Every so often, I get an urge to do something crafty. “Crafty” here means having to do with crafts, not cunning plans (though it may amount to the same thing). Today was one of those days, so I stopped by ye olde
curiosity shoppe Dollar Tree and picked up some frames, because I’m cheap that way.
Remember this quote from Heretics? I couldn’t find a great graphic of it online, so I decided to make one. Here’s the printout (click for full size):
(The flourish is from Pixabay – I know they don’t require attribution, but I always feel like I should…habit!)
I picked up this little blue frame because it goes with my color scheme, but I wasn’t sure what picture to put in it. I finally settled on the plans for the Nautilus (Disney version), along with Nemo’s motto, Mobilis in Mobili (“moving amidst mobility”). Completely nerdy, but I love it. 🙂
Last bit of craftiness: I love triptychs, so thought I’d try creating one. I found this whale picture uploaded by the Biodiversity Heritage Library, cleaned it up a little, and split it in three. It was more difficult than I expected, but I think it turned out ok! This one and the Chesterton quote I’ll probably be putting up on the wall at work.
Well, that’s it for now, but I have more ideas (and wall space), so there may be a part 2 to come. 😉
Occasionally you stumble across some historical story so weird it could only have happened in in real life. Exhibit A: the mysterious lover of Nikolay Gumilyov.
Who was Nikolay Gumilyov? Born in 1886, he grew up well educated and began writing poetry at a young age, becoming first published, in fact, at around age 16. Gumilyov spent much of his life as a man of letters and established poet, but he also served in the Russian cavalry in WWI. He was executed in 1921 on suspicions of being part of a monarchist conspiracy.
When he was still a young man and writing for a journal called Apollon, he fell in love with the author of some poems which had been submitted for publication. Here I quote Wikipedia:
In August 1909, the famous Russian artistic periodical Apollon received a letter with verses on a perfumed paper with black mourning edges, signed only by a single Russian letter Ch. The verses were filled with half-revelations about its author—supposedly a beautiful maiden with dark secrets . . . Over the next few months, publications of the newfound poetic star were the major hit of the magazine, and many believed that they had found a major new talent in Russian poetry. The identity of the author was slowly revealed: her name was Baroness Cherubina de Gabriak, a Russian-speaking girl of French and Polish ancestry who lived in a very strict Roman Catholic aristocratic family, who severely limited the girl’s contacts with the outside world because of an unspoken secret in her past. Almost all of Apollon’s male writers fell in love with her, most of all the great poet Nikolai Gumilyov. He wrote a series of passionate love letters to her and received quite passionate answers.
The mystery of the newfound genius was short-lived. In November it was discovered that the verses were written by a disabled schoolteacher, Elisaveta Ivanovna Dmitrieva, with the participation of a major Apollon contributor and editor, the poet Maximilian Voloshin.
Apparently, Voloshin and Dmitrieva came up with this scheme as a sort of publicity stunt in order to get her published. Gumilyov, as you can imagine, was not amused. The fallout between him and Voloshin eventually led to a duel, which (fortunately) did nothing to help sore feelings but at least resulted in no casualties, as Gumilyov missed and Voloshin couldn’t handle a gun.
|Elisaveta Ivanovna Dmitrieva, AKA
Cherubina de Gabriak
You can read more about the love triangle here. It’s quite a soap opera and makes the Charlotte Bronte’s “Currer Bell” seem mild by comparison!