12 hours pretending I wasn’t really working 2 hours being all editorial and advisory by the light of the moon 550 kilometres 22 madonnas (and more) from Italy 100 manuscripts from Berlin (drool) 30 minutes photographing historical correspondence 1 hour of Tchaikovsky piano music (Album for the Young, The Seasons) 1 hour of Haydn sonatas (those that weren’t beyond my dormant technique) 3 movements from Grieg’s Peer Gynt suite in an arrangement for four hands 1 riotously wayward piano duo rendition of the overture to Die Meistersinger 2 hours of hand stitching 6 hours of ballet class 2 hours choosing spectacles 4 successful tussles with pumpkin hour 1 hour contemplating matters horticultural 0 tax returns completed
Something in there was priceless – probably the piano playing.
Or perhaps I should call it “Feathers, skin and gut”
Those who know me really well know that I think one of the most exquisitely sensual sounds in the world is the scratch of a quill scribing on vellum. And as I’ve pointed out before, clearly Peter Greenaway thinks it’s pretty special too. (Sadly, the video clip from Prospero’s Books that I’d previously linked to is no longer available, but try the beginning of this one.)
Now, thanks to Austin Radcliffe at Things Organized Neatly, I have another piece of calligraphy porn for my collection. No scratching in this one, but Bach ain’t bad.
Coincidentally, this gorgeous video turns out to be part of a campaign for Jumpstart Jr., a Dutch foundation which loans gut-string violins and cellos to gifted and ambitious young musicians dedicated to historical performance. (Australian cellist Catherine Jones is one of the beneficiaries.) Their slogan is “No gut, no glory” – I like it!
The operaplot madness this year includes a fan art category. So I’m abandoning my customary wordie cleverness to pay tribute to the best operaplot of all with inks and aquarelles on watercolour paper.
Operaplot by @primalamusica, art by @frindley
Postscript…
If this Pinkerton looks rather more like a ballet dancer than an opera singer it’s because earlier this evening I allowed myself to get all weepy at the Australian Ballet’s Madame Butterfly.
Prima la musica has extended a voluntary tag to the Seven Things About Me meme, the rules of which are noted at Score Desk. As I understand it, the facts are intended to be a combination of the random and the weird.
1. Childhood ambitions and their inspirations: pirate (Treasure Island), submarine captain (Navy open day), pilot (too many Biggles books).
3. Recorder, viola, harpsichord – instruments on which I never had lessons but which I somehow found myself playing. Viola was the first instrument that I played on the stage of the Sydney Opera House.
4. Musical theatre. My first musical love. There was a time when I could sing all the songs from just about any musical you cared to name. There are still times when I’d rather hear Sondheim than Mahler. [I’ll drink to that.]
5. Fifteen. The number of years I collected and devoured concert and theatre programs before realising that someone must be paid to write and edit these things. And normally I’m so quick off the mark…
6. My handwriting? I taught myself as a kid. From a little book Dad owned called Good Handwriting and How to Acquire It (1954). I share with Winsome Evans the view that it is simple courtesy to write in an æsthetically pleasing hand, and with the Chinese and Japanese the idea that calligraphy is an essential item in the scholar's toolbox. Oh, and I'm a typography nerd.
7. I think the most exquisite sound in the world is the scratch of a quill scribing on vellum. Clearly Peter Greenaway thinks it’s pretty special too:
Update: the above YouTube clip is no longer available, but the beginning of this one will do.
I join the cowards of the world by also suggesting that, if the whim takes you, you may consider yourself tagged. Don't have a blog? Make a facebook Note instead.
Decorated initial adapted from the Speedball Text Book by Ross F. George, 16th edition (1952).
…Anyone who can learn to write can learn to letter, for no unusual talent is needed. Students who invest sufficient time to master the fundamentals as presented in this manual will enjoy richer returns on their investment than can be derived from any similar investment in the allied arts.
Or rather, E is for et from which comes the ampersand symbol.
Over at Adobe they explain the origin of the name, as well as providing many more handwritten and typeset examples.
E is also for ellipsis (…)
And for Erik Spiekermann, father of fonts, whose knighting on 1 April prompted a rare typographical joke from the Queen as well as some unsolicited photoshop tutorials for the reporter.
This month on NaBloPoMo the theme is "letters". That can mean correspondence, of course, and my guess is that this is the inspiration most participants will follow. But for the typography nerd, letters can mean only one thing. I'm beginning with my favourite letter of all, which also happens to be the "first" letter on the QWERTY keyboard.
I love its round form, combined with the flourishing possibilities of the tail. Lower case can be fun too, especially in any hand based on 16th-century scripts, like this one:
For me the letter Q offers a quick way to decide whether I like a typeface or not. Because almost without fail if the Q is gracefully formed and perfectly balanced, then I'll like the other letters. And if the Q isn't right then it doesn't bode well.
Take the font you're reading now (Georgia) – I'm not entirely fond of the way the tail of the Q descends from the middle of the main letter. But there isn't a lot to choose from in the TypePad set and Georgia wins because it also has old style numerals, which sit within the x-height (1, 2) and have descenders and ascenders (5, 6).
But the possibilities for Q are endless, as this tiny sample reveals: My preferences are mainly clustered at the top and left; at far right is one of my least favourite Qs of all: Times New Roman. The disappointing Q just above it is Bodoni, which is actually a font that I like very much. Bodoni would be so much better if it had a Q like Modern No.20 (the Q at bottom left). The lowest Q of all (Bell MT) should in theory fall in the favoured group, but the balance is wrong, with tail weighted too much to the left; just above it to the right is another that I'd like a lot, except it looks like the tail has been thrown at it and just missed (it's Calisto MT). The large watermark Q is Monotype Corsiva – very elegant. And among more formal faces I like Baskerville's (top left).
There's another reason why I'm fond of Q. It's the letter behind the question mark, beginning with "q" as a shorthand for the Latin word for question (quaere).
