How Illuminated Medieval Manuscripts Were Made: A Step-by-Step Look at this Beautiful, Centuries-Old Craft

What place does the paper book have in our increas­ing­ly all-dig­i­tal present? While some util­i­tar­i­an argu­ments once mar­shaled in its favor (“You can read them in the bath­tub” and the like) have fall­en into dis­use, oth­er, more aes­thet­i­cal­ly focused argu­ments have arisen: that a work in print, for exam­ple, can achieve a state of beau­ty as an object in and of itself, the way a file on a lap­top, phone, or read­er nev­er can. In a sense, this case for the paper book in the 21st cen­tu­ry comes back around to the case for the paper book from the 12th cen­tu­ry and even ear­li­er, the age of the illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script.

Book­mak­ers back then had to con­cen­trate on pres­tige prod­ucts, giv­en that they could­n’t make books in any­thing like the num­bers even the hum­blest, most anti­quat­ed print­ing oper­a­tion can run off today.

In the video above, the Get­ty Muse­um reveals the painstak­ing phys­i­cal process behind the medieval illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­script: the sourc­ing, soak­ing, and stretch­ing of ani­mal skin for the parch­ment; the con­ver­sion of feath­ers into the quills and nuts into the ink with which scribes would write the text; the appli­ca­tion of gold leaf and oth­er col­ors by the illu­mi­na­tor as they drew in their designs; and the sewing of the bind­ing before encas­ing the whole pack­age tight­ly between clasped leather cov­ers.

Some illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts also bear elab­o­rate cov­er designs sculpt­ed of pre­cious met­al, but even with­out those, these elab­o­rate books — what with all the art and craft that went into them, not to men­tion all those pricey mate­ri­als — came out even more valu­able, at the time, than even the most cov­et­ed lap­top, phone, read­er, or oth­er con­sumer elec­tron­ic device today. Most of us in the devel­oped world can now buy one of those, but the non-insti­tu­tion­al patrons will­ing and able to com­mis­sion the most splen­did illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts in the Mid­dle Ages and ear­ly Renais­sance includ­ed most­ly “soci­ety’s rulers: emper­ors, kings, dukes, car­di­nals, and bish­ops.”

To ful­ly under­stand the mak­ing of the devices we use to read elec­tron­i­cal­ly today would require years and years of study, and so there’s some­thing sat­is­fy­ing in the fact that we can grasp so much about the mak­ing of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts with rel­a­tive ease: see, for exam­ple, the two-minute Get­ty video just above, “The Struc­ture of a Medieval Man­u­script.” A fuller under­stand­ing of the nature of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, both in the sense of their con­struc­tion and their place in soci­ety, makes for a fuller under­stand­ing of how rare the chance was to own beau­ti­ful books of their kind in their own time — and how much rar­er the exact com­bi­na­tion of skills need­ed to cre­ate that beau­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Bril­liant Col­ors of Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made with Alche­my

Behold the Beau­ti­ful Pages from a Medieval Monk’s Sketch­book: A Win­dow Into How Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made (1494)

The Aberdeen Bes­tiary, One of the Great Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts, Now Dig­i­tized in High Res­o­lu­tion & Made Avail­able Online

1,600-Year-Old Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script of the Aeneid Dig­i­tized & Put Online by The Vat­i­can

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Get Free Drawing Lessons from Katsushika Hokusai, Who Famously Painted The Great Wave of Kanagawa: Read His How-To Book, Quick Lessons in Simplified Drawings

Even if you don’t know eigh­teenth and nine­teenth cen­tu­ry Japan­ese art, you def­i­nite­ly know the work of eigh­teenth and nine­teenth cen­tu­ry Japan­ese artist Kat­sushi­ka Hoku­sai — specif­i­cal­ly his Great Wave off Kana­gawa. (And if you’d like to know a lit­tle more about it, have a look at this short video from PBS’ The Art Assign­ment.) But if that so often repro­duced, imi­tat­ed, and par­o­died 1830s wood­block print stands for Hoku­sai’s oeu­vre, it also obscures it, for in his long life he cre­at­ed not just many oth­er works of art but works that helped, and con­tin­ue to help, oth­ers cre­ate art as well.

