The lass is back in town

Chimneys, chimneys... And more chimneys. Rigorously red.

Welcome to Jericho! It took me a while to come back to this blog - namely, it took me a busy month of September, a frantic month of October... And a too-fast-to-describe month of November, it seems. Also, moving to a new house with no internet connection (now solved, clearly) did not help. Yet one day - one sunny day, rare and precious! - I took some time off, brought my camera out for a stroll and explored a few streets here in Jericho. The result is in these photos - take a rest and enjoy the autumnal colours!

Close to St. Barnabas Church - I like the way this photo looks like it's B&W... Although it's not! Such a nice contrast of light and shade.

... Would you dare knocking on this door? Behave... Or beware. (*)

When I saw this wall and its bright, intense colours, I thought I had to grab my camera and come back to this spot!

The "Rickety Press" on Cranham Street around 3pm. "Cask ales, fine food" - what else should I say?

I like the way a few leaves stay on some trees (especially on sycamore trees, did you notice it?) - dots-dots-dots.

Ladies and gents, here is Wellington Square in all its glory!

(*) Do you know where the quote "Behave or beware" comes from? If yes, nothing to add - if not, here is the answer: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Nanny_mcphee.jpg. ;)

Intro - The Dowie Dens of Yarrow

Since I discovered the "English Folk Dance and Song Society" based at the Cecil Sharp House in Camden, London, I have thought of a reason good enough to take a chance and explore the resources of their fabulous library - the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Not that the librarians aren't friendly and open-minded - by contrast, I must thank Laura Smyth for being incredibly helpful and welcoming. No, the truth is: I couldn't spoil a visit to the library by asking "Can I have a look at Child's collection of British ballads?" - it's like going to a very prestigeous tea shop, famous for their peculiar blends; when asked "Would you like to have a free tasting of one of our products?" one answers "Sure, a cup of English Breakfast please!". I'm not saying that English Breakfast is a silly choice. Actually, it might even be the most intelligent move - English Breakfast is a benchmark when it comes to tea, isn't it? Then by sipping it one could immediately notice if the taste is different, and therefore appreciate any unexpected aroma... On the other hand, one does miss the opportunity to explore new territories, so to speak. I suppose one might try a braver strategy, such as "Thank you - I was wondering, would it be possible to try two blends?" - it may work, after all. Then one would... Wait a minute. How did I find myself writing about tea and free tastings?

I ended up spending about four hours in the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library (VWML): all of my readings and listenings were centred on one ballad, "The Dowie Dens of Yarrow". The line of thoughts that determined this choice was quite linear:

- isolating one song and checking different comments and annotations by various collectors/lyrics/recordings would give me the opportunity to appreciate the richness and vastity of the library resources while maintaining a clear direction of exploration.

- when I learn a new tune, I tend to refer to one, perhaps two versions of it that I like. What is worse, I then tend to sing it that way - with hardly any personal input on neither the lyrics nor the tune. I thus figured that one possible way out of this habit might be to go back to the roots of one specific song, so to say; reading books instead of liner notes (and information found on the internet) and listening to a number of versions (sometimes in the form of original field recordings - unpolished, not post-processed/post-produced and therefore amazing, most of the times!) may help me to finally come up with my rendition of the ballad.

- how to choose one song though? Recently I have been focussing on English tunes, so a Scottish ballad sounded like a good start. Also, I knew "The Dowie Dens of Yarrow" but never learnt it. After a few searches I discovered not only that it is a "border ballad", which is pretty much what I was looking for, but also that a few of the available recordings come from Scottish travellers, who together with Irish travellers share an absolutely fenomenal musical knowledge (and taste) that has always fascinated me.

I came back to Oxford with handwritten notes and tunes that I kept on humming for a few days (and which I recorded before they faded away) - soon to come is a new "FolkRec" post...

On the field #4 - The Science Museum in London

In June I spent one afternoon at the Science Museum in London, where - shame! - I had never been before. If I had to be concise, I would probably choose one adjective: fabulous.

... Of course, brevity is no familiar word of mine. :) A first look at the museum plan suggested me that I would need to select a few topics and focus on these, leaving the others for future day trips to the capital. I thus visited quite extensively the Mathematics section, looking with amazement at the beautifully crafted three-dimensional reproductions of solution curves for differential equations and staring at the zoo of polygons and solids that were discovered (and sometimes named, just like one would do with a child of their own!) in centuries of mathematical studies. I strolled around a couple of temporary installations, one of which I very much disliked, the other of which I quite enjoyed. Ah, art combined with science - often probabilistic in its outcome! :) On a general note, I did find the idea of having a permanent collection as well as a few sections that host temporary exhibitions on various topics an extremely clever way of structuring a museum...

