Day sixteen of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Old man by John Dickson Batten from Celtic fairy tales
Chigoe fleas by an unknown artist from Nouveau dictionnaire encyclopédique universel illustré
i'll tumble 4 ya
Day fifteen of The 100 Day Project.
This guy caught my eye on the Old Book Illustrations website pretty early on in the project.
I wasn’t sure at that point what part he would play, but I knew he would appear in my 100 Day Project.
This morning I thought of a perfect setting for him (and his mates) and went about creating this image this afternoon.
It wasn’t until I’d finalised the image that I read the description of Buer:
‘Depiction of Buer, described as a second-class demon and president of hell. He teaches philosophy, logic and the properties of medicinal plants. He claims to provide good servants and cure the sick. He has fifty legions under his command.’
I LOL’ed at the description when I read it. Because yesterday I became caught up in trying to discourage friends on social media from sharing conspiracy theories and misinformation about the Covid-19 pandemic, and to instead take a course in critical thinking.
I feel like Buer would have been a handy friend to have around yesterday.
He’s depicted in the Dictionaire Infernal, a wood engraving by Louis Le Breton.
The landscape I’ve set him against was taken by me in Oxford just over four years ago and now seems even more appropriate for such a learned fellow.
I’m kind of confused about why he was deemed a demon, but my atheist self has some ideas...
Illustrations:
Buer by Louis Le Breton from Dictionnaire Infernal
burst
I remember that day so vividly.
We'd been told time and time again not to play there. Not to go beyond the chain-link fence at the edge of the village. We had the run of the quiet dirt roads, the open gardens of our home and our neighbours' homes. But we weren't to venture beyond the fence at any time, for any reason. It wasn't safe.
Of course, that meant we had to. It was a challenge, not an order, wasn't it?
We imagined all sorts of horrible goings-on beyond the fence. Even though nothing was really hidden by it. We could see what was there. It wasn't really dangerous, was it?
Dangerous was something you couldn't see.
Dangerous was falling down the rainwater drain in the kerbside. Falling into the sewers below and being swept along in our neighbours' wastewater. The foul water filling our mouths, our noses, our eyes and our ears before anyone could hear us calling out.
Dangerous was strange men in strange cars offering us sweets. Men who shouldn't be approaching girls our age. We'd been told what dangers lay in accepting candy from strangers. Those men were old and odd, and we weren't interested in them. But we knew they were dangerous even then, so we never entertained the thought of breaking the rules for a few morsels of candy.
Dangerous was playing too near the nuclear power plant that overlooked our village. We'd heard the local butcher telling our parents stories of animals that had wandered too close to the plant that had developed strange defects and growths. He'd slaughtered them with his own hand but buried them rather than selling their flesh to the village, even as feed for other animals.
But beyond the fence, all we could see was the sea. The beautiful ocean shimmered in the sunlight. Blue as the blue sky above it. The waves generated a cacophony of sound that reached our bedrooms. That lulled us to sleep each night in summer when the salty air wafted in through open windows to cool us.
We watched the waves draw up over the shingle while the boys played football in the street. Our fingers curved around the metal diamonds in the fence. We pressed our foreheads against the intersections of metal and watched the foam as it inched its way up over the dry pebbles. Drawing away to reveal wet pebbles. We were mesmerised.
It was our birthday.
Maybe that's why we were such good friends and had been for so long. We were born on the same day, in the same hospital. Our mothers hadn't known each other. They met in the maternity ward and her family ended up moving to our village just after. We'd heard the story over and over. We didn't really care about the details, we just wanted to go out and play together, and rolled our eyes each time our mothers retold how they'd met.
We each had a balloon in the shape of a star. The star in each was transparent. We pulled faces at each other through them. We pushed our noses and mouths against the plastic to distort our features. We laughed until we thought we might burst.
We ran along the street to the fence with our balloons flying in the air behind us. The boys were playing football, as usual, but we were more intent on seeing, if we ran fast enough, would the balloons lift us off the road? Would the run-up we had and the lightness of the balloons allow us to take off and carry us up and over the fence?
It was worth a try.
But, of course, it was a fool's errand. It was fun, but not going to get us where we wanted.
Instead, we knew there was a section of the fence that had been cut away. Opened up by older kids to access the shingle beach so they could gather after dusk to drink and skim stones on the ocean and make out.
We checked the boys were still distracted by football. That no one was watching.
We shimmied through the fence. Protective of our summer dresses and balloons as we did so. Not wanting to tear one or burst the other.
