Free afternoon workshop at the Rylands on Networks and Archival Absences with keynote from Anne Welsh.
The workshop will take place Tuesday 18th September 2018, 13.00-17.00, Christie Room, The John Rylands Library, The University of Manchester.
Free afternoon workshop at the Rylands on Networks and Archival Absences with keynote from Anne Welsh.
The workshop will take place Tuesday 18th September 2018, 13.00-17.00, Christie Room, The John Rylands Library, The University of Manchester.
Items within special collections can date back hundreds of years, so it’s no surprise that within these materials it is possible to find outdated or problematic attitudes and language. I am currently researching potential ways to manage this.
In May 2018 I attended ‘Protocols for describing and managing racially insensitive archives,’ a workshop facilitated by Arike Oke and Simon Demissie, from the Wellcome Library, based on the Master’s Dissertation by Alicia Chilcott. This workshop explored the racial insensitivity in archival descriptions and potential solutions.
In June 2018 I attended ‘Museum Remix,’ a workshop facilitated by Museum Detox at the University of Cambridge. Here, we explored how the use of insensitive descriptions in record keeping can bleed into online catalogues and exhibitions. This spreads misinformation by misrepresenting marginalised groups: an injustice to the educational value of archives and the communities surrounding them.
This blog post will focus on how to tackle racially insensitive materials, with a follow-up post pondering the challenges of unearthing histories of previously erased communities (1)
Let’s jump in!
What is our aim?
Before we can decide on how to tackle this issue we must decide on our aim, both as an institution and as a collective of information professionals.
As a person of colour working in the cultural sector, I believe that combining the University’s drive for excellence and social impact with an examination of archival practices could result in fairer and fuller representations of Manchester’s communities.(2) In doing so, there would be a more vibrant and diverse range of stories to tell when these materials are used in exhibitions.
This information can then be shared with the rest of the information sector to contribute to creating a standardised practice for increasing sensitivity in archival descriptions.
I write this blog post with this in mind.
Examples of problematic labelling:
‘A female Hottentot, possibly Saartjie ‘Sarah’ Baartman, with a disease (steatopygy), which results in a protuberance of the buttocks due to an abnormal accumulation of fat. Watercolour painting.’
(Emphasis mine, from Wellcome Museum online)
‘Love-Letters of a Japanese, MS 49′
(Emphasis Mine, John Rylands Library)
Why are these problematic?
Image one: Hottentot has been considered an offensive term for the Khoikhoi peoples since the 20th century, and the words ‘disease’ and ‘abnormal’ are othering in this context as it was usual for the Khoikhoi men and women to have figures such as this.
Image two: Using the ethnicity to describe a person reduces their character to the colour of their skin.
How can we change it?
Alicia Chilcott suggests a good, better and best practice approach.
What does this look like in practice?
By applying the good practice, the main page of the Wellcome Museum and John Rylands image archive would read:
‘Some of these descriptions have been amended due to insensitive/offensive descriptions. The original description will be available underneath.’
A female Khoikhoi, possibly Saartjie ‘Sarah’ Baartman, with a protuberance of the buttocks.’ Watercolour painting.
Originally read: A female Hottentot, possibly Saartjie ‘Sarah’ Baartman, with a disease (steatopygy), which results in a protuberance of the buttocks due to an abnormal accumulation of fat. Watercolour painting.
The problematic language has not been completely removed, but included in the history of the object. Removing the language completely would deny the subject their history by ‘whitewashing’ the narrative, removing any indication of insensitivity/marginalisation. (4)
Mary Stopes Collection MS 49: Love-Letters between Kenrio Watanabe and Mertyl Meredith
Originally catalogued as: Love-Letters of a Japanese.
In this case the name of the book cannot be changed but in amending the references used in the library catalogue it can be made clear society has changed its view on racial descriptions.
I researched the names of the letter writers and used the manuscript shelf mark to hypothetically re-label the item.
In both cases the all key words and references are still available for online searches and reading room requests.
Are there any problems with this approach?
Approaching archival description in this manner creates some challenges:
Are we changing history by re-labelling materials without original names?
I would argue that giving archivists the support to use their skills and knowledge to catalogue the item with an amended name, whilst retaining the old one, ensures that we view the item through a progressive lens without erasing past mistakes. This in turn empowers exhibition teams, educators and the public alike.
Do you expect me to re-catalogue all materials? Where will the money and time come from?
