The Green Sheaf

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Pamela Colman Smith, artist, is more of a familiar figure today than she used to be thanks to the increased attention given to women artists of the past. Less familiar is Pamela Colman Smith, magazine editor, a role she briefly occupied in 1903 when she launched The Green Sheaf, an arts magazine published in London. This was a slight publication—the first number is a mere 8 pages—but the contents included heavyweight contributors such as John Masefield together with Smith’s mystically-oriented Irish friends, WB Yeats and “AE” (George Russell). Smith provided many of the illustrations, as did Cecil French and William Horton, the latter an artist whose work I hadn’t seen in colour before. All the colouring in The Green Sheaf was done by hand, presumably by Smith herself, which must have limited the circulation. Smith’s intention was to publish 13 issues a year, and 13 issues were all the magazine eventually managed. The number 13 was evidently an important one for the artist/editor, although we’re left to guess why. In addition to 13 issues, the subscriptions sold for 13 shillings, with individual issues costing 13 pence each. All the issues may be browsed or downloaded here.

See also: “A Paper of Her Own”: Pamela Colman Smith’s The Green Sheaf (1903–1904)

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02023

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Men Shall Know Nothing of This (1923) by Max Ernst.

Happy new year. 02023? Read this.

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Taj Mahal by Moonlight (1923) by Charles W. Bartlett.

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The Road, Winter Morning (1923) by George Clausen.

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Hélice (1923) by Robert Delaunay.

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Composition 1923–1924 by Theo van Doesburg.

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Weekend links 654

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Drawing for a New Year’s Card (c. 1900) by Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

• “Almanacs appealed to the perennial lust for wonder and weirdness in the world. They were the fantastic literature of the day.” Mark Valentine on English Almanacs 1500–1800. Reading this had me wondering whether Old Moore’s Almanac is still being published. Yes, it is.

• “Meet the designer of the fanciful subway entrances to the Paris Métro.” Susannah Gardiner on the architecture, design and anarchist philosophy of Hector Guimard.

• “Apocalypse is not alien to HR Giger,” says Steven Heller, reviewing Atomkinder, a book of the artist’s early cartoons for which he also provided an introduction.

• “Nabokov loved film, hopelessly.” Luke Parker on a short poem, The Cinema (1928), from Vladimir Nabokov’s Berlin years.

• From Loki to Behemoth: waves of the English coastline photographed by Rachael Talibart.

• Mix of the week: Winter Solstice 4: “In C” by ambientblog.

• At Dennis Cooper’s: Grace Zabriskie Day.

Atom Sounds (1978) by Jackie Mittoo | Atom Blaster (1985) by Vangelis | Atomic Buddha (1998) by Techno Animal

Produziert in der Schweiz

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Back to the future, after a fashion. A couple of years ago I was pleased to discover that Swissmade: 2069 (1968) had finally surfaced in full-length form on the internet. Fredi M. Murer’s short feature was the first science-fiction film that HR Giger was involved with, made at a time when Alejandro Jodorowsky was still in Mexico and Ridley Scott was a little-known director of TV ads. Giger designed the mysterious “Humanoid” that wanders around Brutalist interiors interviewing the Swiss citizens of the future, and also appears in front of the camera with his drawings and paintings. There’s no need to repeat myself by writing about the film again, this is mainly an announcement that Rarefilmm has just posted a much better copy (including English subs) than was previously available on YouTube.

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Watching this again I’m reminded of an intention I’ve had for a while of putting together a list of offbeat SF films, a collection of the unusual, the unpredictable, the seldom-seen or the downright weird that offers an alternative to the cultural imperialism of Hollywood. Swissmade: 2069 would be a candidate for such a list even though it only runs for 40 minutes and presents a rather stereotypical view of a future world. Just now I’m a little too preoccupied with design and illustration work to consider such an endeavour, and I’m sure similar lists exist already at Letterboxd or somewhere. But it’s an idea for the future. Our future. Watch this space.

Previously on { feuilleton }
Art on film: Providence
Giger’s first alien: Swissmade: 2069
HR Giger’s Passagen
Heimkiller and High
The Man Who Paints Monsters In The Night
Hans by Sibylle
Giger’s Tarot
HR Giger album covers
Giger’s Necronomicon
Dan O’Bannon, 1946–2009
Alejandro Jodorowsky’s Dune
The monstrous tome

The Dillons at Caedmon

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L. Frank Baum: Queen Zixi Of Ix (Or The Story Of The Magic Cloak) Read By Ray Bolger (1977).

There’s a lot you could write about illustrators Leo and Diane Dillon. They were very prolific for a start, creating many book covers and interior illustrations in a variety of styles and different media. They also maintained a long-running association with Harlan Ellison whose praise for the pair was never less than fulsome. Like Bob Pepper and other versatile illustrators, they created art for album covers as well as books, with regular commissions from Caedmon Records, a label that specialises in spoken-word recordings.

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Walt Whitman’s Leaves Of Grass Read By Ed Begley (1959).

During the time the Dillons were working for Caedmon most of the label’s releases were on vinyl, a format that tended to restrict the readings to poetry, short stories or extracts from novels and plays. The format was limited for writers and listeners but beneficial for book illustrators, giving them a larger canvas to work on. These examples are a small selection of the Dillons’ output, more of which may be seen at Discogs. Not everything on Caedmon looked this good. I used to own the David McCallum reading of The Dunwich Horror, an album whose cover art was so amateurish it might have been drawn by Wilbur Whateley himself. The Dillons’ cover for The Rats in the Walls is much better, with a gnawing figure that resembles the woodcut-style illustrations the pair created for Harlan Ellison’s Dangerous Visions anthologies. I’ve never read anything about the Dillons’ techniques so can’t say whether their woodcut style was a product of actual wood engraving rather than linocut, a more convenient medium. I’d guess the latter since the end results look pretty much the same, but if anyone knows the answer then please leave a comment.

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The Stories Of Kafka Read By Lotte Lenya (1962).

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Great Scenes From Shakespeare’s Macbeth: Anthony Quayle, Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies, Stanley Holloway (1962).

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Great Scenes From Shakespeare’s Antony And Cleopatra: Pamela Brown And Anthony Quayle (1963).

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