Here be dragons: in celebration of illustrated maps

Do you ever wish you hadn't googled something (apart, of course, from anything medical)? - Well, I wish I hadn't googled the phrase "here be dragons"... I have been thinking a lot about maps, illustrated and otherwise, recently - and started thinking about all those maps bearing this phrase. I used to love the image that it conjured up, of medieval cartographers (in my mind they are illuminating - and illuminated - monks, with a proper sense of the absurd), diligently delineating the known world, and then reaching the end of their knowledge and inserting a jaunty dragon. Imagine being so bound up in accurately recording something for posterity and then being forced to go no further. "Here be dragons" in my mind became a symbol for the terror, and the rich mytholgical possibilities, of the unknown: just as the pillars of Hercules at the gates of the Mediterranean bore the injunction non plus ultra, to warn adventurous sailors to go no further - a literal warning that beyond the plillars lay "nothing" itself - so hic sunt dracones served as an exhortation to cast one's mind no further beyond the limits of knowledge.

To me, they made maps more than just a physical geographical guide, but turned them into something which both told a story (and I've always loved a story), and acted as a guide to the limits and navigation of knowledge. They also seemed to confirm the analogy between physical and mental exploration.

Imagine my disappointment, then, when I tried to find some maps bearing this phrase to rekindle my imagination and discovered that it only exists on one map - and that that map is actually a globe (the Hunt Lenox globe - a tiny little sixteenth-century globe that is now in the collection of the New York public library). If you look below, you will see that the dragons appear to live on the south-east Indian sub-continent - and that the coast is pretty well delineated. So much for the limits and possibilties of knowledge - my monks probably just didn't know how to spell Pondicherry....

Nevermind - my love of maps that tell stories remains (mind maps not included - they do not tell a story), as does my fascination with Grayson Perry's map etchings. He doesn't always call them maps, but that is absolutely what they seem to be. They may not be a map of a recognisable place, and they may be full of judgement-laden labels as to population and perversion, but maps they nevertheless are (and I have seen more than my fair share of judgement-laden colonial maps).

Kathleen Jamie: "not all primroses and otters"

I am a sucker for aura. Walter Benjamin was never wrong, and so it is that live music frequently moves me to tears while back home on the CD player the same music, played or sung by the same individuals, can sound utterly banal. There are of course many notable exceptions - but, nevertheless, my CD collection is littered with mediocre albums of bands and artists who have since vanished into a well-deserved obscurity, and yet whose concerts I can still recall with a vivid, palpable sense of the wonder and reverie into which their music sent me. 

And yet I never learn... I still buy the CDs of soon-to-be-forgotten artists - and sometimes, now, it as much as a memento of that reverie, as it is a statement of belief in the true talent of the performer. Book readings are the slightly more grown-up equivalent: I enjoy attending them; I always go determined not to buy anything and find myself two hours later with a buzzing mind, waiting in the queue to have my book signed by the author. And so it was tonight that I found myself sitting opposite Kathleen Jamie, telling her about my childhood immersion in Gavin Maxwell, and about Kathleen Raine and rowan trees (although I may have mistakenly referred to Raine as "Kathleen Jamie". Oh dear).

In explaining the falling away of the aura of a work of art in the process of its reproduction, Benjamin turned to nature, and to the "aura" of natural objects, writing of, "a mountain range on the horizon or a branch which casts its shadow over you," and the way in which we experience their "aura" simply by looking at them. For Benjamin, "aura" is tied up with our relation to objects - and with immediacy, and therefore authenticity. If an object is a reproduction, how to therefore know one's position to it: if I am looking at a mountain, I know I am looking at a mountain; I know how big or small I am in relation to it, and how near or far from it, and also that I am looking at it right now, ergo it exists. If, however, I am looking at a fibre-glass mountain, every certainty about my relation to that original object is thrown into flux: I don't know if the mountain even exists. 