Hoku­sai’s bib­li­og­ra­phy, writes a Metafil­ter user by the name of Theodo­lite, includes “a lit­tle-known how-to book: 略画早指南, or Quick Lessons in Sim­pli­fied Draw­ings, a man­u­al in three parts. Vol­ume I breaks every draw­ing down into sim­ple geo­met­ric shapes; vol­ume II decom­pos­es them into frag­men­tary con­tours; and vol­ume III neat­ly dia­grams each stroke and the order in which they were drawn.”

Fol­low those links and you can read each of the books page-by-page, and not to wor­ry if you don’t read Japan­ese; the artist ren­ders his exam­ples so clear­ly that the astute stu­dent can eas­i­ly fol­low them.

Not that an under­stand­ing of Japan­ese would­n’t enrich the read­ing expe­ri­ence: “Those are not all con­tours — they’re often char­ac­ters,” notes anoth­er Mefite in the com­ments. “On page 4, there are draw­ings based on の, no, and the cranes start with ふ, fu. On page 9, the draw­ing of the man on the right is elab­o­rat­ed from み, mi. The hill on page 12 comes from 山, san, ‘moun­tain.’ The rocks on page 19 are from 石, ishi, ‘stone.’ ” These pages thus pro­vide the espe­cial­ly astute stu­dent a way to learn Hoku­sai’s style of draw­ing and the ele­ments of the writ­ten Japan­ese lan­guage at once.

In addi­tion to the Quick Lessons books, adds Theodo­lite, Hoku­sai’s “oth­er ped­a­gog­i­cal works include his Draw­ing Meth­ods, Quick Pic­to­r­i­al Dic­tio­naryDance Instruc­tion Man­u­al, and the love­ly, three-col­or Pic­tures Drawn in One Stroke.” Con­sid­er­ing the immense respect accord­ed to Hoku­sai today from all cor­ners of the world — up to and includ­ing sub­tle trib­utes paid in major motion pic­tures — it sur­pris­es some to learn that he con­sid­ered him­self a “mere” com­mer­cial artist. But per­haps that very atti­tude endowed him with a rel­a­tive­ly com­mon touch, of the kind that enabled him to share his tech­niques with the read­ing pub­lic so open­ly, and so ele­gant­ly.

(via Metafil­ter)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Enter a Dig­i­tal Archive of 213,000+ Beau­ti­ful Japan­ese Wood­block Prints

Down­load 2,500 Beau­ti­ful Wood­block Prints and Draw­ings by Japan­ese Mas­ters (1600–1915)

Down­load Hun­dreds of 19th-Cen­tu­ry Japan­ese Wood­block Prints by Mas­ters of the Tra­di­tion

1,000+ His­toric Japan­ese Illus­trat­ed Books Dig­i­tized & Put Online by the Smith­son­ian: From the Edo & Meji Eras (1600–1912)

How to Draw in the Style of Japan­ese Man­ga: A Series of Free & Wild­ly Pop­u­lar Video Tuto­ri­als from Artist Mark Cril­ley

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Leo Tolstoy Makes a List of the 50+ Books That Influenced Him Most (1891)

War and PeaceAnna Karen­i­naThe Death of Ivan Ilyich —many of us have felt the influ­ence, to the good or the ill of our own read­ing and writ­ing, of Leo Tol­stoy. But whose influ­ence did Leo Tol­stoy feel the most? As luck would have it, we can give you chap­ter and verse on this, since the nov­el­ist drew up just such a list in 1891, which would have put him at age 63.

A Russ­ian pub­lish­er had asked 2,000 pro­fes­sors, schol­ars, artists, and men of let­ters, pub­lic fig­ures, and oth­er lumi­nar­ies to name the books impor­tant to them, and Tol­stoy respond­ed with this list divid­ed into five ages of man, with their actu­al degree of influ­ence (“enor­mous,” “v. great,” or mere­ly “great”) not­ed.

