Is That Really Reggie Jackson?!

I was thumbing through an old (August, 2010) issue of Print today, looking for inspiration on a project, and ran across this short but laugh-out-loud hilarious article on the history of baseball card design, from the adept pen of Drew Dernavich, who also posted a follow-up here. Take a laugh break from whatever you're doing and enjoy.

Pencil Illustrations: Yosemite and San Francisco

Last month, I did a number of 5" x 7" pencil sketches based on photographs I took during my trip to California back in the summer of 2010. I gave the originals, matted and framed, out to my "Top Ten" clients as Christmas gifts. (Wanna be on my list next time around? Better send me lots of good work in 2012!) Here are some samples - the cream of the crop, if you will.

A Typographical Reading of Revelation

I just had to vent. I feel a little better now. Thanks for indulging me.
Carry on.

Cartographic Near-Perfection

Okay, I confess to being something of a map nerd. I have quite a few hanging on the wall of my basement/office-space. In fact, one of the highlights of my holiday season was that I finally got around to framing and hanging my 1979 National Geographic map of Medieval England, which I think is one of the best they've ever done.

A good map is rich in both visual interest and information. The cartographic tradition, at its best, weaves together a number of different strands that have always interested me greatly: illustration, design, history, the allure of the distant and exotic, and storytelling, to name a few. (I would have added “geography”, but suppose that would be rather redundant. And if your talking about celestial maps, which is a favored sub-category of mine, you could also throw in “astronomy”.) A map tells a story about the region it depicts—and I don't just mean the ones with all kinds of extra tidbits crammed into the marginalia, although, if handled expertly, that can be a nice approach (as with the England map, again). No, even a more “straight-forward” map tells a story, and tells it well, poorly, or (most frequently) just so-so, based on how it handles the information conveyed within the map itself: which features and details it emphasizes and which it downplays, and the methods it employs for doing so.

Solo cartographer David Imus painstakingly created a new map of the United States which was recently awarded Best of Show at a very prestigious cartographic exhibition. The map, as well as the creative process behind its creation, is a real testimony to the time-honored values of craftsmanship, careful—even loving—attention to detail, and profoundly thoughtful and insightful artistry.

Indeed, from a design standpoint, I am absolutely blown away by this map. Just like a painting by a great master, it’s obvious that it was meant to be appreciated both from far away and very close-up. I’ve also never seen a map that struck such a delightful balance between the natural and the man-contrived, celebrating both with equitable and complementary enthusiasm. Hats off indeed to David Imus, and also to Slate author Seth Stevenson, both of whom offer encouragement to me, quasi-Luddite that I am, as I plug along at my own ponderous pace, in my own quaint way, with my own little projects, occasionally asking myself how hard I really want to (or should want to) continue trying to keep pace with the contemporary world and its rather obsessive predilection for gussied-up novelty and bespangled gee-whizzery. (Not that it’s all bad, now—I fessed up to being a quasi-Luddite, but that is all. Case in point on this topic: I really do like interactive maps, and it’s only rigidly imposed self-discipline that keeps me from becoming a total Google Earth junkie.)

Anyway, I hope to acquire a hard-copy of Imus’ map for myself soon, which apparently can be done here. (At least on a good day, one hopes. As of this posting, the link wasn’t working, but I trust that will get ironed out soon.)

(Closing hint to my wife: Christmas is over, but my birthday is coming before too long!)

Chesterton and Calvinism

Having posted on G. K. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy here before, I thought this insight from John Piper to be right on the money and worth sharing. No doubt there were folks who went by the appellation of “Calvinist” in Chesteron’s own day who were cranks, just as there are today. Notwithstanding, failure to distinguish the straw man or the caricature from the genuine article is a fault that even the most brilliant of men can commit. In Chesterton’s case, it is a most forgivable one.

Spem in Alium

England, the mid-sixteenth century. The large, splendidly decorated banqueting hall in which you and your fellow guests are seated is octagonal in shape, with galleries situated on four of the opposing walls. Soon you and your fellow nobles (perhaps even the Queen herself is also in attendance) will be feasting on sumptuous delicacies. But amidst the hushed banter that precedes the opening of the banquet, you notice that some preliminary musical entertainment has apparently been appointed, as is not uncommon for such events. In groups of five, singers are gathering, on the lower level with the guests, and also up in the galleries, forming eight groups of forty singers, arranged all around the perimeter of the hall, above and below. The choir master makes his way to the center of the room as a hush falls over the throng of guests.