For Benjamin, the desire to reproduce objects is rooted in the desire to "bring things 'closer' spatially and humanly"; i.e. to have and to hold - to own - these objects, even if only in replica. Benjamin was, of course focussing on the "work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction", and not on the natural world, however, were he to have cast his gaze towards "relics of nature in the age of mechnanical reproduction", Kathleen Jamie would have been able to provide him with at least one significant example: the replacement of the famous whale jawbone on Berwick Law with a fibreglass replica.

Whales and their bones - latter day relics - appear throughout Jamie's most recent collection (and my most recent purchase): Sightlines. I have only dived in deep to a few pages here and there so far, but feel the same sense of excitement that I get when reading the opening pages of "Ring of Bright Water." Hearing Jamie talk was to be reminded of the magic of reading and writing about nature, the alchemic preservation it can enact, and the tingling sense of "closeness" to the natural world which it can enable - without recourse to any attempts at Benjamin's aura-killing replication.

RIP Leith FM

I have just heard about the re-branding of Leith FM and can't help but feel a bit sad - another one bites the sellout dust.

As its name suggested, Leith FM was set up as a radio station for Leith and the surrounding areas (I could still pick it up a few miles from Leith...) - and it had an authentic community-run feel, quite reminiscent of those Highland radio stations, like Lochbroom FM and Cuilin FM, that I love so much. It was properly local (and by this I don't necessarily mean "Scottish" - it was rightly reflective of Leith's multiculturalism) - it took itself and local issues seriously, as a local radio station should, but it was also lots of fun to listen to. It made an effort to involve the local community - with "open evenings" to bring in new people, and with Leith FM staff tutoring courses at the local school, and in this sense was also very accessible. 

Well, as of the 22nd March this year, Leith FM is no more, and if you tune in to 98.8 FM, you will pick up "Castle FM". The new name alone shows just how strong the commitment is to keeping the station's local empahasis, and recognising its roots: i.e. nil - where is the castle in Leith??!

There are so many questions I want to ask about this, and it is typical of the abysmal state of print media in Edinburgh that the Evening News has not taken this up.

The reason given for the re-branding is that Leith FM had "developed a 'bad reputation' in the local community" - well, if this is the case, it is the first I've heard of it. And how is basically re-figuring the station as a commercial competitor to Forth FM going to improve anything other than the station employees' pay cheques, let alone the station's reputation?

Apparently, Tom Farmer (of Kwikfit fame) is involved - as is his cash no doubt. Now, Tom Farmer makes a lot of his Leith childhood, which is all well and good, but he is as distant from the realities of life in Leith nowadays as it is possible to be, and is no part of its current community. Why, then, has he chosen to get involved with this community radio station?

It makes me deeply uncomfortable: he owns 90% of Hibs footballl club, he is a major donor to the SNP; in 2004 (when Leith FM was still a twinkle in Mary Moriarty's eye) he tried to set up a commmercial Edinburgh radio station called... Castle FM. 

This document on the Ofcom website makes for depressing reading. The list of those involved in the original Castle FM license bid reads like a roll call of Edinburgh finance, media and local government usual suspects: Angus Grossart, Andrew Neil, Eric Milligan, etc., etc, - and, of course, Tom Farmer. If the diversity of this group is anything to go by, then Leith FM (which was once truly local, and without a commercial agenda) has been handed over to same individuals who already have  the Edinburgh media scene entirely sewn up. Well done.

Tom Farmer has done many good things for Edinburgh, and for Scotland, but he clearly has  an idelogical and commmerical agenda alongside his philanthropic one - and where better to begin to play this out than in a small, cheap radio station (good value for money, less financial risk if it doesn't work out, and yet with the potential to wield a lot of influence - an Edinburgh Telemilano...)?

This story, and this picture, make me feel slightly queasy (cheerleaders?! - why?? where is the vibrancy, the diversity of Leith? - maybe they are there to disguise the fact that over 80% of the non-cheerleading participants in this photograph are male?):

Iris Apfel: "When you don't dress like everybody else, you don't have to think like everybody else."

