Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Two recent acquisitions. The first shows a British soldier in profile, WWI vintage. His head is cut out of black paper and has been glued on the card. An actual silhouette, in other words.
The second is in turn a representation of a silhouette: the poet Goethe, Werther-like, contemplating the image of a young woman. The portrait itself is by Georg Melchior Kraus (1737-1806). Interesting how Goethe always looks like the same person no matter who is drawing or painting him: he must have been a fairly distinctive physical type. As opposed, say, to Keats, who looks very different from portrait to portrait. On the (few) Keats images, see the marvelous study Posthumous Keats, by Stanley Plumly.
Posted by Terry Castle at 3:44 PM
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Alas, a JPEG can't do justice to this awesome card: not only is the woman *embossed* her fetching black top is rendered using some strange, velvety-feeling paper. (Or is it thin fabric?) Something with a pile.
One of those photographs where the more you look at it the less and less photograph-like it becomes. The backdrop would seem to be false or else painted over, judging by the chalet. Only when you look at the woman's hands--and possibly the details of the face--do you 'intuit' the photograph that at some point must have been taken.
Posted by Terry Castle at 11:59 PM
Sunday, January 13, 2013
----the distinguished Bishop of Salisbury, 1885-1911.
A nice old English cabinet card (though the right arm looks a bit peculiar). Grand-nephew of William Wordsworth, to whom he would seem to bear only a slight resemblance. Indeed: imagine said Reverend with tight synthetic jersey top in place of vestments, a shaved nearly-bald head, and sporting an aerodynamically designed bicycle helmet and you realize this is actually Lance Armstrong in clerical drag.
Posted by Terry Castle at 6:28 PM
Friday, January 11, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Here for my uncle's funeral. London cold and sunny today, New Year's Day. Chatting with a lady in an antiquarian print shop on Cecil Court: mad as a hatter. She kept complaining about 'people who didn't understand her shop' and 'didn't belong.' She had hundreds of old postcards of Marie Studholme --every one that had ever been printed, it seemed. Alas, I'm afraid I did understand her shop.
Posted by Terry Castle at 11:11 AM