A new Book of Hours (well 6 pages!)

Over the years I have produced a number of props for television programmes and films, and have also been filmed writing as historical figures with a quill or pointy pen, or demonstrating what I do – illumination with gold and egg tempera, and writing on vellum with quills – as well as being filmed as myself – a scribe and illuminator. Being commissioned to produce six pages for a mock-up Book of Hours for the BBC series of Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall was a really interesting job to get.

The skin from William Cowley was a dream – both hair and flesh side – and I chose sections that had a clear scattering of brown hair follicles so that there would be no confusion that it was paper ‘pretending’ to be vellum.

This is a short film clip of the various stages of the book and how it looked once it had been pasted into the book itself.

I tested the skin to see how much preparation it required (for all the information you need about using and preparing vellum and parchment, see my video, 3+ hours long on everything to do with manuscript crafts and modern materials), and then experimented with pen nib sizes and letter height so that I could replicate the writing. Once these were determined I was able to rule guidelines and see if my test preparations worked for writing.

The pages are based on the Hours of Joanna of Castille, but the designer has added gold and coloured side panels, and imported mediæval animals and motifs to add interest to the pages. The Hours are quite small – page size is 105 x160 mm (4 x 6 ins approx) – which means that the lettering is tiny – about 2 mm high.

There were two main ways of producing these six pages. One is to start from scratch with the text, and design and lay out the pages, inserting larger initials, designing the motifs and so on. This is rarely a real choice because it adds often more than twice as much to the time, which I certainly didn’t have. The other is to copy an already existing manuscript, which is indeed what I did.

I traced the whole page, including the text, to get a sense of the rhythm and form of the script, but decided not to transfer the tracing of the lettering, as this results in rather static rhythm. It did need a lot of concentration to ensure that line endings were reasonably consistent. They looked very even in the original. However, when I was working on the pages I realised that line endings weren’t that consistent in the Joanna Hours. The tracing outline is secured here (right) by red paint – minium in mediæval manuscripts – I use traditional techniques as much as possible.

I drew lines for the text and wrote out the first page which was actually the second one. It is always better to start not at the beginning if you can, as your writing is often tighter and more cramped when you first set out, and this shows if it’s right at the start. I was fortunate in that I had a transcription of the text; some of it was difficult to decipher, for example, domum or domiun (my Latin wasn’t good enough to translate as I went along). The letter i was rarely dotted, and, with wear, the tiny joining strokes at the top of an n and at the base for a u meant that these letters were difficult to distinguish. This transcription made a huge difference. The red rubrics were written as I went along, but I left spaces for the larger painted initials, and completed them after the writing.

Then it was on to the painting.

I very much enjoyed painting the little animals, though these were less than 2 cm high.

There was a monkey (right), a rabbit (below), squirrel and two peacocks (one of them is below the rabbit on the right).

The squirrel eating a hazel nut was fun to paint.

And every mediæval manuscript needs a snail!

There were also strawberries, thistles, roses, and blue and pink flowers of slightly indeterminate nature.

Then it was on to the gold. There wasn’t enough time to use the traditional mordant of gesso, so I used a modern medium, raised it slightly, and then applied real 23·5 carat gold leaf. Gold leaf on anything other than gesso is never as wonderfully shiny and smooth as in traditional manuscripts, but it will certainly look really illuminated as the pages are turned in the series.

It did look reasonably shiny, though, but as the book was going to be ‘aged’ and rubbed to looks as if it had been in the family for some generations, I didn’t worry too much about taking care with the gilding.

These six pages were sewn into one gathering, and this was then tipped into an already bound book which was aged to look as if it had passed through a few generations.

Marking the Magna Carta

The original Magna Carta, or the Great Charter of the Liberties of England, was sealed (but not signed) under oath by King John in 1215 on the bank of the River Thames at Runnymede in Surrey. It limited the powers of the king and accepted that no-one could be punished except through the law of the land; this is a right that still exists. The themes of the Magna Carta have led to just laws in countries throughout the world.