Forget "style icon", Iris Apfel is a blazing explosion of a star:  the over-used "icon"  label is a pale, watery insult to her rich, individual elegance - a badly-made consommé to her triple-strength lobster bisque. Much is made of fashion/clothes/personal style as a form of creativity - consumption as self-expression. 99% of the time I am highly sceptical of such claims: 99% of the time, we buy and wear clothes because they have been successfully marketed to us, we have been sold an image ourselves which we strive to make material through the purchase and accumulation of various adornments. We have no more "created" our style, than we "create" our identikit catalougue Ikea kitchens. I do believe, however, that Iris Apfel is of the other 1%.  

One feels that her life may have been worthy of a mid-century raunchy but worthy novel. Her name alone conjurs up all kinds of delicious visions (Iris Apple! - and, rather appropriately, Iris was the Greek personification of the rainbow, and acted as a godly messenger). The first painting she bought "might" be a Velazquez. She describes herself as a "geriatric starlet." Her jewellery collection includes necklaces made for elephants and horses. She and her husband have been responsible for providing curtains to nine US presidents. In 2005, the Met staged an exhibition of her clothes, accessories, and lifestyle entitled Rara Avis. A rare bird indeed, and a game one at that.

I hadn't heard of her until I was sideswiped by the above Apfel-frieze in the Guardian last month - and I feel that my life has been poorer for it. She has exudes sheer joy and love of life through every outfit she wears. I can't pretend that she isn't "fashion", because she is -  she owns her fair share of Dior, Lanvin and Balenciaga, and has launched her own line of jewellery. But nevertheless, her style is entirely her own. She mixes and matches without inspiration from Vogue, Hollywood or anywhere else. The power of Iris is her indiduality and this is surely the message that we should take from her and her glorious look: wear what you have, wear what you like, mix and match however the hell you want. Don't spend your time, energy, your élan on emulating an impossible ideal.

Shame, then on the Guardian for their advice on how to Get the Iris Apfel Look.... I somehow don't think that a pair of Mango sunglasses and a French Connection necklace will transport me here:

Into the Gloss has a fascinating interview with Iris here, in which she talks about her early life in New York (crossing the river from the Long Island farm to "buy provisions" in Manhattan), and her beauty secrets (Cetaphil and something called Yatagan, apparently). What a completely fascinating woman - and now a Grey Gardens-style film is to be made about her life....

CAN'T. GET. ENOUGH.

Animal Art

As I may have already mentioned, I love animal art. I am sure that there is a lot that can be said about what this means, anthropomorphism, the projecting of emotions onto animals, and seeing some answering emotion there (Grizzly Man anyone?), etc. - but while I mull this over, here are two of my favourites... Edinburghers both.

And - if you're in the market, I should add that I think they are both amazingly cheap- so grab them now, before they realise how good they are...!

Zaza Shelley is something of a Renaissance woman - from lecturing at the National Gallery, coming up with some very lovely, very funny cards, to creating utterly adorable teacup jewellery, and making the most beautiful Christmas decorations you've ever seen, she does it all. But mostly what she does is draw and paint like heaven... (and my reproductions of her images do her no justice - go to her wesbite to see them properly: http://www.zazashelley.com/)

Hares are a new obsession of mine - joining the pre-existing bird obession.

Caroline Hepburne Scott is from the Borders, although she now lives in Edinburgh (and is currently travelling in South America). She has the most amazing draughtsmanship which enables her to capture her subjects in an extraordinary way. Look and wonder....

As well as through her own website, Caroline's work can also be found on Caroline Hay's Art Amatoria.

The castle sublime

Once upon a time there was a photo blog called Wanderlust Europe. The blog was full of hyper-beautiful, hyper-real, hyper-seductive, hyper-sanitised photographs from all over Europe... It called itself "a daily curation of photos from the Old Continent" - and indeed it was full of the kind of images to make even an old-world Edinburgher want to sell all their possessions and to hit the road in search of German schlosses, Venetian eccentrics and Cretan sunsets. For new worlders, already in love with an image of European "authenticity" - as packaged by William Randolph Hearst - it must have been akin to Chinese water torture.