The aim is not re-catalogue all old items with immediate affect, but to start a larger conversation regarding approaches to changing language to reflect society and fair representation. We can then move onto ideas around training, potential funding and how to slowly enact change.
How do we know what is acceptable to say?
This is a fair point as language is constantly changing and as a society we are becoming more aware of the terminology to use to reduce the risk of marginalisation.
I would argue that an index and training created in collaboration with communities, groups and other information and recordkeeping professionals would result in an accurate, reliable reference document when describing archive items. The index and training would be regularly reviewed to keep up to date with changes in language.
How will this conversation affect representation of other marginalised groups?
In the next blog post I will discuss how, by changing archival descriptions and collaborating with all marginalised communities, cultural institutions can and empower them through exhibitions and events.
See you then!
References: (Because I’m a nerd)
This post was updated on 18/09/2018 to and the title was changed to ‘Archives and Inclusivity: Respectful descriptions of marginalised groups’ to fit in a series of posts.
Fran Horner, a postgraduate student studying the MA in Art Gallery and Museum Studies, in her fourth blog post, tells us more about her internship at The John Rylands Library working with the dom sylvester houédard archive.
In 1966, Cavan McCarthy, a student at the University of Leeds, wrote:
The poetry of today can only be seen in little magazines, short-lived but vital publications which hold a unique position in the artistic world. They act as a workshop for experimental and commercially impossible poetry, as group and information centres and as lines of contact between small clusters of individual poets. An artistic position gained can only be of value if it opens up new possibilities which render it anachronistic; therefore, small magazines do not live for long. Reading them can at first be difficult, because they are so fragmented, but this very variety means that anyone who takes a little trouble can be sure of finding something to his taste.
This extract is from the article ‘trad/ kin kon: the Poetry Magazine Scene’ which can be found in volume 1, number 3 of little magazine Ikon. Ikon was an experimental poetry magazine founded and published at the University of Leeds Student Union from 1964 to 1966 by editor Cavan McCarthy. Unfortunately, only four issues of Ikon were published, but Volume 1, number 3 was collected by British concrete poet and monk dom sylvester houédard (known as dsh). It was a special issue dedicated to concrete poetry and featured some of dsh’s typestracts.
McCarthy’s article explores the relationship between concrete poetry and its gathering momentum as an avant-garde poetry movement through the format and distribution of little magazines. McCarthy describes little magazines as a ‘workshop’ for early or mid-career writers or artists to push the boundaries of poetry, playing around with form, structure and content without being conscious of pleasing a corporate money-driven publisher. dsh contributed many of his typestracts to little magazines which acted as an arena for his experimentation with the forms and structures of printed poetry on his Olivetti typewriter. He submitted his work to little magazines in Britain, America and numerous countries in Europe which widened his readership and built strong pen-pal relationships with concrete poets worldwide. These little magazines raised the early literary and artistic status of the contributors (many went on to become significant writers) and celebrated the ground-breaking differences that concrete poetry had to traditional forms of poetry.
I have found many letters inside little magazines from editors containing desperate pleas for more subscriptions or donations from their readers to ensure the survival of their publications. Their futures were never certain, publishing one issue at a time, always conscious of their budget but wanting to sustain their literary ‘workshop’. Many of the little magazines didn’t last for many issues, like Ikon and its four issues, however, they served a great purpose in the world of literature in 1960s Britain. The literary communities built from the distribution of little magazines allowed exchange of various literary and artistic ideas, consequently exposing political and social values and trends of the time thus rendering them important documents of history.
From working with the collection of little magazines found in the dom sylvester houédard Book Collection, I have come across little magazines of all shapes and sizes. Some are more DIY than others, for example: Manifold edited by Rich Vera is held together by staples with a hand-drawn typeface and cover. Notebook 1, edited by Dana Atchley consists of submissions of original poetry, art and prose kept together in a ring binder folder; as opposed to more established, better funded little magazines like Panache, a 176-page book which has a hand-bound spine and looks apologetically more professional. The magazines are typically made from cheap, easily sourced material that isn’t designed to be very durable, giving them their ephemeral nature. Editors, writers and artists were great innovators in finding and using whatever material they had to hand to create such intellectual and artistic publications which could be mass produced and easily distributed on a tight budget.
I have found many letters inside little magazines from editors containing desperate pleas for more subscriptions or donations from their readers to ensure the survival of their publications. Their futures were never certain, publishing one issue at a time, always conscious of their budget but wanting to sustain their literary ‘workshop’. Many of the little magazines didn’t last for many issues, like Ikon and its four issues. However, they served a great purpose in the world of literature in 1960s Britain. The literary communities built from the distribution of little magazines allowed exchange of various literary and artistic ideas, consequently exposing political and social values and trends of the time thus rendering them important documents of history.