It comes as some­thing of a rar­i­ty, up to now only avail­able tran­scribed in a post at Northamp­ton, Mass­a­chu­setts’ Val­ley Advo­cate:

WORKS WHICH MADE AN IMPRESSION

Child­hood to the age of 14 or so

The sto­ry of Joseph from the Bible — Enor­mous

Tales from The Thou­sand and One Nights: the 40 Thieves, Prince Qam-al-Zaman — Great

The Lit­tle Black Hen by Pogorel­sky - V. great

Russ­ian byliny: Dobrynya Nikitich, Ilya Muromets, Alyosha Popovich. Folk Tales — Enor­mous

Puskin’s poems: Napoleon — Great

Age 14 to 20

Matthew’s Gospel: Ser­mon on the Mount — Enor­mous

Sterne’s Sen­ti­men­tal Jour­ney — V. great

Rousseau Con­fes­sions — Enor­mous

Emile — Enor­mous

Nou­velle Héloise — V. great

Pushkin’s Yevge­ny One­gin — V. great

Schiller’s Die Räu­ber — V. great

Gogol’s Over­coat, The Two Ivans, Nevsky Prospect — Great

“Viy” [a sto­ry by Gogol] — Enor­mous

Dead Souls — V. great

Turgenev’s A Sportsman’s Sketch­es — V. great

Druzhinin’s Polin­ka Sachs — V. great

Grigorovich’s The Hap­less Anton — V. great

Dick­ens’ David Cop­per­field — Enor­mous

Lermontov’s A Hero for our Time, Taman — V. great

Prescott’s Con­quest of Mex­i­co — Great

Age 20 to 35

Goethe. Her­mann and Dorothea — V. great

Vic­tor Hugo. Notre Dame de Paris — V. great

Tyutchev’s poems — Great

Koltsov’s poems — Great

The Odyssey and The Ili­ad (read in Russ­ian) — Great

Fet’s poems — Great

Plato’s Phae­do and Sym­po­sium (in Cousin’s trans­la­tion) — Great

Age 35 to 50

The Odyssey and The Ili­ad (in Greek) — V. great

The byliny — V. great

Vic­tor Hugo. Les Mis­érables — Enor­mous

Xenophon’s Anaba­sis — V. great

Mrs. [Hen­ry] Wood. Nov­els — Great

George Eliot. Nov­els — Great

Trol­lope, Nov­els — Great

Age 50 to 63

All the Gospels in Greek — Enor­mous

Book of Gen­e­sis (in Hebrew) — V. great

Hen­ry George. Progress and Pover­ty — V. great

[Theodore] Park­er. Dis­course on reli­gious sub­ject — Great

[Fred­er­ick William] Robertson’s ser­mons — Great

Feuer­bach (I for­get the title; work on Chris­tian­i­ty) [“The Essence of Chris­tian­i­ty”] — Great

Pascal’s Pen­sées — Enor­mous

Epicte­tus — Enor­mous

Con­fu­cius and Men­cius — V. great

On the Bud­dha. Well-known French­man (I for­get) [“Lali­ta Vis­tara”] — Enor­mous

Lao-Tzu. Julien [S. Julien, French trans­la­tor] — Enor­mous

The writer at the Val­ley Advo­cate, a Tol­stoy afi­ciona­do, came across the list by sheer hap­pen­stance. “On my way to work, I found some­thing just for me in a box of cast-off books on a side­walk,” they write: a biog­ra­phy of Tol­stoy with “some­thing cool­er inside”: a “yel­lowed and frag­ile New York Times Book Review clip­ping” from 1978 con­tain­ing the full list as Tol­stoy wrote it. “Gold,” in oth­er words, “for this wannabe Tol­stoy schol­ar.” If you, too count your­self among the ranks of wannabe Tol­stoy schol­ars — or indeed cre­den­tialed Tol­stoy schol­ars — you’ll no doubt find more than a few intrigu­ing selec­tions here. And if you sim­ply admire Tol­stoy, well, get to read­ing: learn not how to make the same things your idols made, I often say, but to think how they thought. Not that any of us have time to write War and Peace these days any­way, though with luck, we do still have time to read it — along with The Thou­sand and One NightsDavid Cop­per­fieldThe Odyssey, and so on. Many of these works you can find in our col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Look­ing for free, pro­fes­­sion­al­­ly-read audio books from Audible.com? Here’s a great, no-strings-attached deal. If you start a 30 day free tri­al with Audible.com, you can down­load two free audio books of your choice. Get more details on the offer here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site in July, 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Record­ing: Leo Tol­stoy Reads From His Last Major Work in Four Lan­guages, 1909

