ALBERTO G. de la CRUZ SELECTED WORKS
MUSEUM OF SCIENCE FICTION GUACBAR NINJA BREWERY LATIN AMERICAN STUDENT ASSOCIATION BOURGEOIS MAGAZINE USS MAINE MEMORIAL MONUMENT BOOKLET HISTORICAL PAPER AIRPLANES UNICORN COMPANIES & KEY INVESTORS ROCK STAR MONOGRAMS AN ANTHOLOGY OF AMERICAN CLASSSICS WHITE WITH RED HISTORY OF TYPE EXPERIMENTAL TYPE
MUSEUM OF SCIENCE FICTION A conceptual art museum, with science fiction illustration being the main focus. The museum would be a showcase of the whimsical mastery of these artists, many of whom are drastically underappreciated. Walking around the museum, visitors can be transported to strange new worlds. As our technology advances, many of these scenes can become a reality.
GUACBAR Guacbar is a concept fast-food restaurant specializing in made-to-order guacamole. Customers can choose their mix-ins, the type of chip and level of spice. The decor is warm and inviting, featuring wood accents along with black and lime green as the brand colors.
NINJA BREWING As a product concept, I was interested in the negative shape of the ninja mask and wanted to create a line of craft beers using that design motif.
LATIN AMERICAN STUDENT ASSOCIATION This is the branding for a fictional, international student organization. Since Latin American is such a diverse region with a wide range of cultures, I wanted to create a branding system that is simple and vibrant, to represent these cultures.
stanford
upenn
fordham
devry
harvard
fit
mica
austin
georgetown
syracuse
brooklyn college
sva
nyu
pratt
hunter college
phoenix university
mit
mayagĂźez
dartmouth
caltech
duke
berkeley
cit
macaulay
brown
upr
amherst
princeton
oxford
harvard
brown
cambridge
usc
fiu
brown
rice
bard
upenn
unc
penn state
yale
berkeley
cornell
columbia
yale
hamilton
sagrado corazon
west point
mixtape
BOURGEOIS MAGAZINE I wanted to try designing a project outside of my comfort zone. I know very little about the world of fashion, so I decided to research and layout a high-end magazine about this subject.
No. 1
Letter from the Editor It’s one of the great unfathomables: why shops so frequently don’t stock the clothes you want to buy when you need them. A swimming costume in July? Don’t make me laugh. If you’re in luck there will be a few scraps left on the sales racks. A winter coat when it snows in February? Highly unlikely, because the first drop of spring dresses has flooded the shop floor. when it snows in February? Highly unlikely, because the first drop of spring dresses has flooded the shop floor. The situation has worsened over the past decade. It seems that many retailers have been driven by the notion that we, the customer, are in some kind of style race with ourselves, rushing in to find the newest trends as early as possible, even if we won’t actually wear them for months. But I have a feeling that things are about to change, and a more practical attitude might be taking hold. There’s much talk among designers and brands of “buy now, wear now” (as if this were a groundbreaking thought!), and the growing trend of online fashion retail has a much more clothes-for-all-seasons approach, given that their customers are global and not local. If you’re selling across the world 24 hours a day, in December you have to stock light linens for an Australian customer, eight-ply cashmere for the Russians, and swimwear and beach cover-ups all year round. A yen for shopping in real time made us put together “Calendar Girl” (page 74), a fashion shopping calendar pointing out great ideas for now - just in advance of the summer holiday - and into autumn. It beats Pirelli for information. I am old enough to remember the days when the Lucie Clayton school taught young ladies posture by balancing books on their heads and tutored them in how to climb in and out of cars without flashing their knickers. The idea of this kind of “finishing” school now sounds as ancient as the Tudors, but all the same an interest in certain domestic skills - the kind that used to be handed down through the female generations - is having a renaissance. Possibly as a counterbalance to our frantic, 360-degree, gender-equal existences, perfecting some of the old-school daily tasks can offer a different but appealing sense of achievement. In “Home Schooling” (on page 172), we dispatched commissioning editor Violet Henderson (a woman unacquainted with any kind of housekeeping prowess) on a search for this new expertise. She was surprised by what she found.
14
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Letter from the Editor–Denise Orton 16. The Little Black Dress–Meg Dine 24. Interview w/ Karl Lagerfeld–Andy O’Hagan 45. Iris Van Herpen’s New Looks–Samantha Bundy 69. Fall’s Hottest Coats–Danh Vo 84. The State of Fashion–Marcos Rodrigues 112. The Chinese Market–Feng Shu 137. Art Basel Miami–Daniel Orson 163. Redefining the Avant-Garde–Melissa Waren 189. The Glitz of Glamor–Ru Paul 212. Countdown to Fall–Linda Carter 238. Fashion and Tech–Neilson Norman 268. The Future of Fashion–Otto Markson 284. Feeling Fabrics–Mike Rumpo 303. The Joys of Knits–Roni Halloran 323. Next Issue 14.
7
8
Interview by Andrew O’Hagan
The Maddening & Brilliant
Karl Lagerfeld
THE HISTORY OF FASHION is the history of longing. Nobody is born stylish. Everybody wants to be a little memorable, and some would like to be somebody else, or more like the self we see in the better part of our minds. It’s about one hundred years since fashion took its place alongside literature, painting and music as a way to look for the social essence of one’s era. Proust saw it happening, and, in ‘‘In Search of Lost Time,’’ Madame de Guermantes’s dresses are ‘‘not a casual decoration alterable at will, but a given, poetical reality like that of the weather, or the light peculiar to a certain hour of the day.’’ I tried to recall the passage as I waited for Karl Lagerfeld in his Paris apartment off the Boulevard St. Germain. It was just after 1 p.m., though there is something timeless about the room where he likes to take his lunch. It has blinds and something of an Art Deco ambiance in shades of gray, angular, with spotless glass and candle-scented air, a Jeff Koons sculpture erupting on the table, next to a beautiful drawing for the poster of the 1924 film ‘‘L’Inhumaine.’’