To read more about little magazines, I recommend British Poetry Magazines 1914-2000: A History and Bibliography of ‘Little Magazines’ edited by David Miller and Richard Price, which is available in the Special Collections held at the John Rylands Library.
Fran Horner, a postgraduate student studying the MA in Art Gallery and Museum Studies, in her second blog post, tells us more about her internship at The John Rylands Library.
Dom sylvester houédard (dsh) was a British Benedictine monk who spent the majority of his life at Prinknash Abbey in Gloucestershire, England. dsh is known for his theological writing, particularly his translation and editing work of the Jerusalem Bible in 1961, and his concrete poetry.
dsh was involved in many post-war avant-garde movements but he made considerable contributions to concrete poetry. Like other avant-garde movements Dada, Futurism and Surrealism, concrete poetry rejected the norm. It was a hybrid between poetry and typographical design, as the form and visual effect of the poem took precedence over conveying meaning through the syntax.
Concrete poetry had its origins in Sweden in 1953. However, it was the work of a group of Brazilian artists who really explored and evolved the movement. Artists such as Augusto de Campos, Haroldo de Campos and Décio Pignatari inspired poets and artists in Europe, particularly Ian Hamilton Finlay, John Furnival, Edwin Morgan and, of course, dsh in Britain.
In the 1960s, dsh created experimental concrete poetry on his Olivetti Lettera 22 Italian typewriter. The typewriter enabled him to experiment with the colour of the carbon and the placement of letters or symbols on paper, physically moving the paper around and rejecting typical straight lines of text. These experiments were named ‘typestracts’ by Edwin Morgan and dsh describes them as ‘typestracts- rhythm of typing- action poetry- as words grow on paper to see language grow- dictionary (convention as language-coffin- this word/poem means the WAY we use it- we (not them) convene its meaning-’. The typestracts have blurred the boundaries between poetry and abstract art, as the careful but sometimes chaotic composition and architecture of the poems are what transmits its meaning. dsh’s typestracts fully utilise the space in which they occupy, encouraging the viewer to read the poems more dynamically and with more movement over the whole page. dsh rightfully labelled himself a ‘kinetic’ poet.
I am really interested in the objectness of the typestracts, and I personally see them more as works of art than poems, almost like painting with typed forms. The typestracts have made me question what I believe poetry to be: the boundaries and functions of art, literature and typography all dissolve into one another. I think the typestracts perfectly embody the eccentric, intellectual and artistic personality of dsh, whilst also showing his many roles as poet, as designer, as artist, as monk.
To read more about dsh, I recommend Notes from The Cosmic Typewriter: The Life and Work of Dom Sylvester Houédard edited by Nicola Simpson. Available in the University of Manchester Special Collections at the John Rylands Library.
Hello! My name is Fran Horner and I am a postgraduate student at the University of Manchester studying the MA in Art Gallery and Museum Studies. I am currently doing a placement at the John Rylands Library, which involves working with the archive of British Benedictine monk and poet dom sylvester houédard (dsh – he always referred to himself in lower case!). I am going to be regularly updating the John Rylands Library blog with my experiences and interesting discoveries!
My placement will consist of researching dsh’s importance in the fields of literature and art. He was one of Britain’s pioneers of concrete poetry: a type of experimental visual poetry which had its origins in Brazil, then Europe and was concerned with rebelling against conventional forms of poetry by focussing on the architectural form of letters. dsh’s most celebrated poem is Frog-pond-plop, 1965, and he is famous for his experimental use of his Olivetti typewriter to create ‘typestracts’.
The John Rylands Library holds dsh’s book collection, which is vast, but I will be concentrating on his collection of little poetry and art magazines from the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s.
Before I could properly get stuck in with the items in the archive, I was preoccupied with creating a suitable method of cataloguing – something I have never done before! Thanks to Janette Martin (Archivist and Curator) and Julie Ramwell (Rare Books Librarian), I successfully created a spreadsheet with various categories of information that were to be recorded. It has been interesting learning about what categories of information are essential for the catalogue, for example: publisher, year published, volume and editor are all extremely important; whether I liked or disliked the poems… not so important. I have also discovered things about the appropriate type of language and structure I must use within the catalogue: the language must be succinct and consistent to ensure its reliability and usefulness as a finding aid. In the future, researchers may be using my catalogue!
