29 November 2018

Mercenary Motives and Sordid Ambitions

 Arthur Jerome Eddy, Delight; The Soul of Art  (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1902), p. 14:
Delight is the very soul of art. Without delight there can be no art. Whatever the surroundings and the circumstances of the artist; however humble, however mean, however wretched, though each breath be drawn in pain, and every effort cost a sigh, yet must his work delight him, or it ceases to be art. And if perchance he yields to adverse circumstances, and under the pressure of necessity begins to produce either listlessly or feverishly, simply to sell, to gain a livelihood, and not because he is compelled by love, — then you may be sure his work becomes more and more mechanical, and less and less artistic. In the world about us how often do we see delight fade from the eyes of the poet, the painter, the sculptor, and despair or grim determination take its place. The enthusiasm of youth vanishes before sorrows and disappointments, or gives way with age to mercenary motives and sordid ambitions; delight disappears, thought is labored, inspiration gone; the artist becomes a plodder and a mechanic.
Henri Martin, Muse au crépuscule (c. 1895)

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28 November 2018

Party Politics

William Ellery Channing (1780-1842), "Self Culture," in The Works of William Ellery Channing (Glasgow: Richard Griffin & Co., 1840), p. 256:
It is hard enough for an individual, when contending all alone for an interest or an opinion, to keep down his pride, wilfulness, love of victory, anger, and other personal feelings. But let him join a multitude in the same warfare, and, without singular self-control, he receives into his single breast, the vehemence, obstinacy, and vindictiveness of all. The triumph of his party becomes immeasurably dearer to him than the principle, true or false, which was the original ground of division. The conflict becomes a struggle, not for principle, but for power, for victory ; and the desperateness, the wickedness of such struggles, is the great burden of history. In truth, it matters little what men divide about, whether it be a foot of land or precedence in a procession. Let them but begin to fight for it, and self-will, ill-will, the rage for victory, the dread of mortification and defeat, make the trifle as weighty as a matter of life and death. The Greek or Eastern empire was shaken to its foundation by parties, which differed only about the merits of charioteers at the amphitheatre. Party spirit is singularly hostile to moral independence. A man, in proportion as he drinks into it, sees, hears, judges by the senses and understandings of his party. He surrenders the freedom of a man, the right of using and speaking his own mind, and echoes the applause or maledictions, with which the leaders or passionate partisans see fit that the country should ring.
Francisco Goya, Sad Forebodings of What Is to Come (c. 1820)

Not unrelated: Individuals

26 November 2018

The Munsell Colour System

A. H. Munsell, A Grammar of Color, ill. T. M. Cleland, (Mittineague: The Strathmore Paper Company, 1921), p. 45:


Id., p. 134:

22 November 2018

Artistic Bankruptcy and Cultural Chaos

T. M. Cleland, "Harsh Words; An Address Delivered to a Meeting of The American Institute of Graphic Arts in New York City, February 5th, 1940," Books and Printing, ed. Paul A. Bennett (Cleveland: The World Publishing Company, 1951), pp. 321-336 (at 322-323):
I can bring you no message of hope or light of inspiration. Much as I am filled with admiration and respect for many individual talents and accomplishments that still contrive to exist, they seem to me to stand unhappily isolated in what I can’t help viewing as artistic bankruptcy and cultural chaos. Among them are printers making beautiful books and other things about as well as these things have ever been made. But as to the general volume of printing, no one has asked me, to be sure, what I thought was the lowest point of artistic taste in the five hundred years of its existence which we are celebrating this year, but if anyone should ask me, I would be bound to say that we have reached that point just about now. Things may get worse, but it’s hard to see how they can. To paraphrase a remark in the concluding chapter of Updike’s classic work on printing types, it has taken printers and publishers five hundred years to find out how wretchedly books and other things can be made and still sell.
T. M. Cleland, image from Princeton University, via Mark D. Ruffner

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20 November 2018

15 November 2018

As Gracious as an Act of Charity

Walter Rose, The Village Carpenter (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1938), p. 129:
There is (at least to me) great satisfaction in the restoration of old furniture, especially of pieces made prior to the nineteenth century. To take in hand a derelict piece covered with the grime of years and to clean and restore it almost to its original condition is as gracious as an act of charity. It also affords actual experience of the methods of old-time workmen and an insight into their marvellous craftsmanship. But before undertaking such a job the carpenter ought to make a study of the subject, as an  incorrect addition to a piece of period furniture is a perpetual offence, a reminder that he will be wise to avoid.
Id., p. 131:
Dull of soul indeed is the woodworker who, having such a repair in hand, experiences no feeling of sympathy with the dead and forgotten maker. The limitations of his tools are revealed by long slight undulations on the surface of the boards, the finish of his imperfect plane. This finish is the admiration of the connoisseur, who frequently wants it reproduced on modern work. This perplexes the carpenter; his modern planes are much too true to execute it properly.
For those interested in this sort of thing, I know of nothing better than Thomas Johnson's YouTube channel. I could watch him for hours.