Plans for this great charter were made at St Albans two years beforehand when a Council met in the Abbey on 4th August 1213. To commemorate this event, 800 years later, a new ‘Charter’ has been created in St Albans.

A whole skin of parchment was donated by William Cowley Parchment Works, and the work began. Fairness, Justice, Equality and Human Rights are the essence of the first Magna Carta and these words head the 2013 version.

The 1215 great charter was witnessed by a wide representation of the Barons of England. The new 2013 charter has been witnessed by a representation of the citizens of St Albans and its surrounds as was possible. The Lord-Lieutenant of Hertfordshire with her husband head the columns of signatures, followed by Lord and Lady Salisbury. The High Sherriff of the county also signed, as did the Mayor, Annie Brewster (right).

The former Cabinet Minister, Cecil Parkinson was a signatory.

The Chief Inspector of Police of St Albans, right, also added his signature.

The street sweeper made his contribution too. Here he is with his cart.

And the person who donated the skin from William Cowley also added his signature.

Representatives of the Anglican Church and of the Abbey – including the Ringing Master and members of the Choir – of Parliament, the City and District Council have signed.

This huge administrative task was masterminded by Rosemary Stevens.

Included too are a butcher, miller and baker, plumber, electrician, goldsmith, tailor, market stallholder, rugmaker, landscape gardener, a street sweeper (see above) and a street musician. A local garden centre, newspaper and radio are represented, also local socities. Judges from the Crown Court, an architect, archaeologists, sports representative, a famous pub, St Albans School, a bank manager, supermarket manager and the manager of a shop selling the latest technological gadgets – which today may seem rather futuristic, but no doubt by 2114 will seem very quaint – are all represented.

Signatures and occupations on their own may have looked a little boring, so colour was added starting with the joining of the signatures of the Bowman James Rose and his wife Liz (right) by an arrow with regal red fletching. Others were linked with suitable symbols and illustrations, including the street sweeper’s cart (see above right), making the document very lively and vibrant.

This is a terrific and significant document and all credit must go to everyone involved in such a wonderful enterprise.

Making paper

The Chinese clearly knew a thing or two and there is evidence of paper used for wrapping (hemp wrapping paper from about 100 BC on the right) and padding from the 2nd century BC. Finishing it so that it could be used for writing had to wait until the third century AD, but by the sixth century AD, toilet paper was also being produced. And to show that there is nothing new, folded and sewn paper enclosing tea (yes, tea bags) were being used in China from the seventh to the tenth centuries.

The knowledge and skills of paper making spread across the Far and Near East and Europe and the first reference to a papermill in Britain was that belonging to John Tate near Hertford, and a book printed by Wynken de Worde in about 1495 used this paper. Sir John Speilman owned an early papermill at Dartford in Kent, and other papermills were then established through the country. The first sheets of paper were made on molds constructed of thinner horizontal wires, with thicker vertical wires for support (see right). The impressions of these wires appeared on the sheets of paper, and are called ‘laid lines’, and paper with this appearance, laid paper. As you know if you have tried to print on laid paper yourself, the surface is not good for that, as the ink is hard to impress on the ‘valleys’ between the laid lines.

Watermarks are added by twisting a wire design through the laid wires, and this is then impressed on the sheets of paper.

Paper with a smooth surface was first made by a man from Kent – James Whatman (1702–59). The paper surface was called wove because the mesh supporting the paper was woven, and not made of parallel wires. Wove paper is called Vélin in Europe. In 1757 John Baskerville printed his edition of ‘Virgil’ on wove paper produced by Whatman. It took only a couple of decades for this new paper surface to spread to other mills in the UK and abroad.