Elegance is a “ physical quality, if a
woman doesn’t have it naked she’ll never have it clothed.
”
The room is all about the books, lying horizontally on towering shelves that go to the ceiling. Euripides’s ‘‘Electra.’’ Samuel Beckett’s letters. ‘‘A Companion to Arthurian Literature.’’ The poems of Cavafy. ‘‘Alice Faye: A Life Beyond the Silver Screen.’’ ‘‘My problem is I have no experience,’’ said Lagerfeld, who came into the room, shook my hand and dove, at my first mention of the name ‘‘Proust,’’ into the most florid and energetic conversation. ‘‘Because I don’t believe in experience.’’ ‘‘You have no past?’’ ‘‘Not as far as I remember. For other people, maybe. But personally I make no effort to remember. I like the language in Proust, but not the context. I could say something mean. It’s all — you know — the son of the concierge looking at society people. There was this woman who survived from that group. The wife of a banker, Madame Porgès. They had a huge hôtel particulier in front of the Plaza Athénée hotel, where LVMH is now. She died a hundred years after everyone else. She was not very chic, and people said, ‘She was the last person who could remember a world she was never part of.’ Some couture designer — to be kind I will not say his name — once said to me he liked Proust because Françoise Sagan coached him in the best passages in his time.’’ I believe he is talking about Yves Saint Laurent. He paused. ‘‘There was a moment when designers draped in ermine would be reading Proust, or pretending to.’’ And so we began. Karl Lagerfeld loves only the present. He loves work and does
collections a year for Chanel, as well as his work for Fendi and other companies. In conversational terms, he takes to the track like a prize racehorse, not only groomed, but leaping the fences and taking the corners with brio. Unlike most people in fashion, he actually likes questions, gaining on you one moment, falling back the next, but never resting on his laurels. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone more fully native to their own conception of wonder. That’s to say: He lives out his own legend in every way he can think of, with every instinct he has, and in a world of stolid conventions, he has the courage to perpetuate a vision of something wonderful. He also has the intelligence not to take himself terribly seriously, laughing easily, sending up his own iconic status, and — God save us — actually thinking about the world he makes money from, instead of just feasting on its vanities. Lagerfeld is a man on top of his own greatest invention: himself. And believe it or not he has the talent and the good taste, after all these years, to continue finding the world mysterious, and to give himself wholeheartedly to its discovery. There’s nothing that doesn’t interest Lagerfeld, except perhaps death.
opinions. I told him I once did a public talk with Grass at the New York Public Library. Grass had just published a memoir that revealed his time spent as a young member of the Waffen-SS. ‘‘He left it too late,’’ Lagerfeld said without hesitation. ‘‘You can’t give moral lessons all your life and have that in your past. He was the most boring, lesson-giving writer, and everything was lost in fake political thoughts. Willy Brandt was clever enough not to give him a post. And — even worse — the sketching!’’ At this Lagerfeld let out a giant roar of disapproval. ‘‘Horrible! Like a mediocre German art student of the 1950s!’’ He went into a piece of gossip and quoted his friend, the late style journalist Ingrid Sischy (‘‘a genius’’) and then told me that before he knew that fashion could be a job he wanted to be a cartoonist.
‘‘What does survival mean to you?’’ I asked.
‘‘Yes, the discovery of silent movies,’’ he said, ‘‘was much more important to me than discovering the talkies. To me they are images. Like illustrations. I remember when I was at school I saw the ‘The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.’ I could not sleep for three weeks because I thought the strange marionette played by Conrad Veidt would come onto my balcony and then kill me the same way. I have stills from the making of the movie and the only surviving German poster of the opening. I bought it for a fortune.’’
‘‘Well, I’m a battlefield sort of person.’’ ‘‘You like the fight?’’ ‘‘Yes,’’ he said. ‘‘But not with intimates.’’ Nor does he take inventory of his past: ‘‘One day it will be over and I don’t care. As my mother used to say, ‘There is one God for everybody and all the religions are shops.’ ’’ His mother read constantly, he said. ‘‘I remember her being on the couch reading and telling other people what to do. ... I spent my childhood in the country and started reading even before going to school. There was nothing else in my life but sketching and reading.’’ As he picked at his lunch and sipped Diet Coke, I wondered if the only old-fashioned thing about Lagerfeld was his way of speaking. It is fabulous, both inward and outward at the same time, the actions of a man searching his thoughts and pouring out his learning. It’s not everyone who sees thoughts as action, but he does. Let me show you how he trips from one thing to the next. When I asked him about the 19th century, he only said, ‘‘We are spoiled. We have dry cleaners. They did not.’’ Then he talked about the Scottish philosopher David Hume. (‘‘I just found a book by him in a box of books that came to me from my parents.’’) Then quickly we moved to the case of the German novelist Günter Grass. At this point I saw how entertainingly Lagerfeld will give vent to his opinions. I told him I once did a public talk with Grass at the New
He hates it when people talk to him about their illnesses. (‘‘I’m not a doctor!’’) And he thinks psychoanalysis is the enemy of creativity. ‘‘Analysis?’’ he said. ‘‘What for? To get back to normality? I don’t want to be normal.’’ ‘‘Maybe that’s why you like silent movies,’’ I said. ‘‘Because you don’t like the talking cure.’’