Luckily for me, some wonderful library fairies had already alphabetised the collection of little magazines, saving me a big job, so I began cataloguing the ‘A’s. I must now get back to cataloguing in the Reading Room, where I am sat in five jumpers, but I’m eager to learn more about dsh and his wonderful world of concrete poetry.
Here are two typestracts by dsh that I found in French literary magazine Approches from 1966. Check back to this blog in the next couple of weeks where I will explore the conception and style of dsh’s typestracts in more detail.
Max Long, an English MPhil student at Cambridge University, visited the Library recently and has written a guest blog post for us about his discoveries in Norman Nicholson’s Archive:
The John Rylands Library is home to the Norman Nicholson Archive, which holds a comprehensive collection of the writer’s manuscripts and correspondence. Nicholson was first and foremost a poet, and his books, from his first collection Five Rivers (1944) to The Pot Geranium (1954) and Sea to the West (1981) sought to paint an intimate, honest picture of his local Cumbrian landscape, one in which rocks, people and industry were inextricably linked. This vision of the landscape was expressed too in his topographical works, which include Cumberland and Westmorland (1949), Portrait of the Lakes (1963) and Greater Lakeland (1968). Nicholson remained rooted throughout his life in his hometown of Millom, and his poetry reflects the often difficult experience of a struggling industrial town in the post-war years. Norman Nicholson has long been neglected by critics, who are often irritated by his religious preoccupations, his perceived provincialism and his sharp, uncomplicated verse which favours the palpable and the concrete over the abstract and ambiguous. However, the last decade has seen a much-deserved reappraisal of his poetry. The Norman Nicholson Society was established in 2006, and recently two biographies have been written about Nicholson, as well as several academic articles.
Nicholson’s archive is an entertaining collection to read through, given his unusual practice of constantly re-purposing old scraps of paper for new uses. Thus, drafts of poems are frequently written on the back of typed letters or bills addressed to him. The back sides of scribbled and notated typescript drafts of his own, too, were used for writing out poems, rough lists or even bits of topographical manuscript. Nicholson was reluctant to keep his manuscripts and correspondence. In a April 1963 letter, also conserved at the John Rylands Library, Lawrence S. Thompson, then-librarian at Kentucky University Library, wrote to Norman Nicholson requesting a “manuscript poem in your hand”. Nicholson replied that, “I am afraid that practically the whole of my manuscripts have been destroyed. It did not occur to me that anybody would be interested in them”. He offered instead to send a manuscript of the topographical book he was then drafting, A Portrait of the Lakes:
You may feel that a topographical work will be of littel ineterst [sic] to American students, but the whole key to to [sic] imagery of my poetry can be found in this volume.
My own visit to the John Rylands was motivated by the hope of finding a notebook kept by Nicholson which might shed some light on how he wrote down his thoughts and ideas. The archive includes two folders called “Poetry in Progress”, which contain poetical drafts, mostly written on the back of rough pieces of paper. There are also two notebooks from Nicholson’s school years, which were re-used to write clean copies of his very earliest poetry, most of it unpublished. Another small notebook, with the title Wordsworth in Lakeland, is a compendium of information relating to William Wordsworth’s relationship to specific locations in the Lake District, drawing mainly from Dorothy Wordsworth’s diaries and The Prelude. However, there is only one notebook surviving in the archive which suggests continual and repeated use over time, recording immediate impressions of his surroundings and also scraps of reading and interesting anecdotes.
This is a small blue notebook which is labelled ‘Topographical Notes: Morecambe Bay etc.’ (NCN3/1/8). The notebook, which has a list of quotes about William Wordsworth in a very different hand on the back pastedown, as well as a quote from Matthew Arnold at the front, was probably also an old school exercise book of Nicholson’s. Several leaves have been torn from the front of the notebook, which are likely to have contained pages devoted to its previous use as school notes. A quick glance at its contents, which were indexed by Nicholson himself on the first page, suggests that the notebook was used largely to prepare for writing his topographical book Greater Lakeland (1969), which would place the notebook’s use in the late 1960s, in the immediate years before the book’s publication.
Nicholson’s notes are written in light blue ink, and are fiercely difficult to decipher. The writer’s rough notation, together with his abbreviations (including using a single vertical line to mean ‘the’) and the frequent rough sketches he includes beside his notes to describe buildings, mountains and other features of the land, suggests that the book was either carried around with him on short expeditions, or was used to record impressions immediately on his return. The contrast with the neat, organized notes from his Wordsworth in Lakeland notebook could not be starker.