Why Should We Read Tolstoy’s War and Peace (and Fin­ish It)? A TED-Ed Ani­ma­tion Makes the Case

Vin­tage Footage of Leo Tol­stoy: Video Cap­tures the Great Nov­el­ist Dur­ing His Final Days

The Com­plete Works of Leo Tol­stoy Online: New Archive Will Present 90 Vol­umes for Free (in Russ­ian)

Leo Tolstoy’s Fam­i­ly Recipe for Mac­a­roni and Cheese

Tol­stoy and Gand­hi Exchange Let­ters: Two Thinkers’ Quest for Gen­tle­ness, Humil­i­ty & Love (1909)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 8 ) |

Amanda Palmer Sings a Heartfelt Musical Tribute to YA Author Judy Blume on Her 80th Birthday

Art saves lives, and so does author Judy Blume. While some of her nov­els are intend­ed for adult read­ers, and oth­ers for the ele­men­tary school set, her best known books are the ones that speak to the expe­ri­ence of being a teenage girl.

For many of us com­ing of age in the ‘70s and ‘80s, Blume was our best—sometimes only—source when it came to sex, men­stru­a­tion, mas­tur­ba­tion, and oth­er top­ics too taboo to dis­cuss. She answered the ques­tions we were too shy to ask. Her char­ac­ters’ inte­ri­or mono­logues mir­rored our own.

The hon­esty of her writ­ing earned her mil­lions of grate­ful young fans, and plen­ty of atten­tion from those who still seek to keep her titles out of libraries and schools.

While her sto­ries are not auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal, her com­pas­sion is born of expe­ri­ence.

Here she is on Are You There, God? It’s Me, Mar­garet, a tat­tered paper­back copy of which made the rounds of my 6th grade class, like the pre­cious con­tra­band it was:

When I was in sixth grade, I longed to devel­op phys­i­cal­ly like my class­mates. I tried doing exer­cis­es, resort­ed to stuff­ing my bra, and lied about get­ting my peri­od. And like Mar­garet, I had a very per­son­al rela­tion­ship with God that had lit­tle to do with orga­nized reli­gion. God was my friend and con­fi­dant. But Mar­garet’s fam­i­ly is very dif­fer­ent from mine, and her sto­ry grew from my imag­i­na­tion.

On It’s Not the End of the World:

…in the ear­ly sev­en­ties I lived in sub­ur­ban New Jer­sey with my hus­band and two chil­dren, who were both in ele­men­tary school. I could see their con­cern and fear each time a fam­i­ly in our neigh­bor­hood divorced. What do you say to your friends when you find out their par­ents are split­ting up? If it could hap­pen to them, could it hap­pen to us?

At the time, my own mar­riage was in trou­ble but I was­n’t ready or able to admit it to myself, let alone any­one else. In the hope that it would get bet­ter I ded­i­cat­ed this book to my hus­band. But a few years lat­er, we, too, divorced. It was hard on all of us, more painful than I could have imag­ined, but some­how we mud­dled through and it was­n’t the end of any of our worlds, though on some days it might have felt like it.

And on For­ev­er, which won an A.L.A. Mar­garet A. Edwards Award for Out­stand­ing Lit­er­a­ture for Young Adults, 20 years after its orig­i­nal pub­li­ca­tion:

My daugh­ter Randy asked for a sto­ry about two nice kids who have sex with­out either of them hav­ing to die. She had read sev­er­al nov­els about teenagers in love. If they had sex the girl was always punished—an unplanned preg­nan­cy, a hasty trip to a rel­a­tive in anoth­er state, a gris­ly abor­tion (ille­gal in the U.S. until the 1970’s), some­times even death. Lies. Secrets. At least one life ruined. Girls in these books had no sex­u­al feel­ings and boys had no feel­ings oth­er than sex­u­al. Nei­ther took respon­si­bil­i­ty for their actions. I want­ed to present anoth­er kind of story—one in which two seniors in high school fall in love, decide togeth­er to have sex, and act respon­si­bly.