At his signal, a single alto voice from the five-person choir at the north end begins to sing, joined quickly by a soprano from the same group. After a few bars, the baritone, tenor and bass from the same ensemble have entered in. And then, the choir in the neighboring gallery takes up the theme, as gradually the music spreads around the room toward the east, weaving up and down as it goes.

Spem in alium nunquam habui . . .

As the music continues to make its way to the southern end of the hall, the realization begins to dawn on you that none of the singers is doubling the other - each of the exquisitely intertwined voices is singing a unique part. The choirs at the southern end awaken, and the swelling chorus of voices echoes off the walls—and the floor, and the ceiling. But then, just as the progression begins to make the turn round to the heretofore silent western side of the hall, the choirs to the north and east begin to fall silent, in successive order: a sonorous wave is encircling the entire room. When it reaches the northern end again, the choirs at the opposing southern side re-awaken. For a few moments, the stereophonic interplay of the northern and southern choirs continues and grows to an anticipatory crescendo, until suddenly, all forty voices burst forth together for the first time in a great, beatific roar.

Praeter in te, Deus Israel! . . .

After a few bars, the roar subsides and, as the text continues to unfold, the musical wave resumes, circumnavigating the hall again, this time in the opposite direction. Another forty-voice outburst ensues. And then, pairs of adjoining choirs begin a call and response with opposing choirs at opposite ends, and the music is hurled across the hall, back and forth from north to south, then east to west, then south-west to north-east, etc. As the thundering voices echo from end to end and reverberate from on high and down below, the dining hall is transformed into a musical microcosm of the universe itself, resounding the Creator's praises throughout.

Domine Deus! . . . Domine Deus! . . .
Creator! . . . Creator! . . .
Coeli et terrae! . . . Coeli et terrae! . . .

The musical kaleidoscope swirls for a total of about ten minutes, closing as all forty voices unite one last time, rapturously appealing to God for mercy. The sound reverberates throughout the hall for a long while after the last note is sounded, as you and your fellow guests sit in dumbfounded amazement at what you have just heard and experienced. No matter how sumptuous the food or delightful the entertainments that are yet to come, the rest of the evening - perhaps, in some sense, the rest of your life - can only represent a declension. At the very least, you know that, this side of heaven, you will never hear such music again—a hope far too audacious for mortal ears.

The man responsible for this musical miracle was Thomas Tallis, who died on this day in 1585. The above account is an imaginary recreation of what the original performance may have been like, based on sketchy circumstantial evidence. The earliest manuscripts of the work are associated with Nonsuch Palace, which may be where it was originally performed, though the exact occasion is uncertain. This fabulous palace, built by Henry VIII, no longer stands (it eventually passed into the hands of one of the mistresses of Charles II, who had it demolished and sold off in piecemeal fashion to cover her gambling debts), but it is known to have had a banqueting hall situated in one of its large corner towers, fitting the above description.

The Latin text is adapted from the apocryphal Book of Judith:

Spem in alium nunquam habui
praeter in te Deus Israel
qui irasceris et propitius eris
et omnia peccata hominum in tribulatione dimittis.
Domine Deus Creator coeli et terrae
respice humilitatem nostram.

An English translation:

Never have I placed my hope in any other
save in Thee, O God of Israel,
who may be wrathful, yet will turn again unto graciousness,
and who absolveth all the sins of suffering man.
Lord God, Creator of Heaven and Earth
look upon our lowliness.

Composers and other artists often play numerical games within their works (Bach, most famously) and it is likely that some of the numbers involved in this composition were not mere happenstance but rather bore some significance in Tallis’ mind, especially when considered in light of the text. Five has long-standing mystical associations (quintessence), forty is the biblical number of judgement and suffering, while eight is the number of regeneration and renewal. The numbers could thus be seen to reinforce the theme of the text: hopeful expectation of deliverance in the midst of some sort of Divinely-appointed tribulation, perhaps related somehow to the violent religious upheavals of sixteenth century England. Some have even put forth evidence that Tallis may have inserted his own musical signature into the piece.