Since 1954, when he won a prize from the International Wool Secretariat (judged by a panel that included Pierre Balmain and Hubert de Givenchy), Lagerfeld has been a master of his own choices. He never went to school for fashion, though early on he designed for the couture house Jean Patou. But it was not in couture that he made his name, rather as an irreplaceable styliste, a king of ready-to-wear long before it was the mainstay of the big fashion houses. He cultivated his mind and made his own prestige, becoming a personality in Paris fashion when he worked for Chloé. He was a lightning rod of 1970s sensibility, imbuing his designs with an essential sparkle and a Pop Art accessibility. The ultimate cultural magpie, Lagerfeld grew in fame, and has remained in orbit, as a freelance personality with a strong conception of himself that exists beyond the labels he represents. After 60 years of achievement, he appears more like a grand film director than a designer. He never sought to own the studio. He just wanted to imbue his work with unmistakable good form. And that is
his work with unmistakable good form. And that is what he does. He has a director’s eye for detail, for story and allure, which makes him stand out, at the age of 82, as our premier idea of what a brilliant fashion designer can be. ‘‘Which directors do you love?’’ ‘‘I love Erich von Stroheim’s movies. My favorite is ‘Foolish Wives.’ ’’ ‘‘Actresses?’’ ‘‘I came to know Marlene Dietrich when she was an old lady,’’ Lagerfeld said. ‘‘I introduced her to Helmut Newton. He told me he used to masturbate to her photographs.’’ He wanted to say more about silent films. ‘‘I was once talking to Paul Morrissey, who made the films with Andy Warhol. He said he loved silent film. But he knew nothing about the European ones, the Italian, the Swedish ones, the Danish ones. I have a Google brain.’’ ‘‘You were in a film of Warhol’s, weren’t you? ‘L’Amour.’ ’’ ‘‘Oh, yes,’’ he said. ‘‘It was the most childish moviemaking ever.’’ ‘‘But we were talking about actresses.You’ve always cared about them.’’ ‘‘I had better do, the business I’m in.’’ Lagerfeld loves women but he has never fetishized them or sought muses. He’s an intellectual designer and tends to admire women not so much for their shape or how they look so much as for their way of being. They don’t always last in his affections, but he prefers human beings who let their imaginations run away with them — Inès de la Fressange, Amanda Harlech — and he allies strength to intelligence in a way that has made him sensitive to women who refuse stereotypes. I asked him what was his ideal of the perfect woman today. He didn’t hesitate. ‘‘Julianne Moore,’’ he said. ‘‘Why?’’ ‘‘I don’t know. I just think she’s great. Her whole life; the way she is in life. And Jessica Chastain — she’s great, too. Of the younger generation, I love Kristen Stewart. She is gifted. She looks tough but in fact she’s the nicest person in the world.’’ You can see from the way he talks about his mother that Lagerfeld is no stranger to strong women, and he still has them around him. ‘‘Feminism matters to you?’’
Beauty is also “ submitted to the taste
of time, so a beautiful woman from the Belle Epoch is not exactly the perfect beauty of today, so beauty is something that changes with time.
”
USS MAINE MEMORIAL MONUMENT BOOKLET As an assignment, we were tasked with selecting a monument and analyzing the history, structure and typography. I chose the USS Maine Memorial Monument since it’s a symbol of the Spanish-American war, a conflict that led to the colonization of Puerto Rico, Cuba and Guam for the Americas. Newspapers at the time fueled the conflict with misinformation, leading to the term “yellow journalism.”
HISTORICAL PAPER AIRPLANES This was a series of paper airplanes based on famous aviators throughout history, and includes photographs, biographical information and color accents that are accurate to the planes they had flown.
UNICORN COMPANIES & KEY INVESTORS
Private American companies valued at over $1 billion and their investors.
UNICORN COMPANIES & KEY INVESTORS The term for a privately held startup worth over a $1b is ‘unicorn,’ due to their scarcity, although that hardly seems the case nowadays. I researched and found a list of American unicorn companies, their valuations, sector and key investors, and connected the investors with the companies with lines, showing how murky these connections can get.