The heart­felt lyrics of Aman­da Palmer’s recent paean to Blume, who turned 80 this week, con­firm that the singer-song­writer was among the legions of young girls for whom this author made a dif­fer­ence.

In her essay, “Why Judy Blume Mat­ters,” Palmer recalls com­ing up with a list of influ­ences to sat­is­fy the sort of ques­tion a ris­ing indie musi­cian is fre­quent­ly asked in inter­views. It was a “care­ful­ly curat­ed” assort­ment of rock and roll pedi­gree and obscu­ri­ties, and she lat­er real­ized, almost exclu­sive­ly male.

This song, which name checks so many beloved char­ac­ters, is a pas­sion­ate attempt to cor­rect this over­sight:

Per­haps the biggest com­pli­ment you could give a writer ― or a writer of youth fic­tion ― is that they’re so indeli­ble they van­ish into mem­o­ry, the way a dream slips away upon wak­ing because it’s so deeply knit­ted into the fab­ric of your sub­con­scious. The expe­ri­ences of her teenage char­ac­ters ― Dee­nie, Dav­ey, Tony, Jill, Mar­garet ― are so thor­ough­ly enmeshed with my own mem­o­ries that the line between fact and fic­tion is deli­cious­ly thin. My mem­o­ries of these char­ac­ters, though I’d pre­fer to call them “peo­ple” ― of Dee­nie get­ting felt up in the dark lock­er room dur­ing the school dance; of Dav­ey list­less­ly mak­ing and stir­ring a cup of tea that she has no inten­tion of drink­ing; of Jill watch­ing Lin­da, the fat girl in her class, being tor­ment­ed by gig­gling bul­lies ― are all as vivid, if not more so, as my own mem­o­ries…

Palmer’s hus­band, Neil Gaiman, puts in a cameo in the video’s final moments as one of many read­ers immersed in Blume’s oeu­vre.

Read­ers, did a spe­cial book cov­er from your ado­les­cence put in an appear­ance?

For more on Judy Blume’s approach to char­ac­ter and sto­ry, con­sid­er sign­ing up for her $90 online Mas­ter Class.

Name your own price to down­load Judy Blume by Aman­da Palmer here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Judy Blume Now Teach­ing an Online Course on Writ­ing

Hear Aman­da Palmer’s Cov­er of “Pur­ple Rain,” a Gor­geous Stringfelt Send-Off to Prince

Aman­da Palmer Ani­mates & Nar­rates Hus­band Neil Gaiman’s Uncon­scious Mus­ings

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Joan Didion Creates a Handwritten List of the 19 Books That Changed Her Life

If you’ve read much Joan Did­ion, you’ve almost sure­ly come across an obser­va­tion or phrase that has changed the way you look at Cal­i­for­nia, the media, or the cul­ture of the late 20th cen­tu­ry — or indeed, changed your life. But if life-chang­ing writ­ers have all had their own lives changed by the writ­ers before them, which writ­ers made Joan Did­ion the Joan Did­ion whose writ­ing still exerts an influ­ence today? Con­ve­nient­ly enough, the author of Play It as It LaysSlouch­ing Towards Beth­le­hem, and The White Album once drew up a list of the books that changed her life, and it sur­faced on Insta­gram a few years ago:

  1. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hem­ing­way
  2. Vic­to­ry by Joseph Con­rad
  3. Guer­ril­las by V.S. Naipaul
  4. Down and Out in Paris and Lon­don by George Orwell
  5. Won­der­land by Joyce Car­ol Oates
  6. Wuther­ing Heights by Emi­ly Bron­të
  7. The Good Sol­dier by Ford Madox Ford
  8. One Hun­dred Years of Soli­tude by Gabriel Gar­cia Márquez
  9. Crime and Pun­ish­ment by Fyo­dor Dos­toyevsky
  10. Appoint­ment in Samar­ra by John O’Hara
  11. The Exe­cu­tion­er’s Song by Nor­man Mail­er
  12. The Nov­els of Hen­ry James: Wash­ing­ton Square, Por­trait of a Lady, The Bosto­ni­ans, Wings of the Dove, The Ambas­sadors, The Gold­en Bowl, Daisy Miller, The Aspern Papers, The Turn of the Screw
  13. Speed­boat by Rena­ta Adler
  14. Go Tell It on the Moun­tain by James Bald­win
  15. Notes of a Native Son by James Bald­win
  16. The Berlin Sto­ries by Christo­pher Ish­er­wood
  17. Col­lect­ed Poems by Robert Low­ell
  18. Col­lect­ed Poems by W.H. Auden
  19. The Col­lect­ed Poems by Wal­lace Stevens