It is worth trying to follow along with the score while listening to a performance, though no recording techniques or surround-sound equipment currently in existence could come close to replicating the effects of a production in anything like its original setting and context. To experience that first hand would be nothing short of a dream realized.

EHCS: Open House postcard

This concept, a promotional postcard design on behalf of my alma mater, turned out rather nicely, if I do say so myself. Sounds like they'll be wanting to use the “little red schoolhouse” on some other material in the near future.

Alfred the Great

Today is the Feast Day (in the Anglican Communion) of Alfred the Great, the greatest of the pre-Norman, Anglo-Saxon kings, and in fact the only British monarch in history to be honored with the appellation “Great”. He died on this day in 899 A.D. During his remarkable life, Alfred exemplified the virtues of a Christian leader: boldly and successfully defending his people from the invading hordes of pagan Vikings, yet showing noted kindness and generosity to the enemy once their threat was neutralized. (Guthrum, the Viking king, became a Christian and Alfred assumed the role of adoptive father toward his one-time foe.) Alfred the Great also did much to establish justice, to encourage and reform the church, and to promote learning in his realm. (Leading by example, Alfred himself took up the task of learning Latin at the age of 38.)

The ancient images of white horses carved in various hillsides of south-central England are often associated with Alfred. G.K. Chesterton’s epic poem The Ballad of the White Horse celebrates his reign, and was probably a significant inspiration for J.R.R. Tolkien.

The Walker Party

On this day in 1833, a party of about forty men, in the command of native Tennesseean, mountain man, and trail blazer par excellence Joseph Walker, were trying desperately to find a way down from the Sierra Nevada mountains, where they had been wandering for almost two weeks, in search of a new and convenient route into central California. The men, exhausted by the steep, snowbound terrain and famished from dwindling supplies and want of game, were inching their way westward along a broad, high ridge between two steep river valleys to the north and south (now known to be the Tuolumne and the Merced, respectively). One member of the party, Zenas Leonard, kept a journal of the expedition and records the day’s events thus:

We travelled…still on the top of the mountain, and our course continually obstructed with snow hills and rocks. Here we began to encounter in our path, many small streams which would shoot out from under these high snow-banks, and after running a short distance in deep chasms which they have through ages cut in the rocks, precipitate themselves from one lofty precipice to another, until they are exhausted in rain below. Some of these precipices appeared to us to be more than a mile high. Some of the men thought that if we could succeed in descending one of these precipices to the bottom, we might thus work our way into the valley below—but on making several attempts we found it utterly impossible for a man to descend, to say nothing of our horses.

Based on the above description, it is concluded that the Walker Party were almost certainly the first non-natives to set eyes upon the incomparable Yosemite Valley, nearly twenty years prior to its official “discovery” by the Mariposa Battalion.

Walker is buried in a small pioneer cemetery, which overlooks an inlet of the San Francisco Bay. Here is a shot of me at the site, taken during a trip to the area several years ago.

Tours

The Battle of Tours (or Portiers) was fought on this day in 732 A.D., wherein Charles Martel (Charles “The Hammer”), the de facto King of the Franks, clashed with an Islamic expeditionary force under the command of Abd-er-Rahman. Barely a century following the birth of Islam, the Umayyad Caliphate controlled all of the Middle East and North Africa, and its leaders conspired to seize upon Europe through concurrent, pincer-like invasions from both the east and the west. Their way upon the eastern front was checked, however, by the still powerful Byzantine Empire, with its glittering capitol at Constantinople. Following a second attempt to lay siege to the Byzantine capitol, the Arab forces were soundly defeated on both land and sea by Emperor Leo III in 718.

The situation in western Europe, however, was far less sure. Much of Europe was still pagan or only recently converted to the Christian faith. A great deal of instability prevailed in the centuries following the collapse of the western Roman Empire, as one barbarian tribe vied with another for supremacy across the whole continent. In fact, the Muslims first set foot on the Iberian peninsula at the invitation of the warlord Rodrigo, who, in 710, foolishly sought their aid in gaining the upper hand over a rival faction in a squabble over control of the Visigothic throne. Once gaining a foothold, the Islamic forces quickly swept Rodrigo and the rest aside, overran the entire peninsula, and began pouring over the Pyrennes, where they made mincemeat of the ramshackle collection of provinces and duchies which then constituted western Gaul (France, as we know it today).