Although the tone of the notebook is characterized by an impersonal form of observation, there are a few moments where Nicholson allows a glimpse into his presence as note-taker. At Great Salkeld, after briefly mentioning the church’s fortified tower, he writes of a “road to river [..] Place where we picnicked”. The “we” here refers to Nicholson’s wife Yvonne, who helped him in his travels by driving him across the region during the preparation of Greater Lakeland. Nicholson never fully recovered from the tuberculosis that confined him to a sanatorium for two years when he was sixteen, and he struggled to walk long distances.
The notebook also includes a few rough notes from his reading, which are duly referenced with an underlined title of the book and its author. Writing about Eskdale Railway, for example, he includes notes taken from a book called Small Talk at Wreyland by Cecil Torr, as well as some information about Lancaster Canal drawn from Jack Simmons’s Journeys in England. What is interesting about these reading notes is that they are very sparse – when references from the Topographical Notes overlap with the content in Greater Lakeland, Nicholson usually adds much more detailed information. Perhaps the Topographical Notes were intended only for very quick notation, with Nicholson resorting to more detailed notes located elsewhere.
What is most fascinating about the notebook, however, is that it shows Nicholson’s note-taking to have served both his topographical and his poetical modes of writing. As Nicholson’s letter to Lawrence S. Thompson indicated, he clearly thought of both as closely related. The Notebook was in use towards the end of an eighteen-year hiatus in Nicholson’s poetic career, and some of the notes appear to show him looking at the landscape with the kind of poetic eye that dominated his later poetry. In his notes about Burgh-by-Sands, for example, he notes that there,
seems to be
1 single cooling tower over the water (overhead)
but, as you move over sands, you
see the tower slowly gets wider,
then splits into two, two – This,
is subdivided + you see four towers
side by side over four parallel
leeks of smor snot steam wh, before,
had appeared only to be one.
Nicholson’s focus here, as at a number of other sections of the notebook, is with how elements of the landscape appear changed depending on the position of the viewer. As he moves across the sands, what seemed to be one tower, is in fact four. David Cooper has written recently about how Nicholson’s later poetry shows a deep concern with light and vision, and his last Faber collection, Sea to the West (1981), contains several poems addressing the changing view of Black Combe, a mountain overlooking his Millom home. As Nicholson’s only working notebook to survive in his archive, the Topographical Notes are a valuable asset in the John Rylands Library for researchers interested in Norman Nicholson’s poetry, his unique way of reading and describing the landscape, and twentieth century note-taking practices more generally.
We are grateful to the Trustees of the Estate of Norman Nicholson for their permission to reproduce the images in this blog post.
Today’s Curious Find once again comes from our regular reader Michael Gilligan.
Mr Gilligan is studying the history of science, and was most impressed by beautiful engravings in Johannis Hevelii’s Descriptio Cometae.
As you can see, included in the book is Fig. D, which is an engraving of the structure of the tail of a comet on various dates:
While Fig. E depicts the path of the comet during the year 1665:
Unfortunately we missed the 350th anniversary of the comet, which was in April 2015, however I’m sure you’ll agree that sharing such engravings is timeless.
Descriptio Cometae, Johannes Hevelii, available at John Rylands Library, SC 13129E.
If you would like to consult any of our collections in our reading room, please contact the Reader Engagement Team at email@example.com.
In previous blogs about the Rylands photographic collections there has been a lot of focus on architectural photographs and landscapes; due in part to the strength of our collection in this area and also more generally because of the popularity of these subjects in early photography. In fact, the earliest known example of a permanent photograph is View from the Window at Le Gras by Nicéphore Niépce, and it was also the first architectural photograph as it was a view of buildings.
However this final blog on the material we have catalogued as part of our Paul Mellon funded ‘Out of the Ether’ project will detail some of our beautiful photographic portraiture. Our portraits range through prints on paper and card to cased photographs and photo jewellery. Like the architectural and landscape examples, we have good representation in the portraits of the early photographic techniques. What is perhaps different is that as well as being interesting from a technical or aesthetic perspective, very often portraiture elicits a further emotional connection to the piece.
