This post on Roald Dahl covers popped up in Paul K's shared GR items last week, and today I discovered that the rest of the blog has loads of great innovative illustration, too.

Also via Sarah, not exactly illustration, but it does come from illustrator and comics artist, Jamie Smart: Find Chaffy. They are so cute! I want one.

picture by Russell Davies

I went to see a real live moonwalker, the second man on the moon talk at the Royal Festival Hall. Given the original future-looking optimism behind the growth of both endeavours, it seemed like the appropriate place to hear him. This was especially reinforced not only by what Aldrin talked about, but by both the men interviewing him, Rick Stroud and Andrew Smith. As Smith said in his introduction, "They had to make everything up as they went; it was a gargantuan feat of imagination" which is something that is all too frequently forgotten. This imagination seems to be Aldrin's driving force to an extent, at least as a credo for living:

"All we need is the determination to define the best course, the imagination to set bold targets, and the willingness to take risks. The future of space exploration begins, as always, with imagination."

I actually didn't take many notes, because sometimes Aldrin would manage to ramble off on personal tangents that were hard to follow because they seemed to come out of nowhere. Other times, he talked entirely in soundbites like the one quoted above, which I suppose is to be expected given the number of times he's probably had to answer the same questions over and over again.

Ironically, the one question he's asked most is the one that he still struggles to articulate an answer to; that one about what it feels like to walk on the moon. His answer to this seemed the most genuine part of his performance (and make no mistake, up on that stage he was certainly performing), but unfortunately was the one where I didn't manage to take any useful notes of what he said. Aldrin's answer in this Guardian interview [via Russell] comes quite close to the answer he gave on stage, but it's more succinct:

"People want to know what it felt like. They want us in a few words to generate the enthusiasm that the world had as they contemplated what we were about to do. Well, what it felt like is something that we trained for. We were trying to treat it as calmly as we could and perform to the best of our ability. We tried to repress feelings of exuberance, of disappointment, and be proud and responsible people accomplishing the task that was given to us. That sounds kind of boring. Except that what we did was kind of earth-shaking."

Which reads as such understatement that you don't really grasp the sheer enormity of the achievement, especially if, like me, you were born enough years after the event for it to have entered into our culture as part of history, and therefore out of our grasp. Hearing him talk about it on stage, as he struggled to describe the sensation, and dropped the soundbites out of his conversation, I finally felt it. The idea that only eleven other people had done what he had done. How can you describe a sensation like that to people who not only have absolutely no commensurate experience, but are never ever likely to?

picture by Matt Jones

A couple of days later, I went to the BLDGBLOG book launch at the AA, which seemed quite appropriate, given that blog's approach to, well, everything. If there's one theme that unites all the posts on BLDGBLOG, it's the idea of exploration, and of finding new ways of looking at stuff that has always been taken for granted — which is of course, an idea that I have recently been exploring on this blog, too.

It was interesting launch, with talks by Area Code's Kevin Slavin and, of course, BLDGBLOG's Geoff Manaugh. It was typically as full of fascinating new directions and ideas as the blog itself. Even though I've sworn not to buy any more books until my shelves have some space, I couldn't resist buying the book, and have forgone the two books I was already reading to dive into all the exciting features on urban exploration and architectural speculation. So far (I'm on part two at the moment), it's been a thoroughly stimulating read, although I do have a couple of minor objections about the book's design. It's been laid out along similar lines to a magazine, and while sidebars work in that format, it's a bit frustrating to be really into a piece of writing, and then lose the pace of it through having to turn over several pages in order to get to the rest of one sentence. That aside, I highly recommend it.

Prince Fuji is a nobleman from Cipango; called up to war against Cathay, he loses his ship's crew in a violent storm on his way home and has to find his way by himself. Meanwhile, back at home his wife is being courted by three gold-digging opportunists, all of whom she refuses to consider until she has finished the great tapestry that she started to pass the time whilst her husband was away.