The essence of paper is fibres, these can be from wood, as used for most of our paper, such as magazines and newspapers, or from cotton or linen rag; paper from these last two sources is usually of finer quality, such as writing paper, paper for fine prints, and also paper for calligraphers. The source material is pulped, originally with a large wooden hammer (stamping mills), and mixed with water to do so. The vatman, as on the right, then dips a mold and deckle into this vat of fibres and water and moves the mold and deckle this way and that to ensure an even coating of pulp all over the mold. The mold and deckle are then usually rested on the edge of the vat to allow some of the water to drain away.

The mold consists of a stout rectangular or square (or sometimes even circular) wooden frame over which is stretched a mesh. The deckle sits on top of the mold, usually with a slight indentation so that it fits securely all round.

Despite this tight fit, though, very often some of the paper fibres seep out between the mold and deckle, and this creates the characteristic deckle-edge of hand-made paper. You can get deckle-edged paper that is not hand-made, but then this edge is artificially constructed in the paper making process.

The couchman (pronounced coochman, and on the right in this print) then takes the mold and deckle, removes the deckle, and skilfully inverts the mold on to a piece of thick felt. Insodoing the paper fibres, now in a sheet, lay squarely on the felt support. The mold and deckle are returned to the vatman, and the couchman lays another piece of felt on top ready for the next sheet of paper. These create quite a high stack of paper sheets and felts.

Pressure is added, usually in a small press with an enormous screw, to encourage the water to drain away.

The sheets of paper are then laid on ropes in vast rooms to dry completely.

But this is not the end of the paper-making process. Two additions are needed. First, the paper is finished. If the paper is left as it is with no treatment at all, then the surface is called rough (see bottom left in the picture). If the sheets of paper are passed through hot rollers, rather like a hot iron, then the surface is called hot press (hot pressed – as in top right). If the sheets of paper are passed through cold rollers, then in the UK this is called not (see middle section) because it is not passed through hot rollers! In the US they’re not quite so romantic and the paper is called cold press (cold pressed) because that is how it has been finished.

Then the paper surface needs to be sized if it is to be used for writing or printing, othewise wet ink spreads and bleeds into the paper fibres and looks like tiny spiders (blotting paper isn’t sized). This was done first using animal gelatine. Nowadays, many paper makers add size to the vat of paper pulp, and the paper is then called tub sized. This is useful for calligraphers because if an error needs to be removed and with it some of the paper surface, the size is throughout the paper and not just on the surface, and so the error can be written over.

Changes were afoot though and bleaching paper, the ‘Hollander’ machine which enabled more than just cotton rags to produce fibres (they then were able to add old ropes and fishing nets as well!), size from aluminium sulphate and the mechanisation of paper making all meant that the slow, laborious, but very skilled ways of making paper by hand were gradually, but not completely, replaced.

Most paper now is made using the Fourdrinier process (see right). In this the whole paper making process is speeded up and done in one continuous process. Paper fibres are produced from the source material with size added to the vat, the paper pulp is then allowed to fall on to a conveyor belt, the water drained and sucked out, huge paper sheet pressed, and then the massive rolls of paper finally dried, and finished. Paper for printing is often coated as well so that the printing ink stays on the surface. The process of joggling the paper pulp along the conveyor belt while these various processes were going on resulted in the long paper fibres settling in the same direction – hence the problem of tearing clippings from newspapers and magazines!

Llandaff Cathedral – lettering heaven!

Llandaff Cathedral is situated on one of the oldest Christian sites in Britain, and was founded where the River Taff was crossed by the Roman road. The present cathedral building dates from 1107 when the first Bishop appointed by the Normans, Urban, replaced the earlier church.

There is evidence of this church in two arches, one to the St David Chapel, shown on the right, and also the arch behind the high altar. The characteristic zig-zag pattern of Norman architecture is shown clearly here, as well as the beautiful semi-circular Romanesque archway. Note the figure of the head at the centre of the arch. This archway may have been the original west doorway.

