous scarf or 2, OR complete head to toe outfit

        I’ve selected a variety of siren depictions for you, including a couple from ancient Greece showing various proportions of bird vs human.  I had a tough time narrowing down my choices from the medieval era because they’re so diverse and often so amusing.  I’ve started with one that gives the story in two panels: the singing first, followed by the attack on the sailors once they’ve been lulled to sleep.  This artist has picked a surprisingly popular strategy of refusing to make a decision about the nature of sirens and showing one with bird parts and the other with fish parts.  I also picked an illumination in which the

sirens play musical instruments, and one that includes a male as well as a female siren.  I included one showing a double fish tailed siren, in which I especially like the way the man in the boat is gazing so adoringly at the temptress.  I’ve included one with a nice depiction of the transparent water (and more sleeping sailors), that funny beaked siren, and a throwback to the mostly-bird version, who’s looking quite scary.  I also include one who looks purely mermaid, complete with comb and mirror, but who is nevertheless living in a meadow like the earliest versions of sirens.  (By the way, the mermaids’ love of mirrors and combs originated with their siren cousins.)

        Moving on to the Romantic era, I’ve got three depictions of Ulysses’s encounter with the sirens.  Etty’s 1837 sirens are among the first to be pure human, but they’re kneeling among the corpses of their victims.  Waterhouse’s 1891 painting bucks the modern trend for naked maidens to depict the sirens much like that original Green vase painting from about 475 BCE.  And in 1909 Draper has used the medieval trick of including different forms of siren rather than picking just one - although in his case it’s fish and pure human rather than fish and bird.

        When I went to make my own version, I rejected the fish tail outright, because we have mermaids for that.  I initially tried to make my siren with more of an avian back half and the legs and feet of a bird, but my artistic skills just couldn’t pull off a bird behind looking alluringly yearning as she gazes over the sea.  So I fell back on copying the Romantics’ version of a nubile young woman, but gave her wings (and feathers in her hair, although that’s not as clear as I’d hoped).  I also considered adding a more modern boat to take her out of ancient myth, but since the story this piece will be illustrating talks about the first time sailors heard her, I figured I’d better stick with the historical view.

        Although I find the confusion of form amusing, one of the things I find most interesting about the depiction of sirens is their degree of physical beauty.  The earliest depictions were quite clear that the temptation was purely auditory and the appearance of the sirens was irrelevant.  Certainly there was nothing alluring about their looks.  During the medieval era artists seemed to be torn between making their sirens beautiful to emphasize the dangers of worldly temptation, and making them downright ugly to emphasize their evil nature.

        One last note: the word siren came into English from French in the mid-14th century.  (The Greek word seiren from the Odyssey might come from roots meaning “binder, entangler,” but then again, maybe not.)  The devices that make warning sounds were first called sirens in 1879, starting with the klaxons on steamboats and later extended to refer to air raids, emergency vehicles, and so forth.  It is not at all clear to me why a blaring alarm would seem suggestive of a sea nymph, unless it’s just the idea of a sound that indicates danger in some way.  But whatever the reason, it does give rise to one of my absolute favorite examples of faulty Google Translate: In case of volcanic eruption, you will hear mermaids.  Do not ignore the mermaids; they are there for your safety.  Oh no; while it’s wise to pay heed to the singing of mermaids, children, always remember that you should absolutely most definitely ignore the sirens!

[Pictures: Odysseus and the sirens, red figure stamnos by the “Siren Painter,” ca. 475-470 BCE (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Pentelic marble funerary statue of a siren, ancient Greece, 370 BCE (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Sirens attack a boat, illumination from the Queen Mary Psalter, 1310-20 (Image from the British Library);

Sirens, illumination from Bestiary, ca. 1225-50 (Image from Bodleian Libraries);

Sirens and a boat, illumination from psalter, 1303-08 (Image from Münchener Digitalisierungs Zentrum);

Siren and sailor, illumination from De physionomia liber, Franciscus Asculanus, 14th century (Image from Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana);

Sirens, illumination from Bestiary, 1226-1250 (Image from Bodleian Libraries);

Siren, illumination from Livre des proprietés des choses by Barthélemy l’Anglais, 15th century (Image from Bibliothèque nationale de France);