Uber Airbnb Palantir Technologies Snapchat SpaceX Pinterest Dropbox WeWork Theranos Square Intarcia Therapeutics Stripe Zenefits Cloudera Social Finance Tanium Credit Karma Jawbone Fanatics Legendary Entertainment Stemcentrx Pure Storage DocuSign Moderna ContextLogic Slack Technologies Bloom Energy Lyft Vice Media Houzz SurveyMonkey Evernote NantHealth Nutanix Github Domo Technologies Instacart Blue Apron Magic Leap Prosper Marketplace Zocdoc Oscar Health Insurance Co. The Honest Company MongoDB Insidesales.com MuleSoft Buzzfeed Jasper Technologies DraftKings Deem Medallia Appnexus Warby Parker Okta Sprinklr Automattic Twilio Proteus Digital Health Actifio TangoMe Nextdoor Docker Gilt Groupe 23andMe CloudFlare Eventbrite Lookout AppDynamics SimpliVity Kabam Razer JustFab Qualtrics Illumio Pluralsight MarkLogic Coupa Software Fanduel Zeta Interactive Zscaler Vox Media Carbon3D Apttus
$51 $25.5 $20 $16 $12 $11 $10 $10 $9 $6 $5.5 $5 $4.5 $4.1 $4 $3.5 $3.5 $3.3 $3.1 $3 $3 $3 $3 $3 $3 $2.8 $2.7 $2.5 $2.5 $2.3 $2 $2 $2 $2 $2 $2 $2 $2 $2 $1.9 $1.8 $1.75 $1.7 $1.6 $1.5 $1.5 $1.5 $1.4 $1.35 $1.35 $1.25 $1.2 $1.2 $1.2 $1.17 $1.16 $1.1 $1.1 $1.1 $1.1 $1.1 $1.07 $1.05 $1.03 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1 $1
08.23.2013 07.26.2011 05.05.2011 12.11.2013 12.01.2012 05.19.2012 10.05.2011 02.03.2014 07.13.2014 06.29.2011 04.01.2014 01.23.2014 05.06.2015 03.18.2014 02.03.2015 03.31.2015 09.29.2014 07.13.2011 06.06.2012 04.25.2011 09.08.2015 08.29.2013 03.04.2014 12.19.2014 05.18.2015 10.31.2014 03.06.2009 03.12.2015 08.17.2013 09.30.2014 12.14.2011 05.24.2012 06.30.2015 01.14.2014 07.30.2015 04.08.2015 12.30.2014 06.09.2015 10.21.2014 04.08.2015 08.20.2015 04.20.2015 08.13.2015 10.04.2013 04.28.2014 05.19.2015 08.18.2015 04.16.2014 07.26.2015 11.15.2011 07.21.2015 08.18.2014 04.30.2015 09.08.2015 03.31.2015 05.27.2013 05.04.2015 06.02.2014 03.24.2014 03.20.2014 03.04.2015 04.14.2015 07.05.2011 07.03.2015 12.01.2012 03.13.2014 08.13.2014 07.22.2014 03.10.2015 08.01.2014 10.15.2014 08.29.2014 09.24.2014 04.14.2014 08.27.2014 05.12.2015 06.01.2015 07.14.2015 07.15.2015 08.03.2015 08.12.2015 08.20.2015 09.01.2015
On-Demand eCommerce/Marketplace Big Data Social Other Transportation Social Internet Software & Services Facilities Healthcare Fintech Healthcare Fintech Fintech Big Data Fintech Cybersecurity Fintech Hardware eCommerce/Marketplace Film & Video Healthcare Hardware Internet Software & Services Healthcare eCommerce/Marketplace Internet Software & Services Greentech On-Demand Media eCommerce/Marketplace Internet Software & Services Internet Software & Services Healthcare Big Data Internet Software & Services Big Data On-Demand eCommerce/Marketplace VR/AR Fintech Healthcare Healthcare eCommerce/Marketplace Big Data Big Data Internet Software & Services Media Mobile Software & Services Internet Software & Services Big Data Internet Software & Services Adtech eCommerce/Marketplace Cybersecurity Internet Software & Services Internet Software & Services Internet Software & Services Healthcare Big Data Social Social Internet Software & Services eCommerce/Marketplace Healthcare Cybersecurity eCommerce/Marketplace Cybersecurity Big Data Big Data Gaming Hardware eCommerce/Marketplace Big Data Cybersecurity Internet Software & Services Big Data Fintech Internet Software & Services Internet Software & Services Cybersecurity Media Hardware Internet Software & Services
A&E Television Networks ATA Ventures ATEL Ventures Accel Partners Accomplice Alibaba Group Andreessen Horowitz Artis Ventures Azure Capital Partners Baseline Ventures Battery Ventures Benchmark Capital Bessemer Venture Partners BoxGroup Breyer Capital Bullpen Capital Celgene Charter Venture Capital Citi Ventures Collaborative Fund Columbia Capital Comcast Ventures DAG Ventures Data Collective Digital Sky Technologies Doll Capital Management Draper Fisher Jurvetson ENIAC Ventures Empire Ventures Felicis Ventures Financial Recon Group First Round Capital Firstmark Capital Flagship Ventures Floodgate Formation 8 Foundational Capital Founders Fund Franklin Square GGV Capital GSO Capital Partners GSV Capital General Atlantic General Catalyst Partners Goldman Sachs Google Ventures Greylock Partners IDG Capital Partners Iconiq Capital Ignition Partners In-Q-Tel Index Ventures Insight Venture Partners Institutional Venture Partners Intel Capital Invus Group K1 Capital Salesforce Ventures KKR Khosla Ventures Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers Kuwait Investment Authority Lightspeed Venture Partners Lowercase Capital MPM Capital Matrix Partners Mayfield Fund Meritech Capital Partners Microsoft Ventures Morgenthaler Ventures New Enterprise Associates New Leaf Venture Partners Nor-Cal Invest North Bridge Venture Partners Northgate Capital Norwest Venture Partners Novartis Oak Investment Partners Obvious Ventures Passport Capital Pelion Venture Partners Pentech Ventures Pinnacle Ventures Polaris Partners Qualcomm Ventures RRE Ventures Redpoint Ventures Rho Ventures Rothenberg Ventures SV Angel Salesforce Ventures Sequoia Capital SoftTech VC Swisscom Ventures T-Venture T. Rowe Price TPG Capital Tako Ventures Technology Crossover Ventures Temasek Holdings Tenaya Capital The Carlyle Group The Social+Capital Partnership Thrive Capital Tiger Global Management Tribeca Venture Partners US Venture Partners Union Square Ventures Venrock Verizon Communications Wakefield Group Wellington Management
Ozzy Osbourne
Axl Rose
Lemmy Kilmister
Gene Simmons
ROCK STAR MONOGRAMS This is a series of monograms for a variety of rock stars, using the forms and iconography within the typography to represent each musician’s unique nature and personality.