In 1978, when Did­ion had already become a new-jour­nal­ism icon, The Paris Review’s Lin­da Kuehl asked her whether any writer influ­enced her more than oth­ers. “I always say Hem­ing­way,” she replied, “because he taught me how sen­tences worked. When I was fif­teen or six­teen I would type out his sto­ries to learn how the sen­tences worked. I taught myself to type at the same time.” Teach­ing A Farewell to Arms, her num­ber-one most influ­en­tial book, she “fell right back into those sen­tences. I mean they’re per­fect sen­tences. Very direct sen­tences, smooth rivers, clear water over gran­ite, no sink­holes.”

Did­ion’s list also includes oth­er mas­ters of the sen­tence, albeit most of them pos­sessed of sen­si­bil­i­ties quite dis­tinct from Hem­ing­way’s. Hen­ry James, for instance: “He wrote per­fect sen­tences, too, but very indi­rect, very com­pli­cat­ed. Sen­tences with sink­holes. You could drown in them.” Con­sid­er them along­side the oth­er writ­ers among her favored nine­teen, from nov­el­ists like Emi­ly Bron­të and Joyce Car­ol Oates to poets like Wal­lace Stevens and W.H. Auden to fig­ures with one foot in lit­er­a­ture and the oth­er in jour­nal­ism like George Orwell and Nor­man Mail­er, and you’ve got a mix that no two aspir­ing writ­ers could read and come out sound­ing exact­ly alike. No sur­prise that such a set of influ­ences would pro­duce a writer like Did­ion, so often imi­tat­ed but, in her niche, nev­er equaled.

via Brain­Pick­ings

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 12 Mas­ter­ful Essays by Joan Did­ion for Free Online, Span­ning Her Career From 1965 to 2013

Joan Did­ion Reads From New Mem­oir, Blue Nights, in Short Film Direct­ed by Grif­fin Dunne

New Doc­u­men­tary Joan Did­ion: The Cen­ter Will Not Hold Now Stream­ing on Net­flix

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How the Brilliant Colors of Medieval Illuminated Manuscripts Were Made with Alchemy

Today the word “alche­my” seems used pri­mar­i­ly to label a vari­ety of crack­pot pur­suits, with their bogus premis­es and impos­si­ble promis­es. To the extent that alchemists long strove to turn lead mirac­u­lous­ly into gold, that sounds like a fair enough charge, but the field of alche­my as a whole, whose his­to­ry runs from Hel­lenis­tic Egypt to the 18th cen­tu­ry (with a revival in the 19th), chalked up a few last­ing, real­i­ty-based accom­plish­ments as well. Take, for instance, medieval illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts: with­out alche­my, they would­n’t have the vivid and var­ied col­or palettes that con­tin­ue to enrich our own vision of that era.

Many of the illu­mi­na­tors’ most bril­liant pig­ments “did­n’t come straight from nature but were made through alche­my,” says the video from the Get­ty above, pro­duced to accom­pa­ny the muse­um’s exhi­bi­tion “The Alche­my of Col­or in Medieval Man­u­scripts.”

Alchemists “explored how mate­ri­als inter­act­ed and trans­formed,” and “dis­cov­er­ing paint col­ors was a prac­ti­cal out­come.” The col­ors they devel­oped includ­ed “mosa­ic gold,” a fusion of tin and sul­fur; verdi­gris, “made by expos­ing cop­per to fumes of vine­gar, wine, or even urine”; and ver­mil­lion, a mix­ture of sul­fur and mer­cury that made a bril­liant red “asso­ci­at­ed with chem­i­cal change and with alche­my itself.”