... Which leads me to the main reason why I started this post in the first place. When I entered the museum, the first object that drew my attention was a poster advertising one of these temporary sections, in this case one that focussed on the life and legacy of Alan Turing (http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/visitmuseum/galleries/turing.aspx). If the name does not ring any bell, I will leave you to the reading of the Wikipedia article (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Turing). If you do know a bit about Turing's contribution to mathematics, logic and computer science, then you probably won't be surprised to know that exploring the section one would be able to see a couple of Enigma machines and a reproduction of a computer designed by Turing himself when, well, a computer was everything but "personal" (in the early days, a "computer" was actually a human being - usually a woman - trained to compute specific calculations by typing on a machine very similar to the ones you would have written letters to your grandmother with), to mention a few items on display.

The real surprise came at the end of the exhibition: three very coloured, interactive machines had been brought there to get the so-called general public to familiarise with concepts such as looping. Such "key words" are well-known within the scientific community; they identify operations that are likely to appear as basic building blocks in many, many programming codes (irrespective of the specific language used). I must say that I voluntarily chose the looping example: I am an inexperienced programmer, and I still feel somehow uncomfortable every time I realise that I need to add a loop in a code. I thus decided to stop at the machine that stood there to give an insight into how looping instructions are written and executed: I was curious to see the way people would interact with it.

Let me try and describe the installation itself. Imagine a screen where specific areas (which are nothing but sets of pixels) have different colours: these coloured sections of the screen can be activated (and de-activated) depending on the instructions executed by the machine. This creates sequences of "coloured patches" that appear and disappear in cycles until one or more instructions change. This is because the lines of code that "tell the screen" "Now make the green pixels glow!" and so on are embedded in a loop, and are thus executed over and over (well... potentially - nothing lasts forever, I believe). Under the screen is a post where another screen is found: this one displays the actual code that is responsible for what happens on the glowing screen. It is also possible to see the circuit that physically implements the written programme. Finally, next to the screen showing the code there is a smaller screen that displays a few instructions that should allow visitors to understand how the machine works, and in turn make it possible to actively modify its glowing output.

I thus stand a few metres away from the installation: a first group of people arrives - good. They look like they are 25, maybe 30 years old; two men, two women. The latter somehow stay at a distance. Perhaps they are not interested, but maybe this is also because their male companions have quite naturally (and quickly) occupied the space in front of the screen: they are already interacting with the machine. What strikes me about the first bunch of groups that stop and spend some time in front of this looping machine is the following behaviour: they do look at the instructions that "translate" what the code does, but they rapidly start pressing the buttons that make it possible to modify the code - sometimes while they're still reading the instructions, and often in such a nervous way that makes me suspect that they're not really testing how this machine works. They play around. What is also interesting is that they seem to get bored quickly - many people extract a digital camera, take a picture of the coloured screen and then leave.

As for me, I had initially spent several minutes looking at the installation, and to be entirely honest, well, I am not sure I did understand how this is supposed to shine some light on how looping lines of code are implemented. Which is why I then decided to stay around, to see if I could feel less lost by watching other people dealing with the machine - someone could turn out to be a good demonstrator. Now, these first groups of visitors do not help at all: they're way too frantic, they touch every possible button and they don't seem to have any criteria driving their actions. Ah - now a man in his sixties comes around. He stares at the installation for a while. He looks at the glowing screen, then at the post with the two screens displaying the code and the instructions on how to operate the machine. Pause. He starts pressing a few buttons on the post - calmly but firmly, and constantly checking what the outcome of his actions is on the glowing screen: areas of different colours gently appear and disappear. Pause. He stares at the screen a little longer and he eventually leaves; I presume he is satisfied with the final result. Then I do realise - this man has just been my demonstrator! Now it all perfectly makes sense - easy. I am about to leave when something else happens: the post with the code and the instructions breaks - no instructions anymore. My reaction is immediate: too bad, now people won't stop as the machine cannot be operated in these conditions. Wrong. A couple (both in their mid-thirties, I would say) arrives and stares at the screens for a while: they do seem to get the general functioning, and after pressing a few buttons they leave. A few more people stop by: some of them look like they know what they're doing, some less - still they use the machine and produce coloured patterns on the glowing screen...

... Which is ultimately what happens when one switches on a laptop or a mobile phone: one does use them even without having a deep knowledge of the way they effectively work.

The code is there though.

>> _

Would it be possible to have a look around?

The title of this post is often my first line when visiting new places (including the ones I am not even sure I have access to) - usually it is useful it when, unavoidably, a porter of some kind appears, clearly eager to know the reason of my presence.