Johnny Cash
Elvis Presley
David Bowie
John Lennon
Frank Zappa
Captain Beefheart (Don Van Vliet)
AN ANTHOLOGY OF AMERICAN CLASSICS This book assembles four American classics: The Red Badge of Courage, The Black Cat, Quotes by Benjamin Franklin and American Cookery. Each book has it’s own design treatment and size, and they are all then stitched together with coptic binding into one single volume.
The ragged line had respite for some minutes, but during its pause the struggle in the forest became magnified until the trees seemed to quiver from the firing and the ground to shake from the rushing of men. The voices of the cannon were mingled in a long and interminable row. It seemed difficult to live in such an atmosphere. The chests of the men strained for a bit of freshness, and their throats craved water.
line. They could see dark stretches winding along the land, and on one cleared space there was a row of guns making gray clouds, which were filled with large flashes of orange-colored flame. Over some foliage they could see the roof of a house. One window, glowing a deep murder red, shone squarely through the leaves. From the edifice a tall leaning tower of smoke went far into the sky.
There was one shot through the body, who raised a cry of bitter lamentation when came this lull. Perhaps he had been calling out during the fighting also, but at that time no one had heard him. But now the men turned at the woeful complaints of him upon the ground.
Looking over their own troops, they saw mixed masses slowly getting into regular form. The sunlight made twinkling points of the bright steel. To the rear there was a glimpse of a distant roadway as it curved over a slope. It was crowded with retreating infantry. From all the interwoven forest arose the smoke and bluster of the battle. The air was always occupied by a blaring.
“Who is it? Who is it?” “Its Jimmie Rogers. Jimmie Rogers.” When their eyes first encountered him there was a sudden halt, as if they feared to go near. He was thrashing about in the grass, twisting his shuddering body into many strange postures. He was screaming loudly. This instant’s hesitation seemed to fill him with a tremendous, fantastic contempt, and he damned them in shrieked sentences. The youth’s friend had a geographical illusion concerning a stream, and he obtained permission to go for some water. Immediately canteens were showered upon him. “Fill mine, will yeh?” “Bring me some, too.” “And me, too.” He departed, ladened. The youth went with his friend, feeling a desire to throw his heated body into the stream and, soaking there, drink quarts. They made a hurried search for the supposed stream, but did not find it. “No water here,” said the youth. They turned without delay and began to retrace their steps.
43
From their position as they again faced toward the place of the fighting, they could of comprehend a greater amount of the battle than when their visions had been blurred by the hurling smoke of the line. They
were criticising his clothes. “Th’ enemy’s formin’ over there for another charge,” he said. “It’ll be directed against Whiterside, an’ I fear they’ll break through unless we work like thunder t’ stop them.” They could of comprehend a greater amount of the battle than when their visions had been blurred by the hurling smoke of the line. They could see dark stretches winding along the land, and on one cleared space there was a row of guns making gray clouds, which were filled with large flashes of orange-colored flame. Over some foliage they could see the roof of a house. One window, glowing a deep murder red, shone squarely through the leaves. From the edifice a tall leaning tower of smoke went far into the sky. The other swore at his restive horse, and then cleared his throat. He made a gesture toward his cap. “It’ll be hell t’ pay stoppin’ them,” he said shortly.
Near where they stood shells were flip-flapping and hooting. Occasional bullets buzzed in the air and spanged into tree trunks. Wounded men and other stragglers were slinking through the woods.
“I presume so,” remarked the general. Then he began to talk rapidly and in a lower tone. He frequently illustrated his words with a pointing finger. The two infantrymen could hear nothing until finally he asked: “What troops can you spare?”
Looking down an aisle of the grove, the youth and his companion saw a jangling general and his staff almost ride upon a wounded man, who was crawling on his hands and knees. The general reined strongly at his charger’s opened and foamy mouth and guided it with dexterous horsemanship past the man. The latter scrambled in wild and torturing haste. His strength evidently failed him as he reached a place of safety. One of his arms suddenly weakened, and he fell, sliding over upon his back. He lay stretched out, breathing gently.
The officer who rode like a cowboy reflected for an instant. “Well,” he said, “I had to order in th’ 12th to help th’ 76th, an’ I haven’t really got any. But there’s th’ 304th. They fight like a lot ‘a mule drivers. I can spare them best of any.” The youth and his friend exchanged glances of astonishment.
A moment later the small, creaking cavalcade was directly in front of the two soldiers. Another officer, riding with the skillful abandon of a cowboy, galloped his horse to a position directly before the general. The two unnoticed foot soldiers made a little show of going on, but they lingered near in the desire to overhear the conversation. Perhaps, they thought, some great inner historical things would be said. The general, whom the boys knew as the commander of their division, looked at the other officer and spoke coolly, as if he were criticising his 44
The general spoke sharply. “Get ‘em ready, then. I’ll watch developments from here, an’ send you word when t’ start them. It’ll happen in five minutes.”
45
As the other officer tossed his fingers toward his cap and wheeling his horse, started away, the general called out to him in a sober voice: “I don’t believe many of your mule drivers will get back.”
