Happy April Fool's Day!
Now for something silly and adorable, and in the vein of my previous post about typography...
HELVETICAT!
http://www.swiss-miss.com/2013/04/helveticat.html
It's possibly the cutest typeface I've ever encountered. (I mean, cats!) It doesn't appear to be available for download, unfortunately. (I would be willing to pay for that. I would! My friends would get annoyed with me pretty quickly, but it would be worth it for the sheer joy of sending entire e-mails full of cat cartoons.)
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Recovering the Doves Type
If you're a bibliophile like I am, you might have noticed that the endpapers of hardcover editions usually include a note about the typefaces used in the book. (For a more general layman's overview of the history of typography, I recommend the book Just My Type by Simon Garfield.) While the origin stories of typefaces might seem a relatively dry topic, they sometimes make for fascinating tales of adventure and intrigue. To wit, that of the Doves Type, one of the most influential typefaces of the past couple of centuries:
http://creativereview.co.uk/cr-blog/2015/february/recovering-the-doves-type
The improbable saga of their recovery seems like something straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel! (If compelled to choose one, I'd compare it to The Sign of the Four.) But it's the ending that strikes me; after such a journey, the "treasure hunter" and type designer Robert Green notes that he'll never sell the portion of the typeface that he kept for himself, saying, "It’s too precious. I feel very attached to it now I’ve retraced Cobden-Sanderson’s steps and stood on that very same spot of the bridge." I can sympathize with a sentimental attachment to a piece of history that becomes an obsession! It's fundamentally human to assign value to artifacts of culture, even those that seem a small and incidental portion of a more significant work.
http://creativereview.co.uk/cr-blog/2015/february/recovering-the-doves-type
The improbable saga of their recovery seems like something straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel! (If compelled to choose one, I'd compare it to The Sign of the Four.) But it's the ending that strikes me; after such a journey, the "treasure hunter" and type designer Robert Green notes that he'll never sell the portion of the typeface that he kept for himself, saying, "It’s too precious. I feel very attached to it now I’ve retraced Cobden-Sanderson’s steps and stood on that very same spot of the bridge." I can sympathize with a sentimental attachment to a piece of history that becomes an obsession! It's fundamentally human to assign value to artifacts of culture, even those that seem a small and incidental portion of a more significant work.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
A Day in the Life of a Squirrel: a Photoshoot
Another interesting piece on animals! This time, it's squirrels:
http://www.incrediblethings.com/pets/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-squirrel/
I'm amazed that the photographer managed to get the squirrels into human-like positions, especially since none of the squirrels appear to be specially trained. It's all a matter of clever set and nut placement, apparently! I never would have guessed that squirrels' faces, with their limited range of motion, could be so oddly expressive.
I'm reminded of the Redwall series, which I read religiously as a kid. (I still own every book in that series.) There were essentially two or three plotlines in the entire series, rehashed over and over with different lovable woodland critters, different riddles, and slight changes in scenery -- but as a child, I didn't really notice, and I devoured them all the same. The photo series calls to mind the cover art on those books, which all featured rodents and other small mammals in human-like poses, wearing clothes and brandishing weapons. One wonders if the art department ever considered using photographed rather than illustrated covers -- would they have looked too silly?
http://www.incrediblethings.com/pets/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-squirrel/
I'm amazed that the photographer managed to get the squirrels into human-like positions, especially since none of the squirrels appear to be specially trained. It's all a matter of clever set and nut placement, apparently! I never would have guessed that squirrels' faces, with their limited range of motion, could be so oddly expressive.
I'm reminded of the Redwall series, which I read religiously as a kid. (I still own every book in that series.) There were essentially two or three plotlines in the entire series, rehashed over and over with different lovable woodland critters, different riddles, and slight changes in scenery -- but as a child, I didn't really notice, and I devoured them all the same. The photo series calls to mind the cover art on those books, which all featured rodents and other small mammals in human-like poses, wearing clothes and brandishing weapons. One wonders if the art department ever considered using photographed rather than illustrated covers -- would they have looked too silly?
Thursday, February 12, 2015
The New Yorker: Russia's Museum Cats
These curators of St. Petersburg's Hermitage Museum have the right idea. Perhaps this is the wishful thinking of a person without a pet, but I would love to work in an office full of cats...
http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/russias-museum-cats
Much as dogs were humanity's first security system, cats were our original pest control. In an environment full of delicate artwork, where thousands of visitors circulate every day (including, I'm sure, many children), it makes sense that instead of rat poison and traps, the museum staff are resorting to this age-old solution to rodent problems. And, of course, they're providing a loving and safe home to a veritable squadron of cats, many of whom previously lived in less-than-healthful circumstances in the museum's heating system.
