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This humble blog began some months ago, until this date we have posted 9 wonderful books about lettering, typography and calligraphy. In case you forget the gift for your graphic designer geeky friend here is a recap of all the books featured here, a perfect gift for the typophile or the amateur designer avid of know more about this beautiful discipline (click on the name of every one to see more details):
One of the main challenges students face upon entering design school is little knowledge of the field, its terminology and best practices. Unsurprisingly, most new students have never fully developed a concept or visual idea, been in a critique, or have been asked to explain their work to others. This book demystifies what design school is really like and explains what will be experienced at each stage, with particular focus on practical advice on topics like responding to design briefs and developing ideas, building up confidence and understanding what is expected. Student work is critiqued to show how projects are really assessed Profiles highlight how professional designers themselves address client briefs Tips for real-life problems are outlined, like getting stuck and dealing with critical feedback Written by experienced instructors, this is the perfect guide for those starting their design education.
This adorable little book is chalked full of easy to create washi tape ideas. I love that it comes with 10 rolls of washi tape (all of which are really cute patterns). This is a great book for those of us veteran crafters but also great for the newer crafter, too. It has very clear simple step-by-step instructions and pictures. One of my favorite ideas was a gorgeous cross stitch canvas project! I think everyone loves washi tape and this book is quickly becoming one of my favorite books.
The sacristan began for the first time to show signs of hurry andimpatience. He heaved a sigh of relief when camera and notebook werefinally packed up and stowed away, and hurriedly beckoned Dennistounto the western door of the church, under the tower. It was time toring the Angelus. A few pulls at the reluctant rope, and the greatbell Bertrande, high in the tower, began to speak, and swung her voiceup among the pines and down to the valleys, loud withmountain-streams, calling the dwellers on those lonely hills toremember and repeat the salutation of the angel to her whom he calledBlessed among women. With that a profound quiet seemed to fall for thefirst time that day upon the little town, and Dennistoun and thesacristan went out of the church.
The post-chaise had brought him from Warwickshire, where, some sixmonths before, he had been left an orphan. Now, owing to the generousoffer of his elderly cousin, Mr. Abney, he had come to live atAswarby. The offer was unexpected, because all who knew anything ofMr. Abney looked upon him as a somewhat austere recluse, into whosesteady-going household the advent of a small boy would import a newand, it seemed, incongruous element. The truth is that very little wasknown of Mr. Abney's pursuits or temper. The Professor of Greek atCambridge had been heard to say that no one knew more of the religiousbeliefs of the later pagans than did the owner of Aswarby. Certainlyhis library contained all the then available books bearing on theMysteries, the Orphic poems, the worship of Mithras, and theNeo-Platonists. In the marble-paved hall stood a fine group of Mithrasslaying a bull, which had been imported from the Levant at greatexpense by the owner. He had contributed a description of it to theGentleman's Magazine, and he had written a remarkable series ofarticles in the Critical Museum on the superstitions of the Romansof the Lower Empire. He was looked upon, in fine, as a man wrapped upin his books, and it was a matter of great surprise among hisneighbours that he should even have heard of his orphan cousin,Stephen Elliott, much more that he should have volunteered to make himan inmate of Aswarby Hall.
Garrett had a few moments to spare; and, thought he, \"I'll go back tothat case and see if I can find the old man. Most likely he could putoff using the book for a few days. I dare say the other one doesn'twant to keep it for long.\" So off with him to the Hebrew class. Butwhen he got there it was unoccupied, and the volume marked 11.3.34 wasin its place on the shelf. It was vexatious to Garrett's self-respectto have disappointed an inquirer with so little reason: and he wouldhave liked, had it not been against library rules, to take the bookdown to the vestibule then and there, so that it might be ready forMr. Eldred when he called. However, next morning he would be on thelook out for him, and he begged the doorkeeper to send and let himknow when the moment came. As a matter of fact, he was himself in thevestibule when Mr. Eldred arrived, very soon after the library opened,and when hardly anyone besides the staff were in the building.
In the train Garrett was uneasy and excited. He racked his brains tothink whether the press mark of the book which Mr. Eldred had beeninquiring after was one in any way corresponding to the numbers onMrs. Simpson's little bit of paper. But he found to his dismay thatthe shock of the previous week had really so upset him that he couldneither remember any vestige of the title or nature of the book, oreven of the locality to which he had gone to seek it. And yet allother parts of library topography and work were clear as ever in hismind.
