Friday’s Library Snapshot … Margaret Calkin James
I came across this book one day last week while helping a colleague who was weeding a few art books. Amongst the some rather dull and badly bound books, this caught my eye.
At the sign of a rainbow: Margaret Calkin James 1895-1985 by Betty Miles.
Margaret Calkin James was a calligrapher, graphic designer, textile printer, watercolour painter and printmaker, and is best known for her posters designed for the London Underground and London Transport between 1928 and 1935. Untold numbers of commuters admired her posters while oblivious of her identity.
The cover is a detail from the sign for her Rainbow Workshops, Great Russell Street, London 1920.
By 1935 the GPO had established a standard range of coloured telephones: Chinese red, ivory, jade green and black. Calkin James designed a poster to urge the public to ‘consider your colour scheme’
A London Underground poster for Chelsea Flower Show 1935.
Calkin James designed the first pattern paper the Curwen Press in 1922. It was a tiny overall geometric pattern in clear bright colours and reprinted many times. Vague technical notes on the colours used to print these decorative colours. So when ‘humans’ mixed the ink the results may have varied. But this it seemed added to the attraction and many more commissions in abstract and floral followed.
This example is the actual size.
Weekly Photo Challenge … Dream
My dream is to have my camera in my hand; when I dream. Then, to be a photographer so I can recreate the image. So there is a dilemma if I want to partake in this week’s photo challenge. Also I am blessed; I wish for little. Of course, have desires I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. For instance I would love a macaroon but the delicatessen is shut! I would love a bottle of french perfume but the bank balance doesn’t allow it !!
So back to the problem of a dream.
Of course I realise this is a photographic exercise and a dreamy picture is quite different from a snapshot of my dream … albeit a cream cake or a silk scarf …
With this in mind I rode my bike to work this morning as usual; the light was poor and the clouds threatened rain. Another reason for me to pout!! Until I noticed the meadows that surround the university where I work
Now, this is what dreams are made of … One mile away across the meadow is the M4; the main road into London. By 8am there are three lanes of traffic going at a snails pace into town and at six in the evening the situation is reversed.
So here is my dream and yours?
Alphabe-Thursday I for Ink wells …
Ink Wells … a little collection; although the wooden pot not used for ink but was used for red paste called Tilaka used by Hindus to mark their foreheads.
From this filled pen
flowing ink to illuminate
the open waiting mind
My daughter lives in a favela; it has been cleansed of blatant criminal activity. While it is a relatively safe place to live; it is an untidy disparate shanty town on the side of a mountain. It is very vulnerable to the heavy rain that Rio is renowned for. So when it rains in Babilonia it can have a mixed blessing. One particular day while we were there; it rained so hard that the road turned into a river. For about two hours the torrent of water washed the debris from the road. Once the rains had subsided and the sun can out the streets sparkled like new.
This is a light hearted but true story; but the strength of the rain in Rio should not be underestimated. A year or two ago when my daughter first moved to Rio; a favela was indeed washed away in a landslide; many people were buried and homes lost.
Wednesday’s Wise Woman … Madre Cristina
Madre Cristina [born Celia Sodre Doria] was a Mother Superior of St Augustine; a catholic religious order in Brazil. She was also a teacher, psychologist and director and founder of the Institute of Sapiente (seat of wisdom) in Sao Paulo. Celia was active in the resistance of military rule and the organisation of social movements in the 1960s.
Celia was influenced by father who was lawyer, a militant catholic and grounded in left wing politics. So from a young age she was aware of social injustice and equality.
She was able to board at exclusive girl’s schools; later specialising in pedagogy and philosophy.
During this time she took religious orders and become Mother Christine and taught young adults.
In 1954 she obtained a doctorate in psychology at the Pontifical Catholic University of Sao Paulo. The following year, to deepen her understanding of Freud she studied Psychoanalysis at the Sorbonne in Paris.
Back in Brazil in 1958, with her new found ideals of political and social transformation she helped to organise the Youth Catholic University that was becoming prominent in the political arena lead by a sociologist called Herbert de Souza.
While Mother Cristina was politically active at this time she did not neglect her commitment to her work as a psychotherapist and teacher. She pioneered different aspects of psychotherapy. Also attending conferences and writing papers and books, She formed a clinic of psychoanalysis one of the first in the country and made every effort to treat even the poorest patients.
During the 1960s when the military dictatorship was most difficult Mother Cristina housed victims of political persecution. In the building that had now become the headquarters of the National Students Union lead by Jose Serra; an Engineering student.