The other shouted something in reply. He smiled. With scared faces, the youth and his companion hurried back to the line. These happenings had occupied an incredibly short time, yet the youth felt that in them he had been made aged. New eyes were given to him. And the most startling thing was to learn suddenly that he was very insignificant. The officer spoke of the regiment as if he referred to a broom. Some part of the woods needed sweeping, perhaps, and he merely indicated a broom in a tone properly indifferent to its fate. It was war, no doubt, but it appeared strange. As the two boys approached the line, the lieutenant perceived them and swelled with wrath. “Flemin–Wilson–how long does it take yeh to git water, anyhow–where yeh been to.” But his oration ceased as he saw their eyes, which were large with great tales. “We’re goin’ t’ charge–we’re goin’ t’ charge!” cried the youth’s friend, hastening with his news. “Charge?” said the lieutenant. “Charge? Well, b’Gawd! Now, this is real fightin’.” Over his soiled countenance there went a boastful smile. “Charge? Well, b’Gawd!” A little group of soldiers surrounded the two youths. “Are we, sure ‘nough? Well, I’ll be derned! Charge? What fer? What at? Wilson, you’re lyin’.” “I hope to die,” said the youth, pitching his tones to the key of angry remonstrance. “Sure as shooting, I tell you.” And his friend spoke in re-enforcement. “Not by a blame sight, he ain’t lyin’. We heard ‘em talkin’.” They caught sight of two mounted figures a short distance from them. One was the colonel of the regiment and the other was the officer who
46
had received orders from the commander of the division. They were gesticulating at each other. The soldier, pointing at them, interpreted the scene. One man had a final objection: “How could yeh hear ‘em talkin’?” But the men, for a large part, nodded, admitting that previously the two friends had spoken truth. They settled back into reposeful attitudes with airs of having accepted the matter. And they mused upon it, with a hundred varieties of expression. It was an engrossing thing to think about. Many tightened their belts carefully and hitched at their trousers. A moment later the officers began to bustle among the men, pushing them into a more compact mass and into a better alignment. They chased those that straggled and fumed at a few men who seemed to show by their attitudes that they had decided to remain at that spot. They were like critical shepherds, struggling with sheep. Presently, the regiment seemed to draw itself up and heave a deep breath. None of the men’s faces were mirrors of large thoughts. The soldiers were bended and stooped like sprinters before a signal. Many pairs of glinting eyes peered from the grimy faces toward the curtains of the deeper woods. They seemed to be engaged in deep calculations of time and distance. They were surrounded by the noises of the monstrous altercation the two armies. The world was fully interested in other matters. Apparently, the regiment had its small affair to itself.
49
The youth, turning, shot a quick, inquiring glance at his friend. The latter returned to him the same manner of look. They were the only ones who possessed an inner knowledge. “Mule drivers--hell t’ pay--don’t believe many will get back.” It was an ironical secret. Still, they saw no hesitation in each other’s faces, and they nodded a mute and unprotesting assent when a shaggy man near them said in a meek voice: “We’ll git swallowed.”
For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not—and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified—have tortured—have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror—to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place—some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects. From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets.With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man. I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat. This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing
degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point—and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered. Pluto—this was the cat’s name—was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets. Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character— through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance— had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me—for what disease is like Alcohol!—and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish— even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper. One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth.The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat pocket a penknife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.
anger, and forebore to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe, or to imagine, the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of the detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance during the night— and thus for one night at least, since its introduction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept; aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul! The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a freeman. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few inquiries had been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a search had been instituted—but of course nothing was to be discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured. Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The police were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness.! “Gentlemen,” I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, “I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this—this is a very well constructed house.” In the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all— ”I may say an excellently well constructed house.These walls—are you going, gentlemen?—these walls are solidly put together;” and here, through the mere
phrenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand,upon that very portion of the brick-work behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my bosom. But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-Fiend! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb!—by a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman—a howl—a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the dammed in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation. Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!
Would you live with ease, do what you ought, not what you please.
Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee.
No Gains without Pains.
Many a Man would have been worse, if his Estate had been better.
Industry, Perseverance, & Frugality, make Fortune yield.
There are lazy Minds as well as lazy Bodies.
Up, sluggard, and waste not life; In the Grave will be sleeping enough.
Drive thy Business or it will drive thee.
cake
preface
84
As this treatise is calculated for the improvement of the rising generation of Females in America, the Lady of fashion and fortune will not be displeased, if many hints are suggested for the more general and universal knowledge of those females in this country, who by the loss of their parents, or other unfortunate circumstances, are reduced to the necessity of going into families in the line of domestics, or taking refuge with their friends or relations, and doing those things which are really essential to the perfecting them as good wives, and useful members of society. The orphan, tho’ left to the care of virtuous guardians, will find it essentially necessary to have an opinion and determination of her own. The world, and
old people cannot accommodate themselves to the various changes and fashions which daily occur; they will adhere to the fashion of their day, and will not surrender their attachments to the good old way— while the young and the gay, bend and conform readily to the taste of the times, and fancy of the hour. By having an opinion and determination, I would not be understood to mean an obstinate perseverance in trifles, which borders on obstinacy—by no means, but only an adherence to those rules and maxims which have flood the test of ages, and will forever establish the female character, a virtuous character— altho’ they conform to the ruling taste of the age in cookery, dress, language, manners, etc.