We made our way down to the water, kicking our jelly shoes off as we got closer. We slowed, the shingle awkward and uncomfortable under our bare feet. Despite that, we continued forward. Intent on feeling the coolness of the water on our small toes. Knowing we were doing wrong but doing it anyway.
Because it was our birthday. We could do anything on our birthday.
She waded into the water ahead of me. The waves lapped at our hands, we giggled and laughed together, the ribbon of our balloons still clasped tightly in our fists.
Behind us, suddenly, we heard a collection of screams. The screeching of brakes. We turned back toward the fence and the road beyond. We instinctively reached out for each other's hand and held our breath.
She let go of her balloon. It wafted gently on the wind back toward the fence.
We watched in horror, everything feeling like it was in slow motion, as our parents and our friend's parents ran out into the street.
We watched as her father scooped up her brother's lifeless body from the road. We watched, horrified, and wondered if this was why our parents had warned us about going beyond the fence. If this was why it was dangerous.
Even now, we wonder if it was our fault.
butterfly clips
Day fourteen of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
T-shaped incision by Max Brödel from Diseases of the kidneys, ureters and bladder
Blue mountain swallowtails and ornithoptera priamus by Edward Donovan from An epitome of the natural history of the insects of India
insectation
the disciple and the intellectual
Day twelve of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
A good monk by Wilhelm von Kaulbach from Reineke Fuchs
Heron by J. J. Grandville from Fables de La Fontaine, volume one
those magnificent men on their flying machines
Day eleven of The 100 Day Project.
Here's one I created earlier :)
I made this one yesterday so I could have a lazy lie-in this morning and hopefully get out with my camera this afternoon to celebrate my birthday.
Hope you're having a lovely day wherever you are.
Stay safe! x
Illustrations:
Feathered steed by Carlo Chiostri from La avventure di Pinocchio
The chase by J. J. Grandville from Un autre monde
the courtship
Day ten of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Dodo by Peter Newell from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Flamingo by an unknown artist from Bilder-atlas zur Wissenschaftlich-populären Naturgeschichte der Vögel in ihren sämmtlichen Hauptformen
garden of unearthly delights
Day nine of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Casts of renal pelvis and calyces by Max Brödel from Diseases of the kidneys, ureters and bladder
Common octopus by an unknown artist from Nouveau dictionnaire encyclopédique universel illustré
class of 1811
Day eight of The 100 Day Project.
The illustrations that make up today's collage are all by Samuel Howitt from his compilation A New Work of Animals.
I've never seen the original book but all of the images were available on the Old Book Illustrations website. They caught my eye for the above concept while looking through illustrations for yesterday's collage.
Illustrations:
Horse, elephant, greyhound, hare, ram and cat by Samuel Howitt from A new work of animals
of frostbite and food bellies
Day seven of The 100 Day Project.
Did I mention I'm also a fan of the absurd?
I had big plans for a new instalment of my postcards from another's life series today.
But then I had a bit of a lie-in. I spent about two hours on Skype with my dad. I did some chores. I joined a Quaranteam session with Marianne Cantwell. And I had to work on 'this' despite not knowing what it was going to be when I started.
My big plans have been rescheduled to tomorrow. But I already have an idea of what tomorrow's collage and my next 'pfal' will be.
Illustrations:
Behemoth by Louis Le Breton from Dictionnaire Infernal
Frostbitten sun by Gustave Doré from Wunderbare Reisen zu Wasser und Lande, feldzüge und lustige Abentheuer des Freyherrn von Münchhausen wie er dieselben bey der Flasche im Zirkel seiner Freunde zu Erzählen pflegt. Aus dem Englischen nach der neuesten Ausgabe übersetzt, hier und da erweitert und mit noch mehr Küpfern gezieret
from the moment you’re born you’re dying
Day six of The 100 Day Project.
This is what happens when an atheist searches for Easter symbols on the Old Book Illustrations website. Specifically, rabbits and eggs, to create a topical collage.
I had no idea what I might create today, but I guess my subconscious was driven by death, birth/rebirth, the perils of life, and the death toll from Covid-19 surpassing 10,000 in the UK overnight.
Listening to The Dirty Three all day may or may not have also contributed to the bleakness of today's collage. Though it doesn't really capture my mood today.