The article doesn't mention that these cats (their predecessors, really) were first brought to the museum, which was then a palace, by decree of the Russian empress Elizabeth. They were specially imported from Kazan, a city whose cats were reputed to be the best mousers in Russia. These cats lived in the palace for many years, until the feline population was virtually decimated during World War II. About twenty years ago, a program was begun to care for the animals, and in recent years, in addition to maintaining its existing cats, the museum has even begun to adopt cats in need of a home.
The museum director is noted to have said that "they are the spirit of the place. The museum’s genius loci.” It's a curious but apt comparison; genii loci were ancient Roman guardians of specific locations (usually homes), whose goodwill was usually secured through piety and sacrificial offerings. These cats seem to have become such a part of the fabric of the museum that without them, the Hermitage Museum would be a different, less feeling place. But as long as they continue to be loved by staff and visitors as they are, the cats appear quite content to stay in their unusual abode.
http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/russias-museum-cats
Much as dogs were humanity's first security system, cats were our original pest control. In an environment full of delicate artwork, where thousands of visitors circulate every day (including, I'm sure, many children), it makes sense that instead of rat poison and traps, the museum staff are resorting to this age-old solution to rodent problems. And, of course, they're providing a loving and safe home to a veritable squadron of cats, many of whom previously lived in less-than-healthful circumstances in the museum's heating system.
The article doesn't mention that these cats (their predecessors, really) were first brought to the museum, which was then a palace, by decree of the Russian empress Elizabeth. They were specially imported from Kazan, a city whose cats were reputed to be the best mousers in Russia. These cats lived in the palace for many years, until the feline population was virtually decimated during World War II. About twenty years ago, a program was begun to care for the animals, and in recent years, in addition to maintaining its existing cats, the museum has even begun to adopt cats in need of a home.
The museum director is noted to have said that "they are the spirit of the place. The museum’s genius loci.” It's a curious but apt comparison; genii loci were ancient Roman guardians of specific locations (usually homes), whose goodwill was usually secured through piety and sacrificial offerings. These cats seem to have become such a part of the fabric of the museum that without them, the Hermitage Museum would be a different, less feeling place. But as long as they continue to be loved by staff and visitors as they are, the cats appear quite content to stay in their unusual abode.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Ski Trip!
I went on a ski trip this weekend with some of my oldest friends...
I'm on the far right in the blue helmet.
It was a blast. Nothing like spending quality time with people you love. And, of course, hurtling down a frozen mountain with strips of plastic strapped to your feet.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
BBC: Death... Not Quite Permanent?
I've been pondering life and death again (you know, as you do). We humans tend to think of the two as definite, opposing states of being. The vast majority of the time, we have no problem identifying someone as "alive" or "dead." But, as science fiction has predicted, we've arrived at an age when these concepts are no longer quite binary -- when it's possible to restore to life someone who's been, albeit briefly, declared dead. See this article from last year:
http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20140704-i-bring-the-dead-back-to-life
Cryonics and cryogenics has been a well-trodden trope in popular fiction for decades, from the works of Robert Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke (of the "Golden Age of Science Fiction") to Captain America's decades of being frozen in a block of ice. Science is nowhere near such capabilities, of course, and it's important for the general public to understand what is and is not possible, to be able to distinguish between fact and fiction (and fiction that might well become fact in the future). Most of the scientists cited in the above BBC article, for example, are careful to qualify their work. But the mere possibility -- the mere notion that we might be capable of blurring the boundary between life and death -- calls into question some of humanity's most deep-seated beliefs.
One of the most memorable moments in genomics research (which could be considered the other end of the debate) came from Dr. Craig Venter, the geneticist and entrepreneur best known for his work in mapping the human genome and in artificially synthesizing life. When he was asked how he felt about "playing God," Venter famously replied, "I don't play."
Clever quip aside, the creation of life and the reversal of death are traditionally the provinces of myth. Much of human fascination with divinity and the supernatural stems from our desire to understand -- and in some small way, influence -- these opaque, immutable bookends to our time on earth. We, like all other living creatures, are by nature afraid of death, and seek to stave it off as long as we can. If given the option to return from the other side, I'd venture that most people would do so without hesitation. And who wouldn't want to bring back a newly-deceased loved one, if they could?
What, then, might it mean to live, if we could choose not to die? Issues of reproduction and overpopulation aside (though those, too, would become important challenges), would near-immortality change the nature of humanity? How and why would one decide to die? Tolkien's elves, incidentally, would be a close approximation of that dilemma.
I'm reminded of something a wise man once said, about that final journey:
http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20140704-i-bring-the-dead-back-to-life
Cryonics and cryogenics has been a well-trodden trope in popular fiction for decades, from the works of Robert Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke (of the "Golden Age of Science Fiction") to Captain America's decades of being frozen in a block of ice. Science is nowhere near such capabilities, of course, and it's important for the general public to understand what is and is not possible, to be able to distinguish between fact and fiction (and fiction that might well become fact in the future). Most of the scientists cited in the above BBC article, for example, are careful to qualify their work. But the mere possibility -- the mere notion that we might be capable of blurring the boundary between life and death -- calls into question some of humanity's most deep-seated beliefs.