Johny Cake or Hoe Cake—Scald 1 pint of milk and put to 3 pints of Indian meal, and half pint of flower—bake before the fire. Or scald with milk two thirds of the Indian meal, or wet two thirds with boiling water, add salt, molasses and shortening, work up with cold water pretty stiff, and bake as above.
It must ever remain a check upon the poor solitary orphan, that while those females who have parents, or brothers, or riches, to defend their indiscretions, that the orphan must depend solely upon character. How immensely important, therefore, that every action, every word, every thought, be regulated by the strictest purity, and that every movement meet the approbation of the good and wise. The candor of the American Ladies is solicitously intreated by the Authoress, as she is circumscribed in her knowledge, this being an original work in this country. Should any future editions appear, she hopes to render it more valuable.
84
85
Loaf Cakes No. 1—Rub 6 pound of sugar, 2 pound of lard, 3 pound of butter into 12 pound of flour, add 18 eggs, 1 quart of milk, 2 ounces of cinnamon, 2 small nutmegs, a tea cup of coriander seed, each pounded fine and sifted, add one pint of brandy, half a pint of wine, 6 pound of stoned raisins, 1 pint of emptins, first having dried your flour in the oven, dry and roll the sugar fine, rub your shortning and
the cake much whiter and lighter, heat the oven with dry wood, for 1 and a half hours, if large pans be used, it will then require 2 hours baking, and in proportion for smaller loaves. To frost it. Whip 6 whites, during the baking, add 3 pound of sifted loaf sugar and put on thick, as it comes hot from the oven. Some return the frosted loaf into the oven, it injures and yellows it, if the frosting be put on immediately it does best without being returned into the oven. Another No. 2 —Rub 4 pound of sugar, 3 and a half pound of shortning, (half butter and half lard) into 9 pound of flour, 1 dozen of eggs, 2 ounces of cinnamon, 1 pint of milk, 3 spoonfuls coriander seed, 3 gills of brandy, 1 gill of wine, 3 gills of emptins, 4
Another No. 3 —Six pound of flour, 3 of sugar, 2 and a half pound of shortning, (half butter, half lard) 6 eggs, 1 nutmeg, 1 ounce of cinnamon and 1 ounce of coriander seed, 1 pint of emptins, 2 gills brandy, 1 pint of milk and 3 pound of raisins.
loaves, bake one and half hour.
Another No. 4—Five pound of flour, 2 pound of butter, 2 and a half pounds of loaf sugar, 2 and a half pounds of raisins, 15 eggs, 1 pint of wine, 1 pint of emptins, 1 ounce of cinnamon, 1 gill rose- water, 1 gill of brandy—baked like No. 1.
Soft Cakes in little pans—One and half pound sugar, half pound butter, rubbed into two pounds flour, add one glass wine, one do. rose water, 18 eggs and a nutmeg.
A cheap seed Cake— Rub one pound sugar, half an ounce allspice into four quarts flour, into which pour one pound butter, melted in one pint milk, nine eggs, one gill emptins, (carroway seed and currants, or raisins if you please)
Pound Cake—One pound sugar, one pound butter, one pound flour, one pound or ten eggs, rose water one gill, spices to your taste; watch it well, it will bake in a slow oven in 15 minutes.
A light Cake to bake in small cups—Half a pound sugar, half a pound butter, rubbed into two pounds flour, one glass wine, one do rose water, two do. emptins, a nutmeg, cinnamon and currants.
85
A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in.
WHITE WITH RED This was a series of illustrations set with text to accompany a short horror story of the same name, author unknown.
Inside, he saw a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a pale woman leaning into the corner. He knocked to get her attention but she did not respond.
“A few years ago, a newlywed couple stayed in that room. That night the husband murdered his wife. People have seen her ghost haunting that room ever since...”
“They describe her as being pale and white all over. Except for her eyes…”
“... her eyes were red.”
The earliest certain ancestor of "A" is aleph (also written 'aleph), the first letter of the Phoenician alphabet (which consisted entirely of consonants; for that reason, it is also called an abjad to distinguish it from a true alphabet). In turn, the ancestor of aleph may have been a pictogram of an ox head in proto-Sinaitic script influenced by Egyptian hieroglyphs, styled as a triangular head with two horns extended. In 1600 B.C.E., the Phoenician alphabet letter had a linear form that served as the base for some later forms. Its name must have corresponded closely to the Hebrew or Arabic aleph in use.
stop—the consonant sound that the letter denoted in Phoenician and other Semitic languages, and that was the first phoneme of the Phoenician pronunciation of the letter—so they used their version of the sign to represent the vowel /a/, and called it by the similar name of alpha. In the earliest Greek inscriptions after the Greek Dark Ages, dating to the 8th century BC, the letter rests upon its side, but in the Greek alphabet of later times it generally resembles the modern capital letter, although many local varieties can be distinguished by the shortening of one leg, or by the angle at which the cross line is set.
When the ancient Greeks adopted the alphabet, they had no use for the glottal
The Etruscans brought the Greek alphabet to their civilization in the Italian
HISTORY OF TYPE I researched the origin of our letterforms, finding the letter’s roots in Egyptian, Etruscan and Sumerian forms of writing. I designed a pocket manual around this concept, with each letter represented by a color in a rainbow, and compiled them into an accordion book.
Egyptian
Egyptian
Phoenician
Phoenician
Phoenician
Etruscan
Etruscan
Etruscan
Egyptian
Egyptian
Phoenician
Semitic Peninsula and left the letter unchanged. The Romans later adopted the Etruscan alphabet to write the Latin language, and the resulting letter was preserved in the Latin alphabet that would come to be used to write many languages, including English and Spanish.