I've had a good day. I hope you have too x
Illustrations:
Four rabbits by Carlo Chiostri from La avventure di Pinocchio
A young one unfeathered by Gustave Doré from Wunderbare Reisen zu Wasser und Lande, feldzüge und lustige Abentheuer des Freyherrn von Münchhausen wie er dieselben bey der Flasche im Zirkel seiner Freunde zu Erzählen pflegt. Aus dem Englischen nach der neuesten Ausgabe übersetzt, hier und da erweitert und mit noch mehr Küpfern gezieret
head first
Day five of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Diving head first by an unknown artist from Nouveau dictionnaire encyclopédique universel illustré
The fairies flew away by Charles Henry Bennett from The chicken market and other fairy tales
up, up and away
Day four of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Seizing our captain by Gustave Doré from Wunderbare Reisen zu Wasser und Lande, feldzüge und lustige Abentheuer des Freyherrn von Münchhausen wie er dieselben bey der Flasche im Zirkel seiner Freunde zu Erzählen pflegt. Aus dem Englischen nach der neuesten Ausgabe übersetzt, hier und da erweitert und mit noch mehr Küpfern gezieret
Aerostat ‘Le Comte d’Artois’ by an unknown artist from Les aérostats
a knight at the opera
Day three of The 100 Day Project.
Did I mention I like puns...?
Not my best Photoshop work but today was busier than I expected. I hope you can forgive the poor execution as a trade-off for the (at least vaguely amusing) concept.
I like to think the knight is mincing for a bit of attention, but getting none. Maybe this is moments before a bloodbath brought on by the lack of attention?
Or maybe the thought of an ensuing bloodbath is just me projecting because loud music and bad singing are coming from my neighbour's backyard for the second time within a month.
Illustrations:
Soldier with shield and sword by Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc from Dictionnaire raisonné du mobilier français de l'époque carlovingienne à la Renaissance vol. 5
The opera by J. Godwin from The poets of the nineteenth century
a plague o' both your houses
Day two of The 100 Day Project.
Obviously inspired by the current situation but using a remix of plagues from past and present that are not directly related to the current situation.
Illustrations:
A physician wearing a seventeenth-century plague preventive costume
Château de Mehun-sur-Yèvre and Château de Chaumont by Albert Robida from La vieille France: la Touraine
something fishy this way comes
So, I'm having another stab at The 100 Day Project this year since I have more time on my hands than usual now.
My 'postcards from another's life' series will continue as and when I'm inspired, but this year's project is to create a digital collage each day, using a mixture of my own images and public domain illustrations or artwork, inspired by current events, personal feelings, film/literature/famous quotes/other popular culture, etc. Whatever inspires me on that day.
I started off with a specific quote in my head today, but couldn't find a public domain illustration to build the image around, so looked to my own collection of photographs to build upon instead which took me off in this direction.
It took me longer to get to the concept than to create the actual collage.
Not the worst result for my first attempt at this, but hopefully the results improve over time.
Illustrations:
All illustrations taken from Le règne animal distribué d'après son organisation, vol. 4 (atlas), 1836-1849
Orbicular batfish, rocksucker and scaly dragonfish by Jacques Reyne Isidore Acarie-Baron
beautyberry
They unfurled the blanket on the damp ground. The sun had appeared. The rain had stopped long enough ago for them to feel confident of a pleasant, warm spring afternoon. But the soil beneath their feet still held a lot of water. And, here and there, raindrops still rested on the leaves, flowers and berries around them.
The berries, in particular, caught their eye. A royal purple. A vibrant, saturated colour set off by the green of the leaves separating the bunches along the branches. The berries clustered in groups at regular intervals along the stem, like disordered regiments at ease on their tea break. Clustered but unorganised.
They talked while they unpacked their afternoon's repast. They laid out their plates, cutlery, glasses. The cheese, crackers, fruit jelly and wine.
The sun licked at their cheeks. Added an extra pinkness to their complexions; a gentle glow.
They kicked off their shoes and took a seat. They nibbled at the tasty morsels they'd gathered together. Feasted upon the cheese; drank deeply of the wine made from the berries that overhung their current resting place. It warmed them from the inside while the spring sun warmed their skin with gentle kisses.
They spread the jam - made from the berries festooning the clearing - across their scones. Placed generous daubs of clotted cream upon it. The sweetness was overwhelming and welcome.
Once they had eaten their fill - talking animatedly throughout - they reclined on the blanket and gazed up at the blue sky. The light breeze caught the berry bushes' branches and caused them to swing in and out of their line of sight.
She looked up at the berries and let her gaze drop in and out of focus. As she let her eyes rest and her focus soften, the berries took on the soft, blurred, bokeh appearance of lights photographed out of focus at night.
She reached a hand up and gently twisted a berry off the branch with her fingertips. The berry still held the last vestiges of the spring shower, causing its purple blush to stain her fingertips as she rolled it between them. She drew the berry under her nose to smell its scent of crushed leaves.