One of the most memorable moments in genomics research (which could be considered the other end of the debate) came from Dr. Craig Venter, the geneticist and entrepreneur best known for his work in mapping the human genome and in artificially synthesizing life. When he was asked how he felt about "playing God," Venter famously replied, "I don't play."
Clever quip aside, the creation of life and the reversal of death are traditionally the provinces of myth. Much of human fascination with divinity and the supernatural stems from our desire to understand -- and in some small way, influence -- these opaque, immutable bookends to our time on earth. We, like all other living creatures, are by nature afraid of death, and seek to stave it off as long as we can. If given the option to return from the other side, I'd venture that most people would do so without hesitation. And who wouldn't want to bring back a newly-deceased loved one, if they could?
What, then, might it mean to live, if we could choose not to die? Issues of reproduction and overpopulation aside (though those, too, would become important challenges), would near-immortality change the nature of humanity? How and why would one decide to die? Tolkien's elves, incidentally, would be a close approximation of that dilemma.
I'm reminded of something a wise man once said, about that final journey:
"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."
~Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Advice on Life, Creativity, and Making Meaning, from the Creator of Calvin and Hobbes
I'll be the first to admit that I'm not as well-versed in the iconic comic Calvin and Hobbes as I should be. What little I've seen of it has moved me, and I mean to read more, truly. Bill Watterson is a rare talent. And he gives some pretty inspiring advice, too, both for creatives and for everyone else:
http://www.fastcodesign.com/3027095/4-tips-on-creativity-from-the-creator-of-calvin-hobbes
The four maxims Watterson presents are by no means comprehensive, but they do form a solid foundation for a creative life. And, even though it's clear from context that he uses "creative" to mean "artistic," I believe his advice holds true for any field involving passion and productivity, which is most of them.
Essentially, it boils down to: "Do something you love (no field is too small or esoteric), stay true to your vision, and give it 110%." Sensible for anyone, but especially for creatives who face a long, risky, uphill battle with no surety of success and with little but their own belief to light their way. It's true of artists, entrepreneurs, and innovators of all stripes -- one hopes to have the cultural impact Watterson did.
And then there's this, which was illustrated by Gavin Aung Than of Zen Pencils:
http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/08/27/bill_watterson_s_cartoonist_s_advice_in_comic_form_by_zen_pencils_aka_gavin.html
In its narrowest reading, this graphic interpretation of Watterson's words vindicates stay-at-home parenting -- for either gender. While challenging normative views of masculinity and patriarchy is daring and important, it isn't quite innovative today. Rather, the broader readings of this comic are more interesting: in a society where status -- as defined by a widely accepted slate of value judgments -- is in part determined by income and prestige of employment, Watterson and Than assert that one can viably choose not to take part in that hierarchy (or at least, choose to ignore it). If your idea of meaning and fulfillment cannot be met within the traditional system, it's legitimate to create your own. You shouldn't let society influence or shame you into pursuing a traditional path towards conventional markers of success.
It's an almost Thoreauvian way of living -- not necessarily the most practical or accessible, but a worthy goal nonetheless.
http://www.fastcodesign.com/3027095/4-tips-on-creativity-from-the-creator-of-calvin-hobbes
The four maxims Watterson presents are by no means comprehensive, but they do form a solid foundation for a creative life. And, even though it's clear from context that he uses "creative" to mean "artistic," I believe his advice holds true for any field involving passion and productivity, which is most of them.
Essentially, it boils down to: "Do something you love (no field is too small or esoteric), stay true to your vision, and give it 110%." Sensible for anyone, but especially for creatives who face a long, risky, uphill battle with no surety of success and with little but their own belief to light their way. It's true of artists, entrepreneurs, and innovators of all stripes -- one hopes to have the cultural impact Watterson did.
And then there's this, which was illustrated by Gavin Aung Than of Zen Pencils:
http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/08/27/bill_watterson_s_cartoonist_s_advice_in_comic_form_by_zen_pencils_aka_gavin.html
In its narrowest reading, this graphic interpretation of Watterson's words vindicates stay-at-home parenting -- for either gender. While challenging normative views of masculinity and patriarchy is daring and important, it isn't quite innovative today. Rather, the broader readings of this comic are more interesting: in a society where status -- as defined by a widely accepted slate of value judgments -- is in part determined by income and prestige of employment, Watterson and Than assert that one can viably choose not to take part in that hierarchy (or at least, choose to ignore it). If your idea of meaning and fulfillment cannot be met within the traditional system, it's legitimate to create your own. You shouldn't let society influence or shame you into pursuing a traditional path towards conventional markers of success.
It's an almost Thoreauvian way of living -- not necessarily the most practical or accessible, but a worthy goal nonetheless.
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