The North West tower, called the Jasper Bell Tower was established by Jasper Tudor in the fifteenth century, and is named after him. Those who followed The White Queen series on tv last year may remember that Jasper Tudor was the husband of the Lancastrian Red Queen, Margaret Beaufort, and they were both the parents of Henry Tudor, who became Henry VII (father of Henry VIII), the founder of the Tudor dynasty.

A period of decline of pilgrims and supporters of the church resulted in the structure decaying, and a bomb destroying the roof in the Second World War did not help! A revitalisation of the church since then has taken place, including the wonderful Epstein Christ in Majesty, supported on huge concrete arches – quite a stunning sight!

But it is the wealth of wonderful lettering that caught my eye when I visited. This is the lively cut lettering in the Welsh Regiment Chapel, and records their campaigns. This is an interesting style of Roman Capitals, which are not always consistent in height (note the letter T in the top line). As well as this, the convention is that the numerals, when capital letters are used, should echo the x-height, but here the number 1 is higher than other numbers on occasion, and the other numerals are ranged (vary in height) rather than being consistent. The overlapping of letters, as shown here is an attractive and eye catching feature of these panels, as is also the painted red colour.

The overlapping letters, however, do not always work, in my opinion, where legibility seems to give way to style, as in this panel. The space at the base for an additional line may have eased the somewhat awkward combinations of letters on the bottom line. The letters were cut by ‘Mr Kaye of York’, but I have not been able to find any more information about him.

This stunning cast metal lettering is really eye catching, standing out from the wall as it does. The round rivet fixings of the horizontal metal struts make a satisfactory ‘dot’ to emphasise word separation. The slight overlapping of letters here and there does not hinder legibility. The problem with having a block of text centred like this is that the eye is often caught by the shape of the lettering, rather than what the words say. This is not the case with this lettering, and the whole effect is very pleasing indeed. This lettering is by Frank Roper.

This simple, yet most effective slate plaque to Dean John F Williams was cut by Alec Peever. It looks very classic, and the various elements of the plaque are positioned perfectly. Remember, in Italics at the top, leads in to the name, with the surname emphasised in capitals with the letters spaced so that this line is the widest of all. And at the base, Lord, on a separate line, gives greater emphasis to this word, and creates a visual as well as an actual pause.

A high standard of lettering continues with the plaques to denote the seats of various officers of the church. These are beautifully executed in painted brush letters with wonderful flourishes. Sadly we know only that these were provided by the architect in 1994, and although I have tried to find out whether ‘R H M’ indicates the lettering artist, I have not been able to do so.

This strikingly designed combination of four panels of the Bishops and Deans of Llandaff Cathedral is made all the more eye-catching by the supporting wooden struts. So often panels like this are simply attached to a wall individually. This combination makes it almost an artwork of its own. The lettering is by calligrapher John Smith.

The work is on vellum in blue, red and black lettering.

I am most grateful to John Bethell, Honorary Cathedral Archivist, for supplying information about the lettering at Llandaff.

There are often so many examples of lettering in churches and cathedrals with rarely any indication of the craftsperson who executed it. Perhaps this could be the start of a campaign to record those whose work adds so much to the beauty of our places of worship.

Gold and Parchment in Sydney

The highlight for me of our brief stay in Australia was the talk on Gold on Parchment that I gave at the State Library of New South Wales. The Australian Society of Calligraphers and the State Library had done a great job of advertising the talk. This (right) was in the Sydney daily paper. Although it was advertised as mainly for calligraphers, it was clear on the day that there were also people from the library itself, including conservators, and those interested in manuscripts and history.

The State Library is a beautifully light and airy modern building almost opposite the Botanical Gardens, right in the heart of the city of Sydney. There was a stunning exhibition of photography on display while we were there.

On the day, though, the State Library realised that the room they had first allocated would be too small, and so they transferred the location for the talk to a larger room in the older library building. This was a wonderful red sandstone historical building looking out over the Botanical Gardens themselves, and a real landmark.

To get there we were taken through the library where there was a great mix of old and new, like this huge room lined with bookshelves and with a magnificent ceiling, yet with a modern glass staircase in the centre.