As she turned the berry between her fingers, they talked of immortality in all its guises. The banter between them outlined the potential pitfalls of an eternity of life. They lay side by side curled up against each other, lost in a comfortable silence.
Unbeknownst to each other, both their thoughts turned to how pleasant it would be for this moment to last an eternity. They both sank into this thought, unaware of the collective power it held over them. They closed their eyes and let the spring sun warm their skin as the thought warmed their hearts.
They poured more wine and drank it as they talked more with each other. Listened more to each other. They nibbled at the remaining cheese, sliced apple and beautyberry jam. They roused themselves enough to draw out the Scrabble board and laugh their way through a close game.
As the game ended, the sun's warmth receded. The light had dropped without them noticing while they were absorbed in letters, words, high scores and banter. They pulled their jackets about them, feeling the cool afternoon breeze caress their arms and cheeks.
They gathered up the remnants of their meal. Their belongings. They shook out the blanket. The beautyberries that had fallen onto the blanket as they sat and conversed, teased and taunted, and lost themselves in the moment and each other, scattered around them.
The purple berries settled into the damp grass around them. They unwittingly trampled them underfoot as they moved around the clearing gathering up the detritus of their picnic. As they packed away the last of their picnic items, the remaining morsels of food and drink, and bundled them up, a light shower started to fall.
They moved faster, now conscious the clouds coming in threatened a greater downpour, but they savoured the touch of rain upon their faces. Dampening their hair. They paused as they both reached for the picnic basket.
He paused to wipe away a raindrop from her cheek. She paused to taste of the sweet rain that rested on his lips. They shared one last moment that felt like an eternity before turning to run, pell-mell, for the car.
They reached the warmth and dryness of its interior as the summer rain started to fall with full force. Pelting the windscreen and obscuring them from view of the outside world.
leonine
She shook out her hair, giving nary a care, and glanced around at the flock
She arched her back, gathered her pack, and plotted the demise of the stock
She watched and she waited, anticipated, observing their comings and goings
She paced and she paced, assessed the enemy she faced, she watched for their weaknesses showing
The air was so clear their words she could hear, they drifted across on the breeze
She took it all in, their clamour and din, as it carried across narrow seas
She awaited their landing from where she was standing smelling their scent on the air
It seemed such a long time but in the meantime she prepared for their imminent scare
Meanwhile on the incoming boat her enemies they stayed afloat, oblivious to her presence
Their doe-eyes distracted, their future seemed fractured, but they clearly had no sense
Of what was soon coming, no hawing and humming, their future by her was well-mapped
She openly taunted, her strength it was flaunted, but meanwhile those sheep were well napped
As she yawned her teeth bared, they were suddenly scared, they saw from the boat their demise
Too late they foresaw the strength of her maw, too late their route to revise
She slavered and drooled, her hunger it ruled, her teeth gnashed together in anticipation
Her mind was intent, her appetite unspent, she eyed her incoming meal with elation
From the shore she surmised their growing surprise at the future that faced them on landing
It gave her great pleasure to enjoy at leisure their burgeoning understanding
They were cowed and they wavered, their lowing it quavered, their courage it turned to milk
They flocked together, as if by a tether, shimmering as though they were silk
The shepherds and crew, devouring their stew, continued oblivious below decks
They had not a worry for nought but their curry, but definitely not for their necks
The men would continue to strain every sinew and entertain each other
They'd chew on their gristle and emit a whistle and fantasise 'bout their lover
They drank deep, ate hearty, they dressed oh so smartly, they exhibited oh so much style
They sang and they jigged, their boat they had rigged, to carry them one further mile
Their journey's end was in sight, they continued to enjoy the night, oblivious to what may await them
They revelled in anticipation, experienced overwhelming elation, despite the oncoming mayhem
The sheep and the cow, alert at the bow, gazed upon her mane
The second mate and the drunk navigat-or revelled in their shame
The boat it did falter, its course it may alter, but none at the wheel were prepared
To change the ship's course, avoid all remorse, so lives of those creatures were spared
They bobbed on the waves, contemplated their graves, they lowed and they baa-ed until hoarse
The shanties below, sung by every young fellow, drowned out their sounds with such force
Meanwhile on the land, the lioness took her stand, she focussed on what was to come
She stifled a roar, surveyed the seashore, and wondered where had they come from
Her pack stood attentive, eager yet pensive, intermittently licking their lips
They paced and they wandered, their energy squandered, their eyes fixed on the ships
They maundered, meandered, their thoughts underhanded, victory certain as life
Their leader so strong but the boat's approach so long, their attention, it turned to strife
They fought and they tussled, their fur it was ruffled, they argued amongst one other
They were distracted with thought, they played and they fought, they pursued another's lover
In short, they grew weary, some grew teary, their minds moved away from the prize
They bickered and teased, they snickered and sleazed, they mislaid the element of surprise
As the boat drew up to the shore, she let out a heart-stopping roar, that made the boatswain faint
Her teeth bared, ferocious, her manner precocious, the crew all prayed to a saint
Quite clearly it wasn't the same one, as their salvation wasn't won, so their fate lay in the paws of the beast
Her mercy was not what they hoped, the weaker ones fell and they moped, as she came at them from the east
Despite her pack's distraction, the campaign gained much traction, they tore apart man, sheep and cow
The blood it flowed quite free, it coloured all the sea, the colour red still dominates it now
She watched her pack quite proudly, she expressed her gratitude loudly, they dragged the creatures one by one back to the den
She knows the outcome could have been different, though she's not one to be diffident, but this time it was simply a matter of when
tunnelling
He ran his fingertips along the wall as he walked toward the light. The surface of the wall crumbled away, falling to the tunnel floor as he moved forward. He raised his fingers to his nose, looking ahead into the light, not pausing for a moment.
