Or Trying to Find the Meaning of Life…
ILLUSTRATOR n., in L. Form f. illustrate v. Cf. late L. illusrâtor (lactatantius); F. illustrateur (15th c. in Godef.)
One who or that which illustrates, in the various senses of the vb.; one who gives or draws illustrations; the artist who illustrates a book or periodical.
1598 FLORIO Illustratore, an illustrator, a glorifier, a giver of honours. c. 1611 CHAPMAN Homer’s Iliads Sonn. Gg v b, The right gracious Illustrator of virtue… the Earle of Montgomrie. 1638 BURTON Anat, Mel (ed. 4) III ii.v. v. 585 Leonitius his illustrator Garceus. 1689-90 in Wood’s Life 30 Jan (O.H.S.) III, 323 “An illustrator” or picturer of great letters in books”. 1812 W. TAYLOR in Monthly Rev. LXVIII.499 From Herodotus and his illustrators. 1834 F. BRAYLEY (title) Graphic and Historical Illustrator of the Popular Superstitions and Customs of Wales. 1870 DICKENS Lett. (1880) II 439 You please me with what you say of my new illustrator. 1879 J. C. BRAWN Ethics Geo Eliot 114 She stands out as the deepest broadest and most Catholic illustrator of the true ethics of Christianity.
That’s what my dictionary says, anyway.
It seems that the defintion of illustration, while initially donning the gilded robes of office once worn by illumination, has since slowly shifted from the philosophical to the pictural, from fiat lux to a 60 watt bulb…
Ah well, the word dog may not bite, but it does pay to see if it’s housebroken before letting it stay in all night…
FOOLED AND OTHERWISE BAFFLED
It’s always comforting to know that the authorities have the best interests of community and citizen at heart when they tell us what’s best for us.
Though I do wonder… I recently received a bill from the authorities for my “industrial waste”. Given that I have a “business with one employee” (that’s me!) I am considered as a potentially polluting garbage-generating enterprise and taxed in consequence.
Now, never mind that I produce less “professional” garbage (perhaps they are thinking of my originals?) than a subscription to the local paper, up until then I was a conscientious recycler, happily doing my part and hauling paper (coated and newsprint, duly separated and neatly tied with natural twine), cardboard, glass, aluminium and tutti quanti to the appropriate containers. But now I have a new duty to the community, I must supply them with a couple of hundred bucks of “industrial” waste a year, above all since I am paying for it in advance. I certainly don’t want to let them down, but I am hard-pressed to comply. Even by binning all the paper and cardboard I can lay my hands on, I am afraid I fall short of my quota. (I still recycle glass and aluminium of course, that’s private household waste.) But am I doing enough? Am I getting my money’s worth? Are they? Will I have to go and collect waste paper from the neighbours? Perhaps I can ask the mechanic to give me the used oil from my car, or subscribe to a few thick magazines…
It’s satisfying to participate in a thoroughly planned collective effort, though.
Here are a couple of photos from the documentary shoot last month. Question: what do a father and son do when placed for a short period of time in a totally idyllic setting? Answer: find some sharp sticks and try and put each others’ eyes out, of course…
Photos: Magnus Paulsson
No, this has nothing to do with the Tawny Man series, (but I bet if you’re a Robin Hobb fan, you’re reading this now, so why not keep reading anyway) but rather with my disastrous travel reading. Why oh why do I NEVER stock up on decent books before taking trains and planes? I always end up in train stations and airports considering the least unenviable option. Ninety percent of airport fare seems to be by Patricia Highsmith or Joan Collins, so I generally fall back on the latest bestselling brick by Michael Clive John Chrichtoncusslergrisham… Of course I devour the horrid things cover to cover until I succumb to motion sickness and general brain death, and then chuck them in a bin at the next station or airport, cursing myself and despondently wallowing in a tepid bath of self-recrimination. Besides wondering if I should have my head examined, it occurs to me that most of my scientific or specialised knowledge actually comes from those books. Boy, that IS scary. Because these authors employ whole armadas of researchers, the unsuspecting (and guillible, in my case) reader is actually persuaded he is LEARNING something while being entertained by one darn good yarn. Tells you something about the extent of my general knowledge anyway… zero. Before and after.
Now THAT is food for thought. (Burp.)
Next time I have to go to the States, I’m gonna either drive or walk. At least that way I won’t be tempted to buy a book.
More pictures from Oscar next week, who by the way has a new site, with brand new photos and a new design. The address hasn’t changed: [url=http://www.odnilsson.com]http://www.odnilsson.com[/url]