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).

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.