The very nature of books, specif­i­cal­ly the fact that they spend most of the time closed, has per­formed a degree of inad­ver­tent preser­va­tion of illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, keep­ing their alchem­i­cal col­ors rel­a­tive­ly bold and deep. (Although, as the Get­ty video notes, some pig­ments such as verdi­gris have a ten­den­cy to eat through the paper — one some­how wants to blame the urine.) Still, that hard­ly means that preser­va­tion­ists have noth­ing to do where illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts are con­cerned: keep­ing the win­dows they pro­vide onto the his­to­ries of art, the book, and human­i­ty clear takes work, some of it based on an ever-improv­ing under­stand­ing of alche­my. Lead may nev­er turn into gold, but these cen­turies-old illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts may sur­vive cen­turies into the future, a fact that seems not entire­ly un-mirac­u­lous itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold the Beau­ti­ful Pages from a Medieval Monk’s Sketch­book: A Win­dow Into How Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts Were Made (1494)

The Aberdeen Bes­tiary, One of the Great Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts, Now Dig­i­tized in High Res­o­lu­tion & Made Avail­able Online

1,600-Year-Old Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script of the Aeneid Dig­i­tized & Put Online by The Vat­i­can

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

Won­der­ful­ly Weird & Inge­nious Medieval Books

1,000-Year-Old Illus­trat­ed Guide to the Med­i­c­i­nal Use of Plants Now Dig­i­tized & Put Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Bill Gates Names His New Favorite Book of All Time: A Quick Introduction to Steven Pinker’s Enlightenment Now

How’s this for a nice book blurb?

In a recent blog post, Microsoft co-founder and phil­an­thropist Bill Gates wrote this:

For years, I’ve been say­ing Steven Pinker’s The Bet­ter Angels of Our Nature was the best book I’d read in a decade. If I could rec­om­mend just one book for any­one to pick up, that was it. Pinker uses metic­u­lous research to argue that we are liv­ing in the most peace­ful time in human his­to­ry. I’d nev­er seen such a clear expla­na­tion of progress.

I’m going to stop talk­ing up Bet­ter Angels so much, because Pinker has man­aged to top him­self. His new book, Enlight­en­ment Now, is even bet­ter.

Enlight­en­ment Now takes the approach he uses in Bet­ter Angels to track vio­lence through­out his­to­ry and applies it to 15 dif­fer­ent mea­sures of progress (like qual­i­ty of life, knowl­edge, and safe­ty). The result is a holis­tic pic­ture of how and why the world is get­ting bet­ter. It’s like Bet­ter Angels on steroids.

Although the book won’t get offi­cial­ly released until Feb­ru­ary 13th, Pinker’s Enlight­en­ment Now is already one of the 20 best­selling books on Amazon–no doubt part­ly thanks to Bill Gates. If you’re look­ing to get dis­abused of the wide­ly-shared belief that the world is mov­ing in the wrong direc­tion,  you might want to pick up your own copy. (Soon, you could also down­load it as a free audio­book through Audible.com’s free tri­al pro­gram.)

For a deep­er dive into Enlight­en­ment Now watch the video above, and par­tic­u­lar­ly read Gates’s review of what he calls “my new favorite book of all time.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Steven Pinker Explains the Neu­ro­science of Swear­ing (NSFW)

Bill Gates Rec­om­mends Five Books for Sum­mer 2017

Steven Pinker on the His­to­ry of Vio­lence: A Hap­py Tale

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

Werner’s Nomenclature of Colour, the 19th-Century “Color Dictionary” Used by Charles Darwin (1814)

Before Pan­tone invent­ed “a uni­ver­sal col­or lan­guage” or big box hard­ware stores arose with pro­pri­etary dis­plays of col­or­ful­ly-named paints—over a cen­tu­ry before, in fact—a Ger­man min­er­al­o­gist named Abra­ham Got­t­lob Wern­er invent­ed a col­or sys­tem, as detailed and thor­ough a guide as an artist might need. But rather than only cater to the needs of painters, design­ers, and man­u­fac­tur­ers, Werner’s Nomen­cla­ture of Colours also served the needs of sci­en­tists. “Charles Dar­win even used the guide,” writes This is Colos­sal, “dur­ing his voy­age to the Madeira, Canary, and Cape Verde islands on the H.M.S. Bea­gle.”

