the art of google books

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These are pages from an absolutely extraordinary book called Mira calligraphiae monumenta. The book was first written by Georg Bocskay in 1560s a showcase of the highest quality calligraphy. In 1590s the book was reprinted with addition of natural history-themed drawings by Joris Hoefnagel. 

You can find the whole collection of drawings from the book on google art archive.

The titles of  drawings:

Gillyflower, Insect, Germander, Almond, and Frog

Chard Leaves and Red-Winged Grasshopper

Queen of Spain Fritillary, Apple, Mouse, and Creeping Forget-Me-Not 

Lacking inspiration, I cleaned the closet instead. Read the KonMari book on decluttering, which is very…animist. (Author spent a lot of time working at a Shinto shrine, I hear, which may account for that.) There’s a lot written about it and joy and whatnot, but the part I fixated on was that you’re supposed to thank the things you get rid of, partly out of respect, partly because this will get you over the weird emotional attachment most of us have to Stuff. Can’t get rid of a thing you don’t wear because you paid a lot of money for it? Thank it for its help. Then it’s easier. (It is, too. Go figure.)

I am amused by the various angsty responses to this I have read, which range from “No way am I talking to my socks!” to some frankly weird radical Christian stuff that thanking your socks is definitely Wrong and possibly Satanic and you should say a prayer to the Holy Spirit instead for giving you socks. (I admit, my Catholicism is pretty lapsed, but I think God is probably a bit more concerned that we not be awful to each other than with briefly anthropomorphizing one’s socks as one prepares to send them to Goodwill. Honestly, were I running the universe, I’d be like “Whatever gets you to give the socks to the less fortunate, DO THAT.” But there’s a reason they don’t let me run the universe. Several. Not least that we would be hip-deep in axolotls. Well, anyway, the theology seems a little muddled to me. The important thing is that everybody’s got socks going into winter.)

Regardless, whichever way you come at it, the chief source of resistance seems to be in talking to one’s sock drawer. Mostly it seems to be that you will look silly doing it.

Then there’s me. I read this book and went “Lord, I talk to my socks already! Finally, a book for me!”

—  Talking to Socks

*current pastimes include playing Pokémon, liquid lipstick ogling, and googling art work for the books she’s teaching and pretending it’s for work*

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READ IN 2015: The Colour of Magic ~ Terry Pratchett

It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment of the imagination, because wherever it appeared it was a sign that mere matter was a servant of the powers of the magical mind. It was enchantment itself.

But Rincewind always thought it looked a sort of greenish-purple.