chivalrous or back in the saddle again

The Norman Invasion of England in the year 1066 utilised the same technological advance in order to prosecute the same sort of vast capturing of land as Mongol Horde had used to gain territory on the liminal edge of the known world almost eight hundred years prior (and with latter day iterations as well). Though somewhat taken for granted due to its patent simplicity—particularly among the horsey-set, the stirrup proved probably as significant force in shaping civilisation as the introduction of printed word in the West, enabling mounted warriors to manoeuvre the battle-field with much greater speed and stability than had visited the defeated beforehand.
The stirrup is just a loop of leather that hangs to the side of a saddle, enabling riders to mount their steeds quickly and keep their balance. As just a small detail, it took some people quite a long time to notice and appreciate this modification that imparted significant advantage to the cavalry of the foot-solders. These more agile mercenaries that took up specialised arms and steeds became the professional landed knights under the feudalist system of the Norman conquestors and their Frankish overlords and sought to broaden the pyramid-scheme wherein defenders pledged oaths of fealty to a certain tract of property and to a certain lord. In order to maintain this allegiance, the knights—which were called then chevaliers (from the French term for horse), lived by a certain, defined code of conduct, which was called chivalry. This transformation makes me think of the way one’s portion of meat was translated from the field (grimy old English barnyard words for swine in the sty) to the dinner plate (expressed in refined French words for haute-cuisine, like pork).

downspout or rear window

Though as the term to eavesdrop has evolved a great day from the notion of a busy-body positioning himself or herself at an advantageous audio-locus (the point just under the eaves of the roof where rain water drops down) by a neighbour’s house in order to overhear happenings inside, to casually listening to the conversation listening to a private conversation to outright espionage, I think that the mentality of the eavesdropper has remained fairly constant, insofar as they want the fragmentary, a little mystery to reconstruct that leaves other explanations out there even though the listen may assert his or her own conclusions. Surveillance that leaves little to the imagination—though thinking one can be implausibly wrong is interesting too—that assumes the mantle of ubiquity is not eavesdropping, and neither is it pleasant or the least bit stimulating to find oneself in a public place that’s been pressed in private service and one’s privy to an unguardedly intimate or strained discussion. I wonder though, if by introducing the element of time and prediction for future behavior and past links, one preserves the allure of the furtive, or whether reputation and risk becomes just something actuarial and algorithmic.  What do you think?

5x5

ivy league, fig leaf: elite university matriculating classes from the 1940s and 1950s were compelled to disrobe and be photographed

roy g biv: cute illustration of the varying strides of colours in the visible spectrum by Daniel Savage

streets with no game: homogeneity and monotony is turning urban design into a matter of public health

rock elettronico: 1970s Italo pop hit with gibberish words meant to sound like English

brick and mortar: life-sized Lego building blocks 

fife and snare

Europeans first encountered war drum and subsequently adopted the martial accompaniment during the Crusades in the Holy Land, where such batteries of percussion spooked their horses.
Catching up on the fascinating and shameful narrative of the Albigensian Crusade prosecuted in Languedoc (Toulouse) by the Catholic Church against the heretical Cathars that led to the Spanish Inquisition, I learned that one of the earliest well-documented occurrences of a soundtrack, an anthem for battle although probably not creating the same atmosphere as stirring and thunderous leitmotif of some modern war movie nor the ceremonial and regimented noise of a parade, was during this succession of sieges throughout the region. As rear detachment, away from the fighting, monks and priests as well as other roadies that crusading attracted, the choir would belt out rousing choruses of one particular hymn, whose popularity and recognition was already established in France, of Veni Sancte Spiritus (Come Holy Spirit)—penned, according to tradition, by Pope Innocent III who launched the whole campaign as well. In a bellicose setting, all chanting and rumbling can take on intimidating aspects, but this singing seems really creepy to me.

5x5

dormit in pace: Bob Canada’s Blogworld (always worth the visit) pays tribute to horror mastermind Wes Craven

second features: campy, unrealised filmography of Elvis Presley

internationale: mid-century modern design’s roots in revolutionary Russia

no yoke: US government conspiracy against mayonnaise with no animal products

pity the fool: that time Boy George was a guest star on the A-Team

brazen bull

Despite the relative profusion of medieval torture museums and the odd device displayed in a cellar or alcove—settings that lend an air of authenticity, it is interesting to think how an inflated idea of savagery has been perpetuated, and in fact torture and public gatherings to watch an execution were exceedingly rare occurrences.
Such spectacles did happen from time to time to seed the imagination and set an example, of course, but these were in the main orchestrated to assert legitimacy for new regimes—to suppress revolts and to claim a divine right of republic when dynastic orders were pushed aside. The artefacts, often shameless reconstructions cannibalised from other less exciting machine parts, planks and ploughshares from an appropriate age with no disclosure to the visitor—real or imaginary, are sort of a caprice, an idyll of hobbyists that I am not sure from what tradition of urban legends originate—though it seems rather Victorian to cultivate such diversions. Whatever the compulsion was to begin with, it seems that the historically selective and seldom practices carry the same forces of propaganda, though inverted, by suggesting that the same contemporary lexicon is hyperbole and drawing on the brutality of an uncivilised past, which was probably much more restrained.

typeface or spaghetti and meatballs

In light of one of the internet’s prime estate’s decision to re-brand its appearance with a little kerning and serif that makes one wonder about the endurance of the iconic and recognition—since of course logos and charges evolve and grow more sophisticated or shed their more esoteric heraldry in favour of something cleaner and simpler (Google too has of course doodled through several phases and still true to it’s refrigerator magnet alphabet theme and still rather a bit evocative of juvenile clothing line but nothing so tremolo-terrible as what the label GAP tried or new Coke), it was refreshing to see that others debated and agonised over the identity that logos impart.
The original emblem, in the tradition of a military unit patch, of the US National Aeronautic and Space Agency (NASA) came to be known as the meatball once it was replaced by a sleek modern, artisanal font. The rendering of the acronym last from the early seventies until the early nineties and was referred to as the worm, the agency having decided—not without controversy, to the original meatball design. Still mindful of this schism, the graphic design team that not only created and promoted the worm but also the vocabulary of standard icons—the template for a launch pad service truck, rocket parts, shuttles, spacesuits, etc that mission-planners had in their quivers to stage their presentation, are hoping to offer a big blank-book of these creations in small batches in a context that underscores their style with all its associations and aspirations.