Here in Oxfordshire it turns out that it is possible to collect an astonishing number of different answers to this somewhat simple and harmless question - "I was wondering, is it possible to have a look around?". First, the sentence that leaves no alternative at all: "I am afraid not, miss". Fair enough - "private property" and "restricted access" - these expressions are part of our modern world... Whether one agrees or not. Then there are hybrid answers, with a range of relative intensities for the "yes" and "no" components: "Yes, it is possible to visit the premises - please go that way", or "Yes, the estate is open to visitors but I am afraid you can only access it on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays from 10am to 5pm". Sometimes there is an interesting twist, an addendum to one of the above answers such as "... except for next Saturday, however, as the premises will be closed for a private event". Once again, fair enough.

To give a specific example, Oxford colleges can be quite puzzling; some of them seem as difficult to enter as a fortress. When one finally manages to go in, still one has to face the "Private" signs that appear here and there - sometimes closing the way to what look like the loveliest bits of the garden... Ah!

Besides the Oxonian collegiate system, a couple of recent episodes were the starting point for this post - I hope they may highlight less well-known sights of Oxford and its surroundings. About a month ago I was told that the Rhodes House, whose entrance is on Parks Road, can be visited quite easily if one shows a University Card (no great surprise here). Still its opening times are rather peculiar: Monday to Friday from 1pm until 4pm, if I remember rightly. A few days ago I took advantage of a sunny spell to have a quick lunch and then walk to the Rhodes House to have a look at the gardens, if possible. No problem at all - I showed my card and entered. A hint: have a look at the tapestry displayed in the corridor leading to the wooden door that gives access (finally!) to the garden: the drawing is by William Morris. :) I expected the gardens to be neat and flourishing, and so they are. There is nothing exceptionally distinctive about the Rhodes House, I would say; yet it is definitely worth a visit, if you chance to walk by it and are looking for a quiet and colourful place.

As I went back to the department after my short visit to the Rhodes House I glanced at the notice board of the Museum of Natural History. There was an advert which mentioned the Wytham Woods - I thought I had never heard of this place, and thus decided to find out more as soon as possible. So I did, and with great surprise I discovered that it is not possible to walk in and stroll around, as one would do when visiting the Botanic Garden or the Harcourt Arboretum. No - a permit is required. Precisely, a letter shall be sent to the conservator of Wytham Woods, if one has an interest in visiting the area. Which I did, of course - please refer to the photo above. In my life I have sent letters to relatives and friends the world over; I wrote to Santa Clause, to a couple of private companies and to a music band (well, I was sixteen...). Sending a letter to the conservator of an "area of ancient semi-natural woodland" in Oxfordshire is a completely different story!

A few links that might be of interest:

- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Morris - William Morris on Wikipedia ;)

- http://www.oum.ox.ac.uk/index.htm - Oxford University Museum of Natural History

- http://www.wytham.ox.ac.uk/index.php - Wytham Woods website

- http://wildcru.org/wytham/ - one of the first websites I found when I looked for information about the Wytham area

FolkRec - The Cuckoo

I have known this song for a while, and every time I sang it I either forgot a line, misplaced words, ... - all the kinds of mistakes one would really like not to make while singing, especially when it is not even the length of the song that may be responsible for poor concentration! In fact, I learnt the tune from a recording by Anne Briggs, but my version is much shorter. I decided to omit a few verses as I found them somehow "fake", as if they were added later yet hardly fit the opening lines... If you are curious to read about this song and have a look at the lyrics of some expanded versions, I think the best place is http://www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de/~zierke/shirley.collins/songs/thecuckoo.html.

Now, to check the above link I briefly skimmed through the webpage, and found the answer to a question I asked myself earlier today (well, yesterday, given the time), when I started a search that led me - by pure chance - to an interesting discovery.

Let me go back a few steps. Some days ago I wrote an email to a friend, and I happened to mention a round I learnt recently: "In summer the flowers wilt, the flowers wilt, the streams run dry, I pray for rain, pray for rain, I pray for rain"... A side note: I suggest you do not hum nor sing this until this endless sort-of-spring-with-bits-of-autumn goes away and lets us enjoy the summer. Apologies, I digress. I used the term "round" and - since this friend of mine knows Italian - improvised its translation as "filastrocca". Then I sent the email. Seconds after I asked myself: why didn't I check the meaning of the word "round" before attempting to translate it? [And also, why on earth do I keep on using English words of which I presume to know the definition?]

Hence I promptly looked for this word on Wikipedia: clearly, "round" does not mean "filastrocca". I believe it means "canone". Before the non-Italian speakers fall asleep, let me unveil why the reading of the article on rounds (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Round_(music)) proved to be interesting: the reason is that it cites the very first example - that arrived to us - of a round. Its title is "Sumer Is Icumen In": of course there is a Wikipedia entry on this ancient song too (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumer_Is_Icumen_In). This article in turn reports the lyrics of the medieval round: the opening lines are (in Wessex dialect)

Sumer is icumen in

Lhude sing cuccu!

which mean (in modern English)

Summer has come in

Loudly sing cuckoo!