Unfortunately, this Edinburgher became - for a while - slightly addicted to these (significantly, usually people-free) golden snapshots. And, as much as wondering about where the wanderers had snapped these shots, I began to wonder about the techniques used to create the hyper-real effect which Wanderlust Europe as a whole evokes. Now, I like HDR as much as the next i-Phone evangelist, but there is something a bit odd at looking at page after page of images in which the sky is darkly foreboding (I accept that most people are better photographers than me, but there really can't be that many tourists out there in pre-thunderstorm conditions, snapping away, can there?), or vividly orange - or in which the sea is super-turquiose, or the grass disconcertingly green. I love Europe, and I love travel, and photographs, and even indulging in a tough of wanderlust - and in nostalgia for the "old world". Having lived in the "new world" for several years, I know how acute the longing can be for historical buildings, for some "wild" landscape that has nevertheless been traversed for millenia, for some authentic rootedness to place.... and yet, Europe is so much more than this (people live here for a start!). To hyper-perfect it in this way is to create not only a misplaced sense of nostalgia for a place that does not exist, but also to participate in an all-pervading commodofication of experience, of travel - and of history and nature.

I finally killed my minor addiction to the blog through a month-long obsession with the above picture of a castle. I first saw this (literally!) sublime coastal castle on my first browse of the Wanderlust site - I then couldn't stop thinking about it for days, but couldn't remember where I had seen it... I knew it had been labelled as a German castle - but which one? I started googling images of German castles, planning a trip to visit this one, if I could ever find it.... And then I struck gold - I had seen it on Wanderlust Europe and was able to find it again. Excellent, I thought, at last I can find out which German castle it is. But, alas - it is simply labelled as "Seaside Castle Germany". Nevermind: back to google...which seaside German castle?! A tangled web of links followed, which led finally to Mattijn's flickr page.

Dogs etc. - Domenica More Gordon

I have always been an unashamed dog lover (the unashamedness becoming a little more pronounced - and the Kirstie Alsopp fan-dom, becoming a little more intense - in my early post-university days, upon reading this Observer article about Kirstie's misspent Bedales-youth: "Kirstie wore velvet hairbands and kilts and Puffa bodywarmers, when everyone else wore ripped jeans and DMs and grandad overcoats. She had framed pictures of domestic pets on her bedside locker, and liked mum music...Elkie Brookes, Neil Diamond" - how could you not love her?!) - and yet I have NEVER been one of those people who invests time and energy in pet-related artefacts. Soppy paintings of dogs staring lovingly into the eyes of little blue-eyed, ringletted Violet Elizabeth Botts have always left me cold, as have dog-portraits as accessories and, if I'm honest, most dog portaiture. This is my idea of decorative hell.

For some reason, though, I just can't get enough of Domenica More Gordon's dogs. They are the antidote to sentimental animal kitsch - partly because they don't seem to be trying to be anything else. They are individual, idiosyncratic, bizarrely realistic - and utterly sweet. I want them all - they make me want to stage my own little Crufts, in my own little pint-sized NEC. I can make them jump over match-stick hurdles, while pretending I'm Claire Balding.... but I digress.

Domenica More Gordon is from East Lothian and lives in Inveresk. She is the daughter of Harry More Gordon (watercolourist, owner of the most elegant studio I have ever seen, and landlord to Clarissa Dickson Wright - and he and Domenica are both included in her memoirs, Spilling the Beans and Rifling Through my Drawers). She studied textiles at Central St. Martins (following in the footsteps of her textile-designer mother) and over the last few years has been taking the art world by storm with her miniature felted dogs - the excitement culiminating in a Dog Sale at the end of 2011, in which the successful puchasers were chosen from a "well-shaken" hat.