The story of the prince's adventures is presented in comic strip format by this tapestry, with the story of the princess and her suitors running concurrently at the bottom of the page. This clever technique totally enchanted me as a child, and even as an adult with more knowledge of book craft, it's still brilliant. There's a wonderful use of panel borders, such as using the rooms of a building to frame the action, or shaping the panel to match the direction of an arrow.

Another great touch is the little fragments of the prince's adventures that go sneaking out of the frames from time to time, like this panel with the fly-swatter:

There's also a lovely mixture of art styles to represent the different places that the prince finds himself in, from the miniature-style painting in India to lush jungles painted in the style of Rousseau. (click to embiggen)

Although none of the panel illustrations directly copy anything by Kuniyoshi, there's definitely a similar use of colour and composition, at least in the Japanese locations, although it's not as subtle as his. The great battle scene certainly reminded me of similar scenes in the Kuniyoshi exhibition, although it obviously owes a great debt to medieval tapestry and the likes of Brueghel (although this isn't such a departure, as Kuniyoshi was known to be influenced by him, too). Thorne's fabric designs are much more simplified but she obviously had fun doing them, as evidenced by the fact that the princess wears sixteen different outfits — practically one for every single double-spread.

In contrast, her suitors wear the same outfit throughout the book, even though enough time has obviously passed that they would surely be able to change into different clothes. I'd never actually noticed this before I started looking through the book again to write this post, but it has a very subtle effect on the story, reinforcing the idea that they are gold-diggers (it's never explicitly mentioned, but it was pretty obvious even when I was a child). The colours of each of the princess's outfits also subtly reinforce the events of the story, as they always match the colours of each tapestry section — something else I'd never noticed before.

As I said, this book has been out of print for a while, although you can find copies of it for sale online. Alibris has a some copies, and so does abebooks, and some copies are only a fiver! (Although prices seem to vary wildly for no apparent reason)

See more images of the book here.

As promised in my last post, I dug out my copy of House By Mouse, written by George Mendoza and illustrated by Doris Smith. Reading through it again, I was tickled to see which houses I coveted when I was little — as indicate by a pencil caption "my house" on each one I liked. Interestingly enough, my tastes haven't changed at all. I still want to live in Mouse's House:

It looks as cosy and well-designed now as it did when it was drawn, doesn't it? (click through to the Flickr page to see it larger)

Mole's house looks looks like a cosy home, too.

See how Rabbit's house compares to Lettuce's burrow (which is what reminded me to dig this book out in the first place, natch):

Even as a kid I thought Pig's big house was tacky, but Frog's house looks to me like a very classy cocktail bar — but I seem to remember it did when I was a kid, too. Just the glamourous kind of place I wanted to be grown up enough to lounge in. Now that I'm grown up enough, I don't know of any cocktail bar that looks like this in real life:

More's the pity; it looks like the perfect place to sip Mai Tais.

See more pics on Flickr

The illustration instantly reminded me of a book I'd loved when I was a kid, House By Mouse. I couldn't remember who had written it, or the name of the illustrator, so I had a quick google, and turned up a couple of links: this one from Bijou Kaleidoscope in 2007 and this one from We Heart Books earlier this year, both of which have some examples of the lovely illustrations by Doris Susan Smith (whoever she is).

I was intrigued by both the blogs in question, so I clicked onto their front pages. Imagine my surprise to discover that the latest post (today's) on Bijou Kaleidoscope, is about House By Mouse again. What are the chances?

I must see if I still have my copy. I'm almost certain I do — I loved it far too much as a child to get rid of it intentionally.

Another of my photos was included in the recent book, This Is Not A Polaroid, which is for sale on Blurb. All the images were created with the Poladroid software, and there are some great pictures in the book, so check it out. Maybe even buy a copy.

Some of my photos and blog-posts have also been included in another book for sale on Blurb, The Little Book of Bookcamp, along with loads of other stuff from other people who attended January's Bookcamp and sister event, the inaugural Papercamp. There are a lot of interesting ideas floating around from both events, so the book looks like it's worth a read.