Siren, illumination from Rothschild canticles, ca. 1300 (Image from Yale Beinecke Library);

Siren/Harpy, wood block print from Ortus sanitatis by Johann Prüss, 1499 (Image from Boston Public Library);

Siren, illumination from Bestiary, ca. 1275-99 (Image from Bibliothèque nationale de France);

The Sirens and Ulysses, painting by William Etty, 1837 (Image from Manchester Art Gallery);

Ulysses and the Sirens, oil painting by John William Waterhouse, 1891 (Image from National Gallery of Victoria);

Ulysses and the Sirens, painting by H.J. Draper, ca. 1909 (Image from Wikimedia Commons)

Siren Song, rubber block print by AEGNydam, 2025 (Image from NydamPrints.com).]

Cain and Abel

         My short story “Brothers” was just published in the November issue of Friends Journal (on-line), and to celebrate I’ve got a selection of relief block prints depicting the world’s first brothers.  My story begins with Cain and Abel, but the speculative fiction twist is that the two are repeatedly reincarnated through other sets of Biblical brothers.  If you want to read it, you can find it here.

        Meanwhile, just like in my story, I’m marching through the centuries chronologically in these repeated depictions of sibling rivalry turned murderous.  The first wood block print, hand colored, comes from a German Bible of 1483, and it includes the whole story in a single frame.  There are lots of really delightful details, including the swan swimming peacefully beside the conflict, and the heavenly ruffles amongst which God floats in the sky.  I’m amused by the way the flames of Abel’s acceptable sacrifice rise straight up while Cain’s flames flop over limply.  And why is he labelled “Caim”?

        Next I had to include Albrecht Dürer’s version from 1511, even though I don’t love it.  Abel is so contorted he looks like he’s about to be stuffed in a trunk.  This piece as well as the 1599 woodcut beside it focus on the lethal violence of the fight.  I think renaissance artists were particularly drawn to the fight scene as a way to practice their interesting perspectives and anatomically perfect musculature.  (Besides which, of course, violence always seems to be popular.)  If you look at a whole range of depictions of the scene, including many more than I’ve posted here today, you’ll notice that some artists show Abel cowering in passive innocence, while others show him fighting back more actively.  The choice makes for a very different vibe.

        There’s also a variety of murder weapons.  The Bible doesn’t specify how Cain actually killed his brother, so artists get to choose.  Today’s first artist has gone with what is presumably the jawbone of an ass, as inspired by Samson, a choice that many other artists also use.  Dürer has given Cain an ax, while the anonymous artist has provided a club.  Gustave Doré is another proponent of the club in his wood engraving from 1866.  I’ve included illustrations of two scenes from the story: the disparity in sacrifices as well as the murder.  Just like in our first image, Doré has depicted Cain's fire and smoke refusing to rise to heaven, as if Cain has attempted to freeze his sacrifice with dry ice.  The interesting thing about Doré’s second scene is that instead of focussing on the brute violence, it shows Cain staggered with horror as he realizes what he’s done.  To me this is much more powerful than the mere brawl.

        Moving into the twentieth century we see another radical shift in style, and with a scene of violence and passion Expressionism can be just as effective as realism.  Lovis Corinth’s woodcut from 1919 has a weapon like some sort of hammer made with a huge rock on the end of a stick.  Richard Bosman, meanwhile, keeps it simple with a hurled stone (1981).  And finally, James Lesesne Wells in 1990 shows no weapon at all.  While I think bare hands would certainly be a plausible choice, I confess that if I didn’t see the title of this piece I wouldn’t know it was necessarily even a fight going on in the foreground.  And is that meant to be a policeman hurrying over to break it up?

        Clearly this has been a story that artists have been drawn to through the years.  If you want to know my take on the tale, check out my short story.  What part of this ancient story is most meaningful or memorable for you?

[Pictures: Cain and Abel, woodcut colored by hand from Bible pub. Anton Koberger, 1483 (Image from Detroit Institute of Arts);

Cain Killing Abel, woodcut by Albrecht Dürer, 1511 (Image from The Met);

Cain and Abel, woodcut from Wittenberg, 1599 (Image from Harvard Art Museums);

Cain and Abel, two wood engravings by Gustave Doré, 1866 (Images from Wikimedia Commons);

Brudermord, woodcut by Lovis Corinth, 1919 (Image from National Gallery of Art);

Cain and Abel, woodcut by Richard Bosman, 1981 (Image from RoGallery);

Cain and Able (sic), linocut by James Lesesne Wells, 1990 (Image from National Museum of African American History & Culture).]