But Charles, in his capacity as Mayor of the Palace (comparable to a modern-day Prime Minister) to the “do-nothing” Frankish King, was determined to oppose them. Despite the disorganized political atmosphere, and the fact that Charles' army consisted only of infantry while the Saracen host included a substantial contingent of cavalry, the Franks were victorious, driving the invaders back over the Pyrennes and into Spain, where they would hold sway for another 700 years, before the last remnants were driven out by Fredinand and Isabellla in the fifteenth century. As for Charles, his son Pepin the Short and grandson Charles the Great (Charlemagne) continued his legacy, and, upon the foundation made possible by the victory at Tours, established a Christian empire in central Europe marked by political stability and a revival of learning and the arts. This Carolingian Renaissance, encouraged greatly by two men from Britain, the missionary Boniface and the scholar Alcuin, would provide seed for the propagation of the gospel and of Christian culture all throughout Europe in the coming generations.

Lepanto

Four hundred and forty years ago today (October 7, 1571 A.D.) the Battle of Lepanto was fought in the Gulf of Patras, off western Greece. The naval forces of the (Christian) Holy League decisively crushed those of the (Muslim) Ottoman Turks, who for neither the first nor final time were threatening to overrun all of Europe if left unchecked. A young Miguel de Cervantes was a participant in the battle, in the course of which he was severely wounded, permanently losing the use of his left arm. The battle also inspired a wonderful poem by G. K. Chesterton, first published a century ago, whose final lines pay homage to Cervantes.

Bye, Steve. Thanks.

Urn, Belmont University

I’m trying to cultivate the discipline of drawing and sketching more, as well as committing to some “art for art’s sake” time at least once a week or so. Here’s a sketch (pen) I made of an urn during some down time on this gorgeous autumn afternoon, on the campus of Belmont University.

30th Anniversary, The Concert in Central Park

Thirty years ago today Simon and Garfunkel reunited for an historic free concert in New York’s Central Park, before an enthralled audience of half a million. The iconic poster art promoting the event was created by (now) legendary designer/illustrator Michael Doret.

2011 AIGA CASE Awards, Think Tank

I had a great time this weekend at two events sponsored by AIGA Nashville. At Friday night’s CASE Awards Show I had the privilege of rubbing shoulders with over a couple hundred fellow designers from the local scene, while enjoying a first hand, up close look at all the pieces that I had only gotten a glimpse at previously, during the online judging. It was so good both to catch up with a number of old friends and to make some delightful new acquaintances as well, all in the context of some really incredible work. What a talented bunch of creative folks! I was very honored to receive the Best of Illustration award for my work on the HCSB Study Bible. Thanks everyone, and congratulations to all the other winners!

Saturday’s Think Tank Conference included an impressive lineup of speakers, each of whom had some very interesting and inspiring things to say: Raphael Grignani, Kate Bingaman-Burt, Justin Ahrens, and Joe Duffy. I found Joe Duffy to be especially impressive and inspiring: here’s a guy possessed of jaw-dropping talent who, while exhibiting an unmistakable-yet-understated confidence in his own abilities, displays surprisingly down-to-earth humility as well.

If you’re in the Nashville area and in the creative industry, don’t miss these events next year!

The Legacy of Bosworth

On this date in 1485 was fought the Battle of Bosworth Field, in which Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond (subsequently King Henry VII), heir of the Lancastrian line, defeated the Yorkist usurper of the throne, King Richard III (portrait at left). It would prove to be a watershed event in English history; many, in fact, point to it as the line of demarcation between medieval and modern England. Richard, who was slain in the melee, holds the distinction of being the last English king to die upon the battlefield. Richard is also regarded as the last of the Plantagenet line, whose dynastic rule had extended through thirteen monarchs and endured for more than three centuries.