Mother Cristina become more alienated from the police and the conservative sector of the church.
Mother Cristina’s underground organisation was never compromised even though some political prisoners were captured and tortured. The communist nun as she was called was never arrested or suffered anything more serious than repeated death threats.
In 1977 the Seat of Wisdom founded an institute in Sao Paulo that offered courses pedagogy, psychology and philosophy. However it was many a forum for discussion into social equality and the creation of movements that addressed the problems faced by the landless and displaced indigenous peoples.
I have gleaned this information from Portuguese text translated in Google; so it is very poor quality. However, Madre Cristine was a wise woman and I have not done her justice; for that I apologise. If you can add to my poor attempt I will be grateful. For instance I have no knowledge of her after 1977 and know not how she was recognised after the fall of the dictatorship. I would welcome feedback and more information of this very wise woman.
The ladies-in waiting … more pictures
I recently came across these pictures and and they provide a little more information to my blog Endeavour, Lulworth and Valsheda … ladies-in-waiting.
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Mr and Mrs Richard Lucas lived on board Lulworth. You can see a photograph of a some rowers; Richard Lucas was in the Oxford team who won a silver medal in 1920 Olympics
My dad was about 5’8” so you can get a good idea of the girth of the main mast.
Week 114
When at 45 years old I began to learn Classical Greek; I thought I knew enough about the English language. Did I heck? Before long I was lost in grammatical terms I had never heard of; let alone comprehend. Thus, began the rocky road of discovery into the formation of a simple sentence. Nominative, accusative, voice, mood and the first conjugation active verbs in present tense. While the first and second person pronouns are without gender, the third person singular, dual and plural has one the three genders; masculine feminine and neuter. He said, she said and it said. Bet you wished you’d never asked!
Last week I learned that … old pianos don’t die.
Last week I learn that pianos are not merely dumped by the side of the road. In the provinces I believe fly tipping is being addressed; so that it is difficult to dump your unwanted furniture by the side of the road. However, it is not unusual in my locality, where there are many homes in multiple occupation, to see an item left on the pavement. Sometimes, for a day or two, pedestrians will will walk around a sideboard un-noticing until it is removed.
So when I saw a piano on the walkway beside the Thames, near Old Billingsgate Market, last week; my first instinct was that it had been dumped. It was not the finest piano I had seen … looked to me as it had had a 1970s makeover; a little psychedelic Then I thought that as it was wrapped in polythene and protected from the rain; the owner might be along soon.
A little later while walking to the Monument , I saw another ‘dumped’ piano. This time someone was playing it and the pianist was surrounded by a her family. It was a pleasant scene especially as the rain had eased and the streets were now more busy.
Two ‘dumped pianos’ in one morning was too much; but I was still not getting the drift. Poor lost pianos was not convincing either!
When we went back to Old Billingsgate Market, the piano on the path was now uncovered and was attracting a small queue of would be pianists.
But I had other ‘fish to fry’ Ha! no pun intended this was Old Billingsgate Market that had been in the past the main fish market of London. I had a Festival to go to.
And poor forgotten pianos got forgotten.
… Until this morning when a blog popped up, as they do. The answer I have lead a sheltered life
Best not leave a piano in the Broad Street in Reading we/i am not ready for it yet.
Audible silent Sunday …
Each Sunday I prepare to find a scene or image that represents silence. I enjoy it, I plan for it, I hope for good light. I pretend to be a photographer; I fool – me not you!
But why do I do this? From 9 to 5 I work in a library; in silence, we creep about and communicate in controlled whispers. So at the weekend I need to make noise and create … my mind is a frenzy. I pull together threads of hopes, dreams and ideals
I am a meditator so I can maintain an assemblance of order and give the thoughts a place or let them go. But nonetheless I need to speak!
So each Sunday I find a reason as you know to interrupt my foolishly self inflicted silence.
So my silent picture is no more … it will say what it will; loudly or not.
This chimney says … look,
as I point heavenward
but with fearless grace …
A poem to Slugs and Snails
I struggle with my relationship with slugs and snails; it has been tried to the full this summer. Most mornings I look at the damage they have wreaked during the night. They have eaten all my vegetable seedlings, strawberries and my Hostas look like filigree Then, I try to summon up some compassion for the slimmy creatures that no longer hide among my Hostas but pose openly and seem to laugh and say ‘You will never beat us!’
So here is a little poem … that takes every bit of compassion I can muster!
As you make your way
my dear friend of the food chain
I sorta say thanks
Nela Bligh
Coat Hanger Doll's House 