The account-books of Dr. Haynes, preserved along with his otherpapers, show, from a date but little later than that of hisinstitution as archdeacon, a quarterly payment of 25 to J. L. Nothingcould have been made of this, had it stood by itself. But I connectwith it a very dirty and ill-written letter, which, like another thatI have quoted, was in a pocket in the cover of a diary. Of date orpostmark there is no vestige, and the decipherment was not easy. Itappears to run:
As he pursued his round the sense came upon him (as it does upon mostof us in similar places) of the extreme unreadableness of a greatportion of the collection. \"Editions of Classics and Fathers, andPicart's Religious Ceremonies, and the Harleian Miscellany, Isuppose are all very well, but who is ever going to read TostatusAbulensis, or Pineda on Job, or a book like this\" He picked out asmall quarto, loose in the binding, and from which the lettered labelhad fallen off; and observing that coffee was waiting for him, retiredto a chair. Eventually he opened the book. It will be observed thathis condemnation of it rested wholly on external grounds. For all heknew it might have been a collection of unique plays, but undeniablythe outside was blank and forbidding. As a matter of fact, it was acollection of sermons or meditations, and mutilated at that, for thefirst sheet was gone. It seemed to belong to the latter end of theseventeenth century. He turned over the pages till his eye was caughtby a marginal note: \"A Parable of this Unhappy Condition,\" and hethought he would see what aptitudes the author might have forimaginative composition. \"I have heard or read,\" so ran the passage,\"whether in the way of Parable or true Relation I leave my Readerto judge, of a Man who, like Theseus, in the Attick Tale, shouldadventure himself, into a Labyrinth or Maze: and such an oneindeed as was not laid out in the Fashion of our Topiary artists ofthis Age, but of a wide compass, in which, moreover, such unknownPitfalls and Snares, nay, such ill omened Inhabitants were commonlythought to lurk as could only be encountered at the Hazard of one'svery life. Now you may be sure that in such a Case the Disswasions ofFriends were not wanting. 'Consider of such-an-one' says a Brother'how he went the way you wot of, and was never seen more.' 'Or of suchanother' says the Mother 'that adventured himself but a little way in,and from that day forth is so troubled in his Wits that he cannot tellwhat he saw, nor hath passed one good Night.' 'And have you neverheard' cries a Neighbour 'of what Faces have been seen to look outover the Palisadoes and betwixt the Bars of the Gate' But all wouldnot do: the Man was set upon his Purpose: for it seems it was thecommon fireside Talk of that Country that at the Heart and Centre ofthis Labyrinth there was a Jewel of such Price and Rarity that wouldenrich the Finder thereof for his life: and this should be his byright that could persever to come at it. What then Quid multa TheAdventurer pass'd the Gates, and for a whole day's space his Friendswithout had no news of him, except it might be by some indistinctCries heard afar off in the Night, such as made them turn in theirrestless Beds and sweat for very Fear, not doubting but that their Sonand Brother had put one more to the Catalogue of those unfortunatesthat had suffer'd shipwreck on that Voyage. So the next day they wentwith weeping Tears to the Clark of the Parish to order the Bell to betoll'd. And their Way took them hard by the gate of the Labyrinth:which they would have hastened by, from the Horrour they had of it,but that they caught sight of a sudden of a Man's Body lying in theRoadway, and going up to it (with what Anticipations may be easilyfigured) found it to be him whom they reckoned as lost: and not dead,though he were in a Swound most like Death. They then, who had goneforth as Mourners came back rejoycing, and set to by all means torevive their Prodigal. Who, being come to himself, and hearing oftheir Anxieties and their Errand of that Morning, 'Ay' says he 'youmay as well finish what you were about: for, for all I have broughtback the Jewel (which he shew'd them, and 'twas indeed a rare Piece) Ihave brought back that with it that will leave me neither Rest atNight nor Pleasure by Day.' Whereupon they were instant with him tolearn his Meaning, and where his Company should be that went so soreagainst his Stomach. 'O' says he ''tis here in my Breast: I cannotflee from it, do what I