Werner’s is one of many such “col­or dic­tio­nar­ies” from the 19th cen­tu­ry, “designed to give peo­ple around the world a com­mon vocab­u­lary,” writes Daniel Lewis at Smith­son­ian, “to describe the col­ors of every­thing from rocks and flow­ers to stars, birds, and postage stamps.” These guides appealed espe­cial­ly to nat­u­ral­ists.

Indeed, the book began—before Scot­tish painter Patrick Syme updat­ed the sys­tem in Eng­lish, with swatch­es of exam­ple colors—as a naturalist’s guide to the col­ors of the world, nam­ing them accord­ing to Werner’s poet­ic fan­cy. “With­out an image for ref­er­ence,” the orig­i­nal text “pro­vid­ed immense hand­writ­ten detail describ­ing where each spe­cif­ic shade could be found on an ani­mal, plant, or min­er­al. Many of Wern­er’s unique col­or names still exist in com­mon usage, though they’ve detached from his scheme ages ago.

Pruss­ian Blue, for instance, which can be locat­ed “in the beau­ty spot of a mallard’s wing, on the sta­mi­na of a bluish-pur­ple anemone, or in a piece of blue cop­per ore.” Oth­er exam­ples, notes Fast Company’s Kelsey Camp­bell-Dol­laghan, include “’Skimmed Milk White,’” or no. 7… found in ‘the white of the human eye’ or in opals,” and no. 67, or “’Wax Yel­low’… found in the lar­vae of large Water Bee­tles or the green­ish parts of a Non­pareil Apple.” It would have been Syme’s 1814 guide that Dar­win con­sult­ed, as did sci­en­tists, nat­u­ral­ists, and artists for two cen­turies after­ward, either as a tax­o­nom­ic col­or ref­er­ence or as an admirable his­toric artifact—a painstak­ing descrip­tion of the col­ors of the world, or those encoun­tered by two 18th and 19th cen­tu­ry Euro­pean observers, in an era before pho­to­graph­ic repro­duc­tion cre­at­ed its own set of stan­dards.

The book is now being repub­lished in an afford­able pock­et-size edi­tion by Smith­son­ian Books, who note that the Edin­burgh flower painter Syme, in his illus­tra­tions of Werner’s nomen­cla­ture, “used the actu­al min­er­als described by Wern­er to cre­ate the col­or charts.” This degree of fideli­ty to the source extends to Syme’s use of tables to neat­ly orga­nize Werner’s pre­cise descrip­tions. Next to each color’s num­ber, name, and swatch, are columns with its loca­tion on var­i­ous ani­mals, veg­eta­bles and min­er­als. “Orpi­ment Orange,” named after a min­er­al, though none is list­ed in its col­umn, will be found, Wern­er tells us, on the “neck ruff of the gold­en pheas­ant” or “bel­ly of the warty newt.” Should you have trou­ble track­ing these down, sure­ly you’ve got some “Indi­an cress” around?

While its ref­er­ences may not be those your typ­i­cal indus­tri­al design­er or graph­ic artist is like­ly to find help­ful, Werner’s Nomen­cla­ture of Colours will still find a trea­sured place in the col­lec­tions of design­ers and visu­al artists of all kinds, as well as his­to­ri­ans, writ­ers, poets, and the sci­en­tif­ic inher­i­tors of 19th cen­tu­ry nat­u­ral­ism, as a “charm­ing arti­fact from the gold­en age of nat­ur­al his­to­ry and glob­al explo­ration.” Flip through a scanned ver­sion of the 1821 sec­ond edi­tion just above, includ­ing Wern­er’s intro­duc­tion and care­ful lists of col­or prop­er­ties, or read it in a larg­er for­mat at the Inter­net Archive. The new edi­tion is now avail­able for pur­chase here.

via This Is Colos­sal/Fast Co

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Vibrant Col­or Wheels Designed by Goethe, New­ton & Oth­er The­o­rists of Col­or (1665–1810)

Goethe’s Col­or­ful & Abstract Illus­tra­tions for His 1810 Trea­tise, The­o­ry of Col­ors: Scans of the First Edi­tion

How Tech­ni­col­or Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Cin­e­ma with Sur­re­al, Elec­tric Col­ors & Changed How We See Our World

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast