nacht und nebel

We’ve previously confronted the highly disturbing tolerance and even admiration that certain elements of the American populace have displayed (and woefully continue to do so—just now with more abandon and zeal) for the National Socialist political party of Germany and knew of the rally held in Madison Square. It always struck me as a secret, shameful episode that despite mounting anecdotes and evidence was something that was buried and few knew of, so we were grateful to learn that a short, straightforward documentary called “A Night at the Garden” by Academy Award nominated director Marshall Curry has been complied from all available footage. It is absolutely inconceivable to me that with the benefit of hindsight and historical distance, a bunch of Cosplay Nazis are convinced that holding these views are acceptable. 

non verbus, sed rebus

We enjoyed pouring over the pictorial kanji typography from artist Nozzdesu that makes Japanese writing a bit more accessible to the illiterate and reminded us of a similar experiment with Arabic script. The calligraphy (shodō, 書道) of Japan, as with many other places, has gone through many stylistic shifts and some glyphs broach the recognisable and selecting for geometry, colour and style can go further in helping to impart meaning for outsiders. Pictured is the word eiga (映画) for movie.

må jeg skjære ham i fingeren? må jeg rive ham i håret?

Synchronised to a two-dimensional physics simulation, animator DoodleChaos’ line-rider rendering of Edvard Grieg’s (previously) In the Hall of the Mountain King was a rather thrilling sled ride. You should definitely have the speakers on full blast for this one and watch it through to the end when it gets really harrowing.

rogues' gallery

While previously on PfRC we were exposed to the teaching and methodology of Inspector Alphonse Bertillon whose research into how anthropometry could be applied as systematic way of identifying repeat offenders and informed our notions of biometrics, we hadn’t actually seen his superbly complex diagrams and composite “mug-shots” until now.  First working as a transcriptionist for the Paris police department, Bertillon grew frustrated with informal, instinctive forensic techniques that were failing to reduce recidivism rates—and encouraged bolder criminal behaviour since it appeared unlikely one would be caught and the potential reward made the risks acceptable ones.
No doubt Bertillon was a dedicated pioneer whose legacy lives on in all precincts, but something about him strikes me as very Inspector Javert (from Les Misérables who became obsessed with capture and punishment of Jean Valjean) especially considering his growing eccentricities and loss of credibility when he claimed that there was a mathematical infallibility to his technique (when there demonstrably was not) and his false testimony was used to sentence Alfred Dreyfus (of the divisive Dreyfus Affair, a study in anti-Semitism and grave miscarriage of justice in which a captain was incorrectly accused of treason whilst his superiors, the real culprits, deflected the blame) to exile and imprisonment. Eventually Bertillion’s comprehensive system of markers was collapsed into the complementary but competing method of dactyloscopy, once the inspector himself perfected a way to retrieve latent fingerprints from smooth surfaces.

exemplum

Treating the needlework sampler as the record of a life overlooked, the Fitzwilliam Museum of the University of Cambridge has curated a collection of over one hundred of these crafty examples (both words have the same Latin root) from the sixteen hundreds up until modern times—often with the morose realisation that these creations made to demonstrate literacy, stitching skills as a future home-maker and cottage-industry entrepreneur are the only trace of their existence remaining. The exhibition also explores how symbolism and subject shifts with time and how in depth research centred around these artefacts—which also were the makers’ creative outlet—can reveal further details about the fortune and circumstance of the individuals and their families.

mossery (with frippery to taste)

Researching the subject for another recent post, I came across the Victorian craze for ferns and mosses (dubbed pteridomania) which went beyond collecting and on to cultivation.
This particularly fine and verdant specimen cleaving to a stone wall near home, dabbled in just the right mix of light and shadow, reminded me of the nineteenth century garden-feature known as the mossery, a covered slatted wood box with northern exposure. Samples stuck into the cracks would grow and fill the box if moistened regularly. Though not able to find plans for a mossery—like a guide for building a proper beehive for apiculturists—I think we’ll experiment and report on success. Meanwhile and alternatively there’s a wide range of moss-centric terrariums and moss-centric forums for one’s emendation—with ostentation and folly (sunken ships and treasure chests in aquaria) to taste.

7x7

microcosm: an annual photography competition invites us to explore the world around us just below the threshold of the naked eye

the luwians and the trojan war: the intriguing tale behind the lost frieze that may document the collapse of the Bronze Age

point and shoot: using algorithmic processes to inform the shutter when a photo-worth opportunity presents itself, one internet and technology giant is offering an automatic camera for home use—relatedly

gastaloops: one hundred day push to create gorgeous, encircling animations—via the Everlasting Blört

high rate of staff turn-over: activities offered at the White House adult day care facility

extinction cos-play: crocheted costumes for the common pigeon to highlight the importance of biodiversity and fighting to protect endangered species—via Nag on the Lake

trek ‘splaining: a visual physics lesson on the problem-fraught workings of as seen on TV teleportation

(rainy) day-trip: büdingen

The weather in Wetterau is not always cooperative and most days like these would see cancelled excursions, but on my way back to my work-week apartment, I took a detour to try to see the fortified and well-preserved medieval town of Büdingen. I recall having visited before—when it was still host to a US Army housing detachment—but that was ages ago and probably one of the wind-shield tours I was taking at the time and having tried to visit again once before during a trip to Burg Ronneburg but was overcome (incredulously) for lack of parking, so despite the dodgy skies, I marched up and down the still charming but be-puddled streets of town.

Described variously as the Rothenburg of Hessen and with other superlatives, the heavy stone defensive walls were formidable and impressive and all the streets of the historic core were awash with the idiosyncratic geometry of fine half-timbered (Fachwerk) structures—angular unto itself, rays emanating off in all directions—and there was a stately church and castle. The town in the centre of a marshy valley and the fortress and Altstadt are resting on millennia old matrix of oak planks and beech poles. Whereas a lot of German town have papier-mâché cows or lions to celebrate local craft and heritage, Büdingen uniquely has a collection of frogs, its unofficial mascot.
The rain, however, didn’t relent, and while I knew that every place is unique and embraces their stories of pogrom and plague, witch-trials and religious tribulations—and perhaps it was the combination of the rain and vague spatial memories, I was feeling rather disoriented and it was hard to take in the scenery, echoes of other places resonating strongly to the point I could recall the town’s name when relating it to H afterwards.
I suppose those discomforts are indicative of why sensible people (unless on holiday abroad when one has no other choice than to go out and enjoy the grey and drizzle) wouldn’t choose this battle for a rewarding tourist-experience. H and I will have to choose the opportunity to return and give Büdingen the attention and intention that it deserves.