For Henry’s part, his claim to the throne, though legitimate, was somewhat tenuous: on his father’s side, he was descended from Henry V’s widowed Queen, Catherine of France, but this connection served merely to buttress the real claim, which came via his mother’s heritage as the great-granddaughter of John of Gaunt, noted son of King Edward III. This link was solidified beyond all doubting (if not quite all disputing) when Henry married Princess Elizabeth, the only surviving child of Edward IV and heiress of the rival House of York. The battle, the marriage, and a few subsequent skirmishes brought an end to the Wars of the Roses, which had torn England apart for three decades. Despite changes in houses or family names, the heirs of Henry Tudor retain the crown of England to this day, as evidenced in the current Royal Arms by the inclusion (at the lower portion) of the red and white Tudor Rose.

It is impossible even to imagine how English and world history might have been altered by a different outcome at Bosworth Field. Without Henry VII, there could have been (most notably) no Henry VIII, and no Elizabeth I. There would have been no English Reformation, or at any rate, there would surely have been a decidedly different one, for better or for worse. And not to be forgotten is the extent to which the arts flourished under the Tudors. The Renaissance was first introduced into England during the reign of Henry VII. Both the strikingly vivid bust of Henry and the paired funeral effigies of Henry and his wife, Elizabeth, shown below, are the work of Italian sculptor Pietro Torrigiano.

Architectural innovation flourished under both Henry VII and VIII—indeed the royal house of Tudor lent its name to an enduring architectural style. Henry VIII is remembered for his patronage of the great portrait artist Hans Holbein, and the Tudor-dominated sixteenth century gave rise to incomparable luminaries in both music (e.g. Thomas Tallis, William Byrd) and literature (e.g. Edmund Spenser, William Shakespeare), thus enriching by incalculable degrees the cultural heritage of England, the West, and, indeed, the World.

All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire divisions,
O, now let Richmond [i.e. Henry] and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac’d peace,
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!

—William Shakespeare, from King Richard the Third

Fire and Water, Nature and Grace

I just saw Terence Melick’s much-talked-about film The Tree of Life this past week. More like cinematic poetry or an art house film than a typical mainstream movie, it is both euphorically beautiful and intensely thought provoking. Above all, it portrays a creation that is super-charged with wonder, and spends much of its two-and-a-half hour length inviting us simply to bask in that wonder in true Chestertonian spirit.

There are so many avenues worth exploring and commenting on. (My friend Brian McLain has some keen insights, especially regarding the film’s reliance upon the viewer’s own participation via his or her own subjective experiences, relationships, and memories, which I commend to you.) Perhaps I will get around to surveying some of those other perspectives as well, but for now I want to start at the shallow end and speak to those aspects that I feel most qualified to deal with, which have to do with the nature of some of the visual symbolism engaged in the film.

First of all, with the noted exception of the evolutionary framework employed (though even that is intriguingly toyed with, raising some issues that I will shelve for later discussion, perhaps) the symbolism that Melick employs is pervasively and explicitly Christian and scriptural. The film opens with a quotation from the Book of Job, Chapter 38:

Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation...while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

The themes of Job resurface again and again as the narrative unfolds, and there is also a very early and explicit reference to the tension between “Nature” and “Grace”. Taken simply at face value, this is obvious and potent enough. However, I think it also helps to reflect that within the Christian tradition, this fundamental dichotomy (at times pushed to dualistic extremes) has gone by a number of other names, at least some of which I think there is good reason to believe that Melick is also intending to conjure up at various points. These would include, but are by no means limited to: Law vs. Grace, Justice vs. Mercy, Righteousness vs. Sinfulness, Love vs. Judgement, Forgiveness vs. Discipline and/or Punishment, Free Will vs. Predestination, Salvation vs. Damnation, Flesh vs. Spirit.

Visually speaking, two of the most recurring images employed in The Tree of Life are fire and water. It’s really essential to have a self-conscious grasp of the biblical associations of these two metaphors in order to adequately appreciate how Melick employs them throughout his own work here. To give a brief biblical catalog: Water is primordial (Genesis 1:2). It is mysterious (due, at least in part, to its hidden depths and to its elusive, undulating motions). Water is most often associated with its life-granting and regenerative qualities—with birth and with re-birth, but it also has to be remembered that it can easily be turned into a threatening instrument of judgement and destruction. When contrasted with dry land, for instance, it often represents the forces of wickedness threatening to submerge and wipe out the people of God (Isaiah 8:7-8). Fire likewise is thought of first and foremost as an element of judgement, condemnation, and ruination, which it certainly is. But fire is also associated with holiness, and with testing and purification (Exodus 3:1-6, Isaiah 6:1-7, Psalm 12:6). Following this line, its implementation is often towards radically transformational as opposed to purely destructive ends (II Kings 2:11, Malachi 3:1-4, II Peter 3:5-13). Significantly, both water and fire are associated with the Holy Spirit. (Bird images are as well, which is also worth noting with respect to Melick’s film.)