Then the song continues - roughly - with its description of the summer season. Still my attention had been caught by this reference to the cuckoo - is it me, or there is indeed a striking similarity between "The Cuckoo" that I have known for years and this very old round dating back to the thirteenth century? Yet why then none of the singers, collectors whose comments and notes I read seem to acknowledge the connection? I have listened to a few audio files and I must say, the melody of the round differs from the one I sing - but there exist many, many tunes to which "The Cuckoo" (or variations of this title) is sung. Hmm... The beauty of research. :)

Lastly, since I ended up spending some time reading about the round as a musical composition I came across this wee website: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~msmiller/rounds.html. Buon ascolto!

Flowchart #2 - I decide to write about writing

As you may have guessed from my previous post, I am quite fond of everything that is related to typefaces and letterforms - with a special interest in handwriting - both in their standard and more creative expressions.

When it comes to calligraphy, it turns out that there are a few websites one may be curious to explore: for instance,

- http://www.calligraphyonline.org/index.html -- click and learn about the "Society of Scribes and Illuminators"... With such a name for their society the website deserves at least a visit, don't you think?

- http://www.clas.co.uk/index.html -- a recent discovery, hence I cannot say much about it; their summer course looks interesting...

- http://www.freehandwriting.net/ -- probably one of the first websites I found out about; I have never met Monica Dengo, but I had a chance to attend a short workshop run by one of her students and thought it was brilliant! Also, at least one of Monica Dengo's classes takes place in Venice... Not a bad location, huh?

Some days ago I thought of a connection I hadn't considered before. Penmanship as it is presented in the few above-listed websites stems from a rather specific - almost élite? - point of view on the matter: here writing by hand is not seen as a necessary skill allowing to communicate and express oneself, but rather as a more abstract activity - where sometimes one may even wonder whether the aesthetics became more relevant than the content. Thus it presupposes, by definition, that one learnt how to write in the first place, from the alphabet up to entire sentences and paragraphs, distinguishing between upper, lower case letters and so on. Have you ever asked yourself this question: how did I learn to write? How long was this process, and what was the evolution of my handwriting up to its present form?

I then decided I would look into this matter. With a scientific approach, of course.

And eventually, I drew the flowchart that is shown below.

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light...

This is Berlin - again! This time the photos shown here come from an entirely different source: they were taken at the Buchstaben Museum (http://www.buchstabenmuseum.de/), which is a tiny yet meaningful (and playful) display of... Neon lights - precisely. Except that the point is not their being glowing. The aim of the museum is to preserve and document letterforms, as written on their homepage, as well as to plan "events designed to develop an appreciation for typography and for the items on display".
What I found very interesting is the opportunity to see various "fonts" applied to specific, real-life examples (a fishmonger's shop, a café and so on), with styles and "tricks" that change in time: the three photos below, for instance, the light with the glowing "W" comes from the thirties or the forties, if I am not mistaken. I love the "r" and "t" in the first photo, the way they are linked - it is a very peculiar graphic solution; and I found the "G" in the third picture very smooth and... Gentle.

The remaining two photos were taken with a more "scientific" approach in mind: here one learns how it is actually possible to fabricate such neon lights... Or at least, how this was done up to the invention and success of LEDs, I suppose. It is then almost natural, I think, to realise that this museum and its collection are not only about aesthetics; there is a true interplay of art and science/technology. The perspective might thus change, as a particularly smooth and curly typeface is not only nice to look at, but also likely to have been quite a challenge to produce as the neon light that is displayed right in front of you. :)

I imagine that it did make sense to gradually switch to LEDs - perhaps we (as a civilisation) should even rethink critically this sort of "glittery and 'must be eye-catching' culture of signs and messages".
I believe it is important that places like the Buchstaben Museum exist, because they do act as a "memorandum" of a few examples of virtuous human creativity and ingeniosity, all of which are aspects to respect and treasure.

A note -- While I was visiting the museum I happened to glance at a pile of small leaflets, each one with a big green "M" on it - I took one with me, and discovered this website: http://www.motaitalic.com/. It is not a very easy task to define what "Mota Italic" truly is - it is a gallery/shop in Berlin, but I think it is fair to say that it is mainly a proper type foundry. This means that if you visit their website and fancy one of their typefaces, you can purchase them and start using them when you write a document on your laptop, for example. I then had a relatively extensive look at the website itself: one page that caught my attention was http://www.motaitalic.com/typefoundry/fonts/gemma/rotalics - do not get me wrong, I love standard italics, but this "rotalics" does look interesting, too!

A second note, as important as the first -- If you don't know (or forgot) where the title of this post comes from, I suggest you check this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvsX03LOMhI. ;) [I am not entirely sure about all the words as they are shown in this video, but most of them seem right to me!]