Sans Eyes, Avec Serif

I mentioned that my art project is taking a Shakespearean turn. To be precise, I'm trying to incorporate the "seven ages of man", from Jaques' monologue in "As You Like It". In the studio today I spent several hours measuring lines and writing the passage out in ink, in what I hoped would be a characterful script. Many were the yelps of frustration at irredeemable fluffs but the finished page is not without charm. As with life-drawing, the pursuit of calligraphic perfection demands many hours.

Life Drawing

Weekly life drawing sessions started today at college. That meant about twenty of us standing at easels in a room on the top floor, next to the vasty fine arts studio *. The tutor gave some instruction - including limbering up physically at the start - and the model gave us poses of increasing duration - from thirty seconds to forty minutes, over two and a half hours.

That length of time is helpful and I'm looking forward to seeing the difference in my style at the end of the four weeks. I got all the angles and proportions wrong some of the time but the tutor liked the way that I draw.

Here is my final piece of the session.


* My illustration project is heading in a Shakespearean direction.

Enclosures

I'm learning about archaeological surveying and the interpretation of aerial photographs. At the moment I think I understand it. The latest assignment will test that. I enjoyed the reading for last week, An archaeologist's guide to classification of cropmarks and soilmarks by Jonathan Edis, David MacLeod & Robert Bewley (Antiquity 63 (1989) 112-26): it features a good number of diagrams and drawings, the most pleasing being the following three, illustrating types of enclosure.

The Leisurely Student

There's something very satisfying and leisurely about riding out on a bicycle on a Monday morning - even when the cold takes all sensation from my nose - to make deliveries and go to the camera shop to have a film developed; and counting the people I recognise on the way.

I should be writing an essay.

After that - when I next have a moment when I'm not staring out of the window, scouring Wikipedia for scraps of minor interest or even getting around to any other item on my list - I'd like to compile information about the Language Of Flowers - the 19th Century code for personal messages in a carefully-constructed bouquet, wreath or posy.

Instead I seek out the mundane-but-necessary to stave off any substantial task. I become a domestic Robocop: as I pass the kitchen green horizontal and vertical lines in my vision narrow to frame a stack of washing up; or it's like a Wild West shooting game - I round the next corner and see a wooden cutout of a pile of clothes to be put away... BANG! He's down. Next... It's that incorrigible bandit, The Untidy Drawer! POW...

Etc etc until the bell ring for coco.

Holidays!

For the first time in a few years - and as a pleasant by-product of my studies - I have a Winter holiday.

Last week I spent a few days in ambitious artistic luxury at the V&A, drawing sculptures and photographing textiles for future inspiration.


The rest of the time I visited a variety of cafes and started my equally-ambitious reading pile from various libraries.


Now, at home with my family, my creativity has gone into Christmas preparations. I've just finished wrapping presents.

Birds

Last night I carved a turkey; this afternoon I stuffed a pelican; this evening I've brought home the ostrich.

Some People Like Fonts

1. The law of good design decrees against the use of more than two or three typefaces per publication.
2. Fonts designed to look hand-written usually turn out unconvincing because the freely drawn characters are the same every time.
3. The skills of calligraphy and illumination are underrepresented.

But...
I love fonts! They fill me with happiness. I used to spend many hours quite regularly basking like a shark - throat open wide for free fonts. There are hundreds for every situation and mood and hundreds more that will never be useful but are always so delicious and enticing. A long trawl would always lead to a new collection and time wasted with pleasure.

In recent years I discovered the rules above and entered a subtle process of repression. I became a closet font fan, shying away from sharing my love of computer typefaces for fear that people will disapprove or simply won't understand.

Last week the box was opened when, making a poster for a Christmas dinner, I found the exact point at which an orgasm of different typefaces is acceptable. I was set free and printed out a tidy notice

and it was called
Stunning;
Awesome;
The Prince of Posters!

What was I worrying about?