Friday’s Library Snapshot … Arthur Rackman
Arthur Rackham (1867-1939) was born in Lewisham, London one of 12 children, educated in City of London School. Suffering from poor health and desire to find a ‘cure’ he travelled to Australia with his two aunts. On his return Arthur enrolled at an evening class at Lambeth School of Art; while he looked for work. He was soon employed as a clerk at the Westminster Fire Office.
In 1892 be began working for the Pall Mall Budget then he transferred to the Westminster Budget as a reporter and illustrator. Rackham began illustrating books in 1894 and his professional life is best documented in the Illustrators : the British art of illustration 1800 -1999.
Arthur was widely regarded as one of the leading illustrators of the ‘Golden Age’ and particularly well known for his gift books. Until the war in 1914 when quality books were no longer published and the taste in fantasy and fairies declined in 1920s.
Arthur Rackham’s works have become very popular since his death; his images are used by the greeting card industry. His books are still widely available and his original drawings are keenly sought after in auction houses at home and abroad.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin
Alphabe Thursday … F is for fairy, fae, faerie or fay a diminutive supernatural being.
I can and do wax lyrical about the gods and goddesses who hung out on Mount Olympus and wreaked havoc on the ancient world. I even have some sort of understanding on the deities who swan about on Mount Meru and put the world to right or wrong in Ancient Tibet.
Its fairies; those sweet dainty things with delicate wings, wands and magic dust that I cannot take too seriously. There those that sparkle on the top of the Christmas tree, my mother said some loitered at the end of the garden; which I found kind of stange as we lived on a houseboat and didn’t have a garden. Fairy godmothers flitted about in the school pantomime doing good turns while the wicked stepmother and old crones bullied and metered out despair. Still the tooth fairy tends a child with a new penny or a pound when she looses her first tooth.
So not only can they make a fine coach out of a pumpkin and mend a broken heart, I have discovered that fairies like gods and demons are capable of harmful deeds. They can bring all sorts of trouble, they snatch children, they will replace a human child with a changeling. They are responsible for seduction and confusion of travelers.
Through the ages nymphs, satyrs, elves, gnomes and angels have been held responsible for and represent our deepest fears and desires regarding birth, sex, disease, mental health and death etc.
Although I have a better understanding of fairies, it is still not so easy to put them on a mountain in the Himalayas or on some far away Greek island and allow them space in the ancient world.
I have a little carved wooden fairy who sits by my desk her silly smile cheers me like no other. I attribute my good fortune to a fairy godmother and my bad luck on the bogeyman.
Fairies still seem to have a function and show up from time to in many guises and I suppose they will until we know ourselves better and understand where we have been and know where are going.
Images from Nymphets & Fairies ; Three Victorian children’s illustrators by Graham Ovenden and The illustrators ; the British art of illustration 1800-1997
100 Word Challenge – Week#70
Twas the night before Xmas; in fact for several days the south west of England had endured torrential rain and continual flooding. While weather for the rest of the country was mixed and sometimes pleasant; the west was at times in severe danger; homes were flooded and families evacuated. Travelling on the motorway was advised against and the use of trains was suspended, and would remain so even if the rain stopped. Meanwhile my daughter in Rio prays for rain and yesterday travelled to the mountains to find shade from the harmful sun. Life seems so unfair at times; may we honour this diversity.
Copacabana Beach Christmas Day 2012
Wednesday’s Wise Woman … Mary mother of Jesus.
As it is Boxing Day and still the so called celebration of the birth of Jesus; I thought that Mary his mother might be considered a wise woman. There is little known about her and that can only be gleaned from the Letters of James and Luke; two of Jesus’ disciples.
Her parents were Joachim and Anne; she was living with them in Galilee, Nazareth during her betrothal, the first stage of her Jewish marriage to Joseph.
During this time the angel Gabriel told Mary and Joseph that the bride was going to have the Messiah by immaculate conception; while they were a surprised by the announcement they carried on with their wedding plans.
Joseph was from the House of David and the tribe of Judah. So when the Roman Emperor Augustus decreed that all men should return home to pay his taxes, Joseph took his new and pregnant wife back to Bethlehem.
The town was very busy and every available room was taken; so when Mary went into labour the child was delivered in a nearby stable among the cows, sheep and probably other taxpayers.
This was not a very comfortable place for her confinement until the baby was circumcised according to Jewish law eight days later. When she had rested they returned to Nazareth.
Mary’s name is not mentioned much until later and then without detail.
It was Mary who suggested that Jesus changed the water into wine at a wedding they were attending in Cana. Mary may have been present during her son’s crucifixion and mentioned by name among the eleven apostles in the upper room after the ascension.
After this there is no other reference in the Bible. Although the Catholics believe she is the ‘heavenly woman’ mentioned in the Book of Revelations.
There is no clear indication when she died and how she spent the rest of her days.
The earliest extant bibliographic writing of Mary is the Life of a Virgin attributed to the 7th century Saint Maximus the Confessor which portrays her as a key figure in the early Christian Church after her son’s death.
From this simple look it would seem that Mary has been a fine role model for mothers through the ages; particularly for those who have lost children in tragic circumstances and have gone on to pay tribute to them and honour their short and precious lives.
This year I learned that there are fairies at the bottom of the garden …
When I began I blogging eighteen months ago I had little hope beyond each post. I had a dream; maybe a little too crazy, I was green and over confident. I had a supportive friends about me; nonetheless each weekly post was diligently composed, corrected and agonised over. The effort was immense and the response was fair.
If I had continued in this way my energy, enthusiasm my blog would have died.
But somewhere out of the blue the dream reasserted itself in a different format and the ideas began to flow. Overnight a daily post would appear and image would find itself at a click!
I am not sure that the increased response has been pro rata; but certainly my energy levels have increased, my relationship with the blog has improved. I am more realistic about my ability and creativity; which I began to doubt this time last year after a rocky start.
I cannot tell you how this transformation came about, it seems as though I have a fairy godmother; whose power is direct and magical.
A weekly theme has evolved but the post is often not formed until the day; in moments. I publish daily each morning at around 5 am, except at weekends when the urgency seems to go; gently and remarkably!
I work in a university library, an extraordinary environment, an Aladdin’s cave of images and ideas; but I have a job to do! Only during my lunch break can ‘use the resources.’ Ideas pop into my head like an arrow; dormant embryonic ideas grow and development from previous ideas or post; I am never without a notepad and pencil.
I have found other bloggers a good source of ideas but more for encouragement. Also and more important I find other bloggers and friends don’t allow me to take any of this too seriously.
This is not to say that I don’t agonise over every word phrase and image I do. Each day I stare at a blank page or a clutch of random notes scribbled on a table napkin and tear out my hair … before a hurried prayer of gratitude and ‘what next please?’
So while I can drag information from glorious places I can put on my ‘enlightened stamp’ and call it mine for a while … please don’t go yet Fairy especially the one who does the cooking, washing up and shopping while I behave like an aging cyber chic.
Weekly Photo Challenge … Surprise
Oh dear! Where do I begin; my life is a surprise. In my work as a library assistant to the Rare books librarian and the cataloguer in Special Collections for the last twelve years every day brings a new/old delight in the guise of a fine binding, font, illustration, author or printer … it is never exhausted.
I am a child of a broken relationship; a mother, sister, aunt, cousin, wife, grandmother in a family where surprise is often a euphemism for shock. My last child at 40 was rather unexpected!
I am a gardener, my flower beds are a constant surprise no one thing more precious than the other.
I put myself in the domain of wonder; social media is amazing.
So the surprise I wish to relate happened this week but the story is complex.
Earlier this year we visited my daughter in Rio where avocados grow on trees abundantly. I remember in the 70s when avocados began to appear in the supermarkets rather too sophisticated and expensive for me as a new wife then. However, my husband (since divorced) worked in the docks and one or two of the extraordinary delights found their way to our home. While they remained an acquired taste; as a would be gardener tried to grow the stone. I balanced the stone on cocktail sticks precariously over water in a sherry glass. Weeks or even month later a root and a leaf might appear but sadly we ever didn’t cultivate a tree.
So when in Brazil where of course we had the best climatic conditions to get beyond the embryonic stage I tried again.
When I returned to the UK I left the stone balancing over a jar of water as before.
Later I learned that the stone had produced a rather leggy branch and roots. Unfortunately the conditions in the tiny house in the favela was not conducive to continued growth and maturity.