The room was a large one, but it quickly filled, and in the end there were over 200 people with some standing at the back for the whole two-hour presentation!

I was delighted that the short video of me cutting a quill, which I filmed the day before we left and then quickly imported into the Powerpoint presentation actually worked! There were interesting questions at the end, and I was delighted by the interest shown. Huge thanks are due to everyone involved in the State Library Events department (especially Samantha Hagan who kept very calm while we struggled to get the video clip up and working, and didn’t worry too much when we overran), and to the Australian Society of Calligraphers who were so welcoming and kind, especially Liz Firth who was my contact, and Bob Howe, the current President. I was even asked to do a repeat for the conservators, but sadly we were leaving the following day – perhaps next time!

Christmas or Xmas?

There was an article in the paper towards the end of last year which posed the question of whether people would have Christmas or Xmas. The suggestion was that Christmas would be a time of having a loving day with family and friends, caring and sharing, and Xmas would focus on the commercialisation of the season. In fact, Christmas and Xmas, as many know, are one and the same thing. X representing the Greek letter chi, which is the initial letter for Christ. In early manuscripts the names for God and Christ were thought to be so holy that they should be written not in Latin as the rest of the text but in Greek, the language of the early New Testament. These names were called the Nomina Sancta (holy names).

In Insular Gospel books, at the end of the genealogy of Christ in Matthew 1:18, the page is often marked by large decorated initials, such as the one above in the Book of Kells. The letter chi is very large, followed by a smaller rho (looks like the letter p), and this is entwined with the letter i.

Contrast this with that in the Lindisfarne Gospels on the right, where again the letter chi is enlarged, but the letters rho and iota (i) are clearly visible, albeit smaller. The letters on the following line have been outlined in red dots, but are unfinished. Then follows beautifully painted angular letters with colours that bring a subtlety to the whole page. Note, too, the unfinished letter C towards the end of the third line.

Another insular book is the St Gall Gospel shown on the right. St Gall in Switzerland has a famous library with many manuscripts online. It is certainly worth looking at for early books. This Gospel was written by Irish monks around the year 750. The manuscript has the distinctive decoration of many of the books of this time, with, in a strip at the base, interlace, and decorating the space between the chi and the rho, La Tene swirls and geometric decoration.

The Stockholm Codex Aureus has a well-known history, being written probably in Canterbury in the mid-eighth century. It was stolen by the Vikings, its elaborate, decorated cover ripped off, and then bought back ‘with much gold’ by Alderman Alfred and his wife Werburgh to present to the church. There is a note to this effect written in Old English in two lines at the top of the page and continued at the bottom.

The Lettering and Commemorative Arts Trust

The Lettering and Commemorative Arts Trust is now based at Snape Maltings, near Aldeburgh in Suffolk, and it is wonderful to have a showcase for all the excellent work that this charity does. It was set up as a result of the founder, Harriet Frazer MBE, not being able to find a suitable memorial for the untimely early death of her stepdaughter. Many people want a stone cut so that it is personal to a special memory, and working with a craftsperson in creating something unique and beautiful often helps in the bereavement process.

Memorials don’t have to be rigid and conventional rectangular stones. This one by Gary Breeze celebrates the life of a gardener, and so is attached to a living tree.

They also, as on the right, don’t have to be in a churchyard. Some memorials are in gardens, and may even be portable, so they can be moved from house to house with the owners if necessary.

But the Lettering and Commemorative Arts Charity is so much more than simply acting as agents to put lettering artists and patrons in touch with one another. To enable people to see what is possible, there are now six sites for the Art and Memory Collection, from Canterbury in the south to Pitlochery in Scotland, where you can see the variety and inventiveness of those who work in this medium. This wonderful Stone Ring is by Dave Crowe in Arnos Vale.