Edward Henry Potthast, The Village Carpenter (1899) 

14 November 2018

It Must Not Be Taken Hardly

Aldus Manutius, quoted in George Haven Putnam, Books and Their Makers During the Middle Ages, Vol. I (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1896), p. 437:
I am hampered in my work by a thousand interruptions. Nearly every hour comes a letter from some scholar, and if I undertook to reply to them all, I should be obliged to devote day and night to scribbling. Then, through the day come calls from all kinds of visitors. Some desire merely to give a word of greeting, others want to know what there is new, while the greater number come to my office because they happen to have nothing else to do. "Let us look in upon Aldus," they say to each other. Then they loaf in and sit and chatter to no purpose. Even these people with no business are not so bad as those who have a poem to offer or something in prose (usually very prosy indeed) which they wish to see printed with the name of Aldus. These interruptions are now becoming too serious for me, and I must take steps to lessen them. Many letters I simply leave unanswered, while to others I send very brief replies; and as I do this not from pride or from discourtesy, but simply in order to be able to go on with my task of printing good books, it must not be taken hardly.
The typographer Bruce Rogers printed this quote as a leaflet:

Scan from the Library of Congress

9 November 2018

7 November 2018

Ian Jackson, 1951-2018

Georges Fourest (1864-1945), quoted in Histoires littéraires, vol. XVIII, no 69 (Janvier-Février-Mars 2017) 173-174 (translated by Ian Jackson):
Take nothing seriously: not yourself, nor others, nor anything in this world or in the next; — consider art (no capital A) to be neither a business (which is vile) nor a "priesthood" (which is naïve) but simply a pastime less absorbing than bridge, less demeaning than lotto: — aim to achieve perfection in things that are difficult and useless, remember that a writer will never be the equal of a clown, a juggler or a tightrope walker, and do not allow a day to pass without meditating on this declaration of our distant ancestor Malherbe: "A great poet is of no more use to the state than a good player at skittles" — spend as little time as possible with your contemporaries and try to live as comfortably as possible while working as little as possible. Take pains always to seem happy: this will annoy your friends. 


I only knew Ian Jackson from Mike Gilleland's Laudator Temporis Acti, where he was a frequent source of comments and quotes like the one above. I often wondered about the man behind the playful erudition, and was sorry to learn of his death earlier this year.

The summer issue of The Book Collector (Vol. 67, No. 2) included nineteen tributes to Ian, and these have been gathered into a limited edition offprint which features a drypoint portrait by his wife Ann Arnold. They reveal someone who was as generous as he was learned. Reading through the collection, I was particularly impressed by the equanimity of these lines to Stuart Bennett (at pp. 262-263):
. . . if it's benign, all is well; if not . . . I might recover with radiation or might be dead. Actually, one advantage of not working like a dog all of one's life and looking forward to an endless vista of well-earned vacation is that I have little novelty to anticipate, or disappointment to experience over a life cut short. There will always be another book, another article. It will be a beautiful day tomorrow whether I am here to experience it or not.
I still miss seeing the regular "Hat tip: Ian Jackson" on Mike's blog.

May the earth rest lightly upon him.


Ian's site remains online at www.ianjacksonbooks.com and the offprint is available from James Fergusson, who has devoted a page of his Abebooks store to Jacksonia. My copy was wrapped masterfully and arrived in perfect condition — a rare thing in an age when so many books are sentenced to plasticwrap poena cullei. I mention this because James tells me Ian "had strong views on packaging and the internet bookseller".

6 November 2018

Cerebral Hygiene

Mary Pickering, Auguste Comte: An Intellectual Biography, Vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 485 (footnotes omitted):
The final and most important result of Comte’s bout with mental instability in 1838 was his adoption of a new intellectual regime, which he called “cerebral hygiene.” Exasperated by the Saint-Simonians’ and journalists’ attacks on his creativity, he decided that he needed to preserve his “characteristic originality.” Henceforth he abstained from reading newspapers, books, and journals, except the weekly bulletins of the Academy of Sciences, which he only glanced through irregularly. To relax, he did permit himself, however, to read the “great poets of every age and nation.”
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5 November 2018

Walbaum ist wiedergeboren

I learn from Anne Quito in Quartzy  magazine (18 July, 2018) that Monotype has reissued the Walbaum typeface:
Using type specimens from 1803 and 1812, Nix, Crossgrove and Villanueva sought to extrapolate from Walbaum’s original intent, using the mantra, “What would Justus do?”
 Walbaum’s ornament set, restored by Juan Villanueva 

2 November 2018

He That Loveth a Book

Isaac Barrow, "Sermon XXII; Of Industry in Our Particular Calling as Scholars," The Works of the Learned Isaac Barrow, Vol. 3 (London: John Tillotson, 1700), p. 224:
It is a calling [i.e., scholarship] that fitteth a man for all conditions and fortunes; so that he can enjoy prosperity with moderation, and sustain adversity with comfort: he that loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counsellor, a cheerful companion, an effectual comforter. By study, by reading. by thinking, one may innocently divert and pleasantly entertain himself, as in all weathers, so in all fortunes.

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