Woman and Web

         As I continue with my busy busy fall season, I’ve got three exciting new blocks ready to print and another little one just printed (plus a short story coming out later this month - not to mention 3 poetry events, 1 printmaking event, and a spec fic lecture all before the end of November).  I’ll share those when I get a chance, but until then here’s a piece that seemed seasonally appropriate.

        This woodblock print is by Caspar David Friedrich (Germany, 1774-1840), a Romantic, almost Gothic landscape painter whose work has risen and fallen in popularity in inverse proportion to the popularity of modernism.  Friedrich was one of the first to use landscape to convey psychological and political messages, using dark and subtle colors and dramatic light effects, so this woodcut is not exactly his usual ouevre.  On the other hand, the woman turned away from the viewer, contemplating or looking for something within a lonely wilderness… that’s pure Friedrich.

        By the time this piece was made Friedrich’s use of woodcut as a medium was a deliberate return to earlier German wood block printmaking, and an adaptation of those earlier styles for use as an independent art form instead of merely a method of reproduction.  His use of differently angled hatch lines is an interesting way to differentiate different areas while keeping them all in shadow, but I particularly like the texture of the tree trunks, as well as the more detailed thistles and plants to the left.

        What do you think the woman is thinking about?  Is this actually Miss Muffet, grown older now but about to have a recurrence of her youthful surprise?

[Picture: Woman with Spider’s Web Between Bare Trees, woodcut by Caspar David Friedrich, 1803 (Image from Art Institute Chicago).]

Words of the Month - Hearse and Rehearse

        I haven’t had time for blog posts this week, (if you’re local, come see me at the Needham Open Studios Fall Pop-Up tomorrow!), but I couldn’t let the month end without at least a couple of Words.  So here’s a very quick look at a linguistic question that occurred to me recently: what on earth do hearses and rehearsals have to do with each other?

        Let’s start with the hearse that seems somewhat appropriate for Spooky Season.  Would you have guessed that its root goes all the way back to an Oscan word that may have meant either “wolf” or “bristly”?  Oscan was the language spoken in central and southern Italy before Latin took over.  Latin also took over the word, with the meaning “harrow,” presumably because of the teeth or the bristles.  A harrow, in case you don’t know, is a sort of large rake for breaking up soil, hence a harrowing experience feels like you’re being raked and broken up.  But we still seem to be pretty far from a vehicle for carrying a dead person to the grave…

        The next step took place when late 13th century Anglo-Latin used the word to refer to a large church chandelier or framework for candles to be hung over a coffin, presumably because it was sort of shaped like a rake with candles stuck on the spikes.  From there the word was applied to any sort of display or framework built over a deceased person, and from there, in the 1640s, to the vehicle that transports the coffin.

        So why, then, does rehearse not mean something like, “to transport a dead person again”?  Well, go back far enough and it does mean “to rake again,” at least sort of.  Old French took that “harrowing” meaning and applied it metaphorically for “to go over something again, to repeat,” which is a natural extension since after all we still have sayings like “let’s not rake that up again,” or “we keep going over the same ground.”  By the mid-fourteenth century rehearse had entered English with the meaning “to tell again, repeat.”  By the 1570’s (just in time for Shakespeare) it had gained the sense of “to practice in preparation for a public performance,” because you have to repeat your lines over and over.  And there we are.

        So as you’re raking the leaves from your lawn this fall, consider the connection with both hearse and rehearse.

[Pictures: Harrow, wood engraving by J.W. Whymper from An Illustrated Vocabulary, for the use of the deaf and dumb, 1857 (Image from University of California);

Hearse, wood engraving by John Henry Walker, ca. 1850-1885 (Image from McCord Stewart Museum Montreal);

Funerary carriage, wood engraving by Walker and James Lovell Wiseman, ca. 1875 (Image from McCord Stewart Museum Montreal).]