The images above and below are two of our cased photographs. Above is an example of a daguerreotype and the lower image an ambrotype. A daguerreotype is one of the earliest photographic processes, named after its inventor Louis Daguerre and the format was predominant in the 1840s-1860s. The support for the image is silver plated copper, which is housed under glass. The result is an image that when viewed can appear in the negative or as a positive due to the reflective, mirrored surface. This makes them fairly easy to distinguish as a format. Due to the expensive nature of the materials the daguerreotype was a relatively luxury item, so the sitters for such portraits would likely have a degree of wealth or social status. The second is an ambrotype, rising in popularity through the 1860s and beyond. Ambrotypes are photographs on glass plates, produced through wet plate collodian process and made into a positive image by mounting them on a black background. These were very popular as they were less expensive than the daguerreotype and therefore more accessible.
The lady in the ambrotype above is wearing all black clothing, including gloves and bonnet. The attire suggests mourning dress which was quite a formal process in the Victorian era. Children were not subject to the same rules so the little girl sitting on her lap would not have been required to wear the same colour. Mourning and loss was something that definitely influenced the popularity of photo jewellery. The concept of Memento Mori jewellery (‘remember that you have to die’) was not new, but in the Victorian period developed into a complex visual symbolism that was often incorporated into the jewellery. The two items below are examples that are likely mourning pieces.
The first is a brooch containing a daguerreotype portrait of a young man; however the indicator that it may be a mourning piece is the back, which bears an example of ‘hairwork’, often utilised in mourning jewellery. In this piece, hair (presumably the young mans) has been woven into a beautiful geometric pattern and encased on the reverse of the brooch under glass. The second is an ambrotype of a very young girl holding a ball. On the reverse is sadly revealed a memorial scene that indicates the death of the child. The urn symbolises death, with the broken or severed tree symbolising that it was unexpected or early.
The last image I would like to highlight is perhaps my favourite. It is a tondo, (circular) albumen print, by Julia Margaret Cameron. The children in the image are Julia Margaret Cameron’s grandchildren, Margaret and Adeline Norman. A decidedly sombre portrait, the two girls are seated with their heads close together; Margaret (on the left) has her gaze directed towards the floor and Adeline looks off into the distance with her head tipped towards her sister and her arm around Margaret’s shoulder. This photograph was made shortly after the death of Julia Margaret Cameron’s only daughter, Julia Norman, in childbirth. Particularly poignant is that Julia and her husband Charles Norman had been the ones to gift Cameron with a camera, as Cameron herself had described in her own words: ‘My first lens was given to me by my cherished departed daughter and her husband, with the words, “It may amuse you Mother, to try to photograph.”’. It is signed by Cameron, ‘From Life’.
This is my final blog from within the Visual Collections team, as the ‘Out of the Ether’ project is now at a close; but I would like to express my thanks to both Clare Baker and Stella Halkyard in the Visual Collections department for making my stay a very happy one. The collections will continue to be catalogued and much more exciting material will continue to be made accessible through the work in the department.
Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to all.
All images unless otherwise stated are copyright of the University of Manchester and can be used under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-Share Alike Licence. With thanks to the Heritage Imaging team.
A Cataloguing Project Supported by:
This Curious Find comes to us from one of our regular readers Michael Gilligan.
The item is Underweysung Der Messung, “The Painter’s Handbook”, by Albrecht Durer, 1525.
Mr Gilligan drew our attention to Fig.36 in “Book 1” of the Handbook, a diagram showing the geometry of a parabola.
This diagram has been pasted over with a correction, and Mr Gilligan notes that it has survived without discolouration or peeling.
The original version is visible through the back of the page and so Mr Gilligan requested that our photographers attempt to extract the original image using their techniques.
As you can see from the images the photographers did an excellent job at capturing this Curious Find for us.
Item discussed in this Curious Find is Dürer, A. (1525). Underweysung der Messung. (The printed sources of western art ; 4). Portland (Or.): Collegium Graphicum. SC 19439
If you would like to book in to view any of our Special Collections, please contact the Reader Services team at firstname.lastname@example.org
On 1 November Manchester celebrated becoming a UNESCO World City of Literature. It is the fourth city in the UK to achieve this designation and becomes part of a prestigious network of twenty-eight cities around the world. As a Mancunian, I was thrilled that the city has been honoured in this way, and especially excited about the spotlight thrown onto Manchester’s historic libraries, not least the University’s John Rylands Library on Deansgate in the city centre. This is the library that I use most for my research, since the art that I work on is generally hidden between the covers of books – old books, written and painted more than five hundred years ago.
Some of the illuminated manuscripts looked after at John Rylands relate ancient tales retold by medieval writers, such as John Lydgate’s Troy Book about the Siege of Troy and that horse! The books that I’m currently…
View original post 347 more words