Letter cutting is a heritage craft, and like similar crafts, if efforts are not made, the skills and techniques to prepare stone and wood, design and cut letters will be lost. So the Lettering and Commemorative Arts Trust not only runs short courses at its base at Snape, with the very best tutors, but also seeks to arrange full time apprenticeships so the learners can immerse themselves in the workshop experience. Of course, funding is not easy for these and the Lettering and Commemorative Arts Trust is working with the Heritage Crafts Association to ensure that this craft, developed in ancient times, can continue into the future.

I feel very proud to be a Patron of this most worthwhile charity.

The Dering Roll

The Dering Roll is the oldest roll of English coats of arms and dates from 1270–1280. In the seventeenth century it was acquired by Sir Edward Dering (1598–1644) (right), from Dering in Kent, who is described as a knight and a baronet. He bought it in the seventeenth century, and although it seems dreadful to us now, he ‘modified’ the roll to include a fictitious ancestor of his own. While Dering was lieutenant of Dover Castle, he removed entry number 61 on the roll, the coat of arms of Nicholas de Croill, and put in his own arms with the false name of Richard fitz Dering in its place. This was to prove the ancestry of his family.

It is thought that the roll was commissioned by the Constable of Kent, Stephen of Penchester, which would explain why there are more coats of arms from Kent and Surrey than from elsewhere.

The roll itself starts with the two illegitimate children of King John (1166–1216, king from 1199 to 1216) who were Richard Fitz Roy (fitz = son, roy = king) and William de Say, although their coats of arms at the top are difficult to discern because of the condition of the roll.

Made from four strips of 8 inch wide parchment pasted together, and stretching to almost three yards in length, it is a huge piece of work, and it’s remarkable that it has survived so well. The shields are arranged six to a row and there are 54 rows, making 324 shields in all. All but five of them have the individual names of the knights written above them. These names have either been removed or were never written in in the first place. The background to the colourful shields is painted green.

In the twentieth century it was bought by Sir Anthony Wagner (right) who became Garter King of Arms at the College of Arms in London. It was sold at Sotheby’s in 2007 for £192,000 and was due to be exported from the country. A stay of execution meant that the British Library were able to raise the sum of £194,184 to ensure that it stayed in the country. The importance of this heraldic roll is summed up by the Head of Mediæval and Earlier Manuscripts, Claire Breay, who said of the purchase, ‘the acquisition of the Dering Roll provides an extremely rare chance to add a manuscript of enormous local and national significance’.

Spacing 1 (again!)

http://ift.tt/1aG5OVW

Sheila Waters at Eighty – A Retrospective

Please note: I am not now selling this book but have left the post up for interest.

This wonderful 50-page book was published when Sheila Waters was eighty, and encapsulates the incredible range and amazing creativity of her work. As written by her son Julian in the introduction: ‘Much more than a catalogue, this is the story of an artist, a part of family history and a snapshot in the timeline of the modern history of art and design’.

Perhaps Sheila is best known for the intricate designs and patterns with pure black Roman Capitals such as that on the right. These were developed by her for the title page of the book she created using the text of Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood.

This led directly to the Roundel of the Seasons, which took Sheila over one thousand hours of concentrated work. Although she almost gave up on this piece when the central portion and the surrounding flowers were too dense (see right), encouraged by her husband Peter, the renowned book binder, she scraped out several weeks of work and replaced this section with calligraphy. Such a brave move!

But this Retrospective does not rest there. It also includes Sheila’s later work, and some of the spontaneous pieces she has done for her granddaughters.

As well as this there are examples of Sheila’s maps and the collaborative work she did with her husband, Peter Waters, designing for the books he bound. And so much more …

The book is simply beautiful – set in a typeface specially designed for this by her son Julian, and based on the modernised Caroline minuscule she developed and used in her Under Milk Wood – the whole publication is just a joy. I cannot recommend it more highly.

Copies are available directly from Sheila Waters in the USA.

Patricia Lovett MBE

Calligraphy | Illumination | Design