Old English was originally written in runes, whose equivalent letter was ‘beorc’, meaning "birch". Beorc dates to at least the 2nd-century Elder Futhark, which is now thought to have derived from the Old Italic alphabets' either directly or via Latin. The uncial and half-uncial introduced by the Gregorian and Irish missions gradually developed into the Insular scripts'. These Old English Latin alphabets supplanted the earlier runes, whose use was fully banned under King Canute in the early 11th century. The Norman Conquest popularized the Carolingian half-uncial forms which latter developed into blackletter. Around 1300, letter case was increasingly distinguished, with upperand lower-case B taking
separate meanings. Following the advent of printing in the 15th century, Germany and Scandinavia continued to use forms of blackletter (particularly Fraktur), while England eventually adopted the humanist and antiqua scripts developed in Renaissance Italy from a combination of Roman inscriptions and Carolingian texts. The present forms of the English cursive B were developed by the 17th century.stop—the consonant sound that the letter denoted in Phoenician and other Semitic languages, and that was the first phoneme of the Phoenician pronunciation of the letter—so they used their version of the sign to represent the vowel /a/, and called it by the similar name of alpha. In the
earliest Greek inscriptions after the Greek Dark Ages, dating to the 8th century BC, the letter rests upon its side, but in the Greek alphabet of later times it generally resembles the modern capital letter, although many local varieties can be distinguished by the shortening of one leg, or by the angle at which the cross line is set.
The oldest direct ancestor of English letter Y was the Semitic letter waw, from which also come F, U, V, and W. See F for details. The Greek and Latin alphabets developed from the Phoenician form of this early alphabet. In Modern English, there is also some historical influence from the old English letter yogh (Ȝȝ), which developed from Semitic gimel.
The Roman derived from the Greek capital beta via its Etruscan and Cumaean variants. The Greek letter was an adaptation of the Phoenician letter bēt. The Egyptian hieroglyph for the consonant /b/ had been an image of a foot and calf, but bēt (Phoenician for "house") was a modified form of a Proto-Sinaitic glyph probably adapted from the separate hieroglyph of the type.
In Latin, Y was named I graeca, since the classical Greek sound /y/, similar to modern German ü or French u, was not a native sound for Latin speakers, and the letter was initially only used to spell foreign words. This history has led to the standard modern names of the letter in Romance languages, — in Galician i grego, in Catalan i grega, in French and Romanian i grec — all
meaning "Greek I". The names igrek in Polish and i gờ-rét in Vietnamese are both phonetic borrowings of the French name. In Dutch, both Griekse ij and i-grec are used. In Spanish, Y is also called i griega; however, in the twentieth century the shorter name ye was proposed and was officially recognized as its name in 2010 by the Real Academia Española, although its original name is still accepted. The original Greek name υ ψιλον (upsilon) has also been adapted into several modern languages: in German, for example, it is called Ypsilon, and in Italian the name is ipsilon or i greca. In Portuguese, both names are used (ípsilon and i grego). Old English borrowed Latin Y to write the native Old English sound /y/
(previously written with the rune yr ). The name of the letter may be related to 'ui' (or 'vi') in various medieval languages; in Middle English it was 'wi' /wiː/, which through the Great Vowel Shift became the Modern English 'wy.'
In most English-speaking countries, including Britain, Canada, India, Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia, the letter's name is 'zed' /ˈzɛd/, reflecting its derivation from the Greek zeta (this dates to Latin, which borrowed X, Y, and Z from Greek, along with their names), but in American English its name is 'zee' /ˈziː/, analogous to the names for B, C, D, etc., and deriving from a late 17th century English dialectal form. Another English dialectal form is izzard /ˈɪzərd/. It dates from the mid-18th century and probably derives from Occitan izèda or the French ézed, whose reconstructed Latin form would be *idzēta, perhaps a popular form with a prosthetic vowel. Other languages spell the
letter's name in a similar way: zeta in Italian, Basque, Spanish, and Icelandic (no longer part of its alphabet but found in personal names), zäta in Swedish, zæt in Danish, zet in Dutch, Indonesian, Polish, Romanian, and Czech, Zett in German (capitalised as noun), zett in Norwegian, zède in French, zê in Portuguese, and zét in Vietnamese. Several languages render it as /ts/ or /dz/, e.g. zeta /tsetɑ/ or /tset/ in Finnish. In Standard Chinese pinyin the name of the letter Z is pronounced [tsɨ], although the English 'zed' and 'zee' have become very common. The Semitic symbol was the seventh letter, named zayin which possibly meant "weapon". It represented either the sound /z/ as in English and French, or possibly more like /dz/.
The Greek form of Z was a close copy of the Phoenician zen (Zayin), and the Greek inscriptional form remained in this shape throughout ancient times. The Greeks called it zeta, a new name made in imitation of eta (η) and theta (θ). In earlier Greek of Athens and Northwest Greece, the letter seems to have represented /dz/; in Attic, from the 4th century BC onwards, it seems to have stood for /zd/ and /dz/, and in fact there is no consensus concerning this issue. In other dialects, as Elean and Cretan, the symbol seems to have been used for sounds resembling the English voiced and voiceless th (IPA /ð/ and /θ/, respectively).
EXPERIMENTAL TYPE With this project, I sought to make a set of letterforms using an unconventional technique. I came up with a method of markmaking in which letter shapes made in a mixture of vegetable oil and ink are applied to watercolor paper and then submerged in water.