The smell as he ran his fingers under his nostrils brought back so many memories. Days spent with his mother in the yard picking strawberries from the patch. Gathering blackberries from the bush out front of the house.
The damp, dank smell of the tunnel mixed with the dirt to bring back a sense of petrichor without the grass. There was no grass to be seen.
He felt it should have been an unpleasant smell, down here, but the mixture of scent and memory made for an overwhelming feeling of inexplicable nostalgia. Inexplicable because he had never been here before.
The light from the stone, glassless windows played on the wall. The wall's uneven surface glimmered a little in the sunlight. It brightened and darkened as the sun played over it, and as the clouds moved across the face of the sun.
He gently placed his fingers on a sun-kissed patch of wall and felt the warm clamminess of the soil forming it against his fingertips. It brought back overwhelming memories of days spent by the local creek on sweltering summer days.
He pressed his fingers into the warm, moist mud and watched the soil curve around his fingertips. He wondered if the sunlight ever dried the wall out, or if it just warmed the moisture like it was doing now.
He dragged his fingers down the wall with movements more deliberate and less tentative than those previously. The surface of the wall smeared and distorted with the movement of his fingers.
He left his mark on the wall but doubted it would remain. For he could see no evidence of another's presence here beyond the existence of the tunnel itself.
Clearly many had been here before him. No one man could have created this opening, this entrance, this channel, on their own. No solitary man was up to that task.
This was a collaboration. A mammoth task. But around him he saw no evidence of man. No evidence of those before him. The tunnel appeared untouched, but simply by its existence it could not have been. He was not the first being to have wandered through this darkened hall.
He moved forward. He was drawn forward without really knowing why. He just didn't feel that moving backwards was an option. A valid avenue to take. The light led him forward. The possibility of what was beyond enticed him. It scared him, but he was hypnotised by the prospect of what may lay ahead.
To be honest, he didn't even really know how he had come to be here. He felt he had some vague sense of 'before', but it was just that: vague. It didn't really make a lot of sense and was just a mixture of sounds, smells, lights, tastes and textures. Nothing solid he could put his finger on.
Not like the warm, earthen tunnel walls his hands continued to gently glide over as he moved forward.
Before he had felt smothered by the dark. Warm, cocooned, safe. But smothered. As he moved forward he felt less so. He felt the air thinning. Less choked with the musty, but homely scent he'd become used to.
He tentatively but optimistically moved forward. He noticed new scents. Ones he couldn't identify. Confusing. Fascinating. Terrifying. Enticing. He felt overwhelmed but knew that turning back wasn't the right way either. His curiosity overpowered his fear. Drove him forward, despite not knowing where it drew him.
The light grew brighter. He saw colours around him now, not just shades of black, white and grey.
He heard sounds beyond what he'd heard before. Previously they were always muffled. Calming, but unclear. A dull aching sound that he'd wanted to draw closer to and hear properly. Like listening in to a conversation through a wall that you can't quite make out.
The sort of muffled conversation that keeps you awake nights as you catch an exclamation, a cry, a sob here and there, but you can't quite make out the context. What it all means. Whether the people you hear are arguing or conversing, happy or sad, excited or angry.
But as he moved closer it felt like a lens coming into focus. A camera zooming in on the scene. It all became clear.