So the the little sapling was taken on an hours bus journey to North Rio to a house with a garden where it was planted.
So eight months later we can dream about avocado blossom and fruit … now that is a surprise!!
Silent Sunday …
Saturday thoughts … Not so much holly and ivy more bay.
Yesterday the library closed at noon; for the Michaelmas term end. At this time the staff have a party; after a busy spell it is a good opportunity to wind down and share some food and drink before the real festivities begin. It is a great occasion made more special for me as it has become a tradition that daughter would join me with a few nibbles and we walk back through the campus by the lake. Where we would change the universe depending on the weather and any recent traumatic occurrence according to Helen and Amy. Then we would pick some twigs of holly and ivy for Christmas decoration and the world seemed right.
Sadly this was not to be the case; Amy has her own traditions now in Rio. The truth hit me or rather it had begun earlier this week and now the impact was huge. The world was not such a good place and there was no one to help put it right; even the yuletide greenery didn’t have the same attraction,.
So I got on my bike and pedaled home and began the homely tasks that are more easily achieved while crying like a baby. Then after a cup of tea; black; one I particularly enjoy but not so lately as the days go immediately into night and there doesn’t seem to be a time for Tippy Nunnan and a biscuit … so it is usually green I take at this time … that day black seemed right.
As I sipped, I looked out and noticed how pleasant the afternoon was. Working in a library daily from 9 ‘til 5 I rarely notice the afternoon, pleasant or not. This was a little after 2 and a rare opportunity to enjoy the sun and blue sky! A climatic phenomena, as we had been enduring heavy, continual rain and cloud for days.
So taking the ‘ingredients’ for the compost heap I ventured out into the garden. As if possessed I did what I needed with the tea leaves and vegetable remains and went to the shed. Returning with a saw and some secateurs and began pruning a bay tree. It had needed to be done for ages and it was ready for a harsh cut back. I began with the secateurs but made little impact. So like a demon and still possessed I cut for almost an hour; until the tree resembled a rather shabby bush which I hope will flourish in time.
I am not sure there is a moral to this story. I would like to say I felt better and perhaps I do; but I was pleased I did it and took advantage of the couple of hours sunlight I had not seen for a while. It was the shortest day and a reason to celebrate rather than not as I was until then!!
A poem to celebrate dirty finger nails!
and letting old traditions go …
The bay tree in its winter garb.
Green leaves had lost their summer lustre.
Its branches thick and twisted with age.
As I sawed and cut so brutally
so the sun quite warm in the winter solstice
brought light
I breathed the rich perfume.
Unceremoniously crammed the remains
into the recycling bin.
Noticed my finger nails usually clean and trim
were not so
Funny, I didn’t find the need to scrub
them yet…
Friday’s Library Snapshot … Jessie M. King
During her life Jessie M. King (1875-1949) designed about 30 bookplates some for commission and others for gifts.
Most of her bookplates were made between 1902 and 1910. Since studying in Florence and being influenced by the paintings of Botticelli; she became a committee member of the Glasgow Society of Artists and the a member of the Glasgow Society of Lady Artists. Her first solo show was held at the Bruten Street Galleries in London in 1905 followed later by an exhibition at Annan’s Gallery in Glasgow 1907. Later when she married the artist and designer A.E. Taylor she gave up teaching and devoted her time to commissions and withdrew from Scotland.
Further reading The bookplate journal Autumn 2012 and The illustrators 1800 – 1997
Images from The grey city of the north by Jessie M King.
‘During his last visit to Edinburgh in 1766-the visit which occasioned “Humphrey Clinker” – Smollet loved at his sister’s house at the head of St. John Street first door up. A person who recollects seeing him there describes him as dressed in black clothes, tall and extremely handsome. He was peevish on account of the ill health to which he had so long been a martyr.’ Traditions of Edinburgh.
The Cunzie House or Cunyue-Nook as it was called, was one of several Edinburgh mints, and was situated at the foot of Candlemaker Row on the west side. All kinds of ancient Scottish coin were issued fro, this building from the lordly angel piece and the noble to the humble penny and bawbee. It seems to have been in active operation about the middle of the 16th century.
Coat Hanger Doll's House 