As should already be apparent by this point, it is essential to consider that the relationship between these two “elements” and their various associations is not one of pure or simple antithesis, but rather, the antithesis is dynamic and complicated—wondrously so. To illustrate this point, let me turn to the work of another visual artist who explored these same themes to great effect in his own work: the nineteenth century landscape painter Frederic Edwin Church. (Gene Edward Veith offers an excellent critique of Church and the other prominent painters of the Hudson River School in his book Painters of Faith, and I owe the following observations to him.) I was reminded a number of times during The Tree of Life of Church’s painting Cotopaxi.

Here we have fire: the volcano, the smoky ash cloud, the sunset, and the eerily glowing foothills. We also have water: the waterfall, obviously, but also (possibly) the cool tones of the sky (the waters above the firmament) in the extreme background. Interestingly, the two elements intermingle in the mid-ground, as the fiery sun is reflected in the lake behind the falls. The question to be posed is this: when it comes to “fire” and “water” which of these forces is destructive and which is regenerative? Meditate on this painting, and think about it some more. Are you sure? Is the question, and its answer, a simple one after all?

Yosemite Valley, Tunnel View

A year ago this month I got to fulfill a long-time dream: my brother Jared and I spent three days and two nights backpacking in Yosemite National Park, culminating in a climb to the top of famed Half Dome. I’ve intended ever since to celebrate the occasion with some artwork but, the tyranny of the urgent being such as it is, only within the last few days have I been able (prompted both by the anniversary and a bit of a lull in paying work) to produce the first of what I hope will eventually be several pieces on the subject.

This illustration was executed on scratchboard with watercolor. The view is toward the west-facing mouth of the valley as seen from the lower end of the Wawona Tunnel. There are three different roads that lead into the valley, but this one, which connects to Hwy. 41 towards Oakhurst and Fresno, provides the most spectacular and dramatic view all the way up the length of the valley. Take this route into the park, and you’re just driving along through wooded hillsides and then, all of a sudden you turn a corner, there’s a break in the trees, and there it is—and you realize that all the paintings and photographs you’ve ever seen of it haven’t even come within fifty miles of preparing you for the arresting beauty and overpowering immensity of what is presented to you at that moment. El Capitan thrusts its enormous bulk straight up into the sky, Bridalveil Fall thunders, and Half Dome, that most peculiarly-shaped mountain, transfixes your gaze, beckons, and looms large, even from a distance of seven miles.

Logo Design: Parish Presbyterian Church

Another new logo design, this one for Parish Presbyterian Church in Franklin, TN. Working at the moment on some printed material that looks like it has the potential to carry this design forward into some pretty cool directions, so hopefully stay tuned for more on that before too long.

Gillian Welch: The Harrow & the Harvest

After a wait of eight long years we at last have an album of new material from alternative country queen Gillian Welch. I ordered my copy last night. (Had to have the CD, of course.) In fact, it’s hard to say which I’m more excited about: listening to the music for the first time, or getting to hold the one-of-a-kind, letterpressed, hand-stained-with-coffee cover art (printed on, or rather into, extra-thick, 100% cotton paper). Check out this nifty video chronicling the production process.

GW and partner Dave Rawlings (one of the most underrated guitarists around, in my opinion) put on an unforgettable show for my brother, myself, and approximately 200 other patrons who managed to cram into the legendary Station Inn on St. Patrick's Day several years ago. (That place isn’t much bigger than my basement, which is a plus, in my opinion. I’m glad I got to catch them early enough in their career when they could still play little joints like that.) I don’t make it out to many shows any more these days, but I might have to spring to see them again when they take the stage at the (also-legendary) Ryman Auditorium in December.