‘The language of time passing’

December 23rd, 2008 by Steve Curati

There was a lovely segment on R4′s Saturday Live show at the weekend. Talking about the history of telling the time, the Greenwich Observatory’s time-keeper general described ticks, whirs, cuckoos and chimes as the ‘language of time passing’. That’s such a nice way of putting it.

It also makes makes you think about how that language has changed over time. When I think about how time lets me know it’s passing now, it feels like all those lovely temporal verbs and adjectives have been stripped away to leave just a colon flashing between the numbers representing hours and minutes. And that’s sad. I want a watch with a tick and a second hand.

He also mentioned that we’re going to have a leap second as we go into the new year. At 11:59:59 on December 31st there will be a 7th ‘beep’. A gentle tug on time to put us back into sync with the rest of the universe. Don’t trip up.

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Dave Brubeck with young Russian violinist

“During a visit to Moscow in the 80’s, Dave Brubeck met the faculty and students in Moscow Conservatory. While he was improvising on a “Ei, uhnem”, a Russian folk song, a young man downstage stood up to play Stéphane Grappelli-style violin jazz with him.”

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“I have only my talent for drawing, so I drew.”

austinkleon:

Ronald Searle, Les Très Riches Heures de Mrs Mole

47 jewel-like drawings by Ronald Searle made for his wife, Monica, each time she underwent chemotherapy. On New Year’s Eve 1969, Monica Searle was diagnosed with a rare and virulent form of breast cancer. Each time she underwent treatment, Ronald produced a Mrs Mole drawing ‘to cheer every dreaded chemotherapy session and evoke the blissful future ahead’. Filled with light and illuminated in glowing colours, the drawings speak of love, optimism and hope. Like the mediaeval illuminated manuscripts such as the 15th-century Les Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, to which the title of this book refers, the 47 drawings are on an intimate scale and were never intended for publication.

When asked about the drawings, Searle said, “I have only my talent for drawing, so I drew.” Here’s a little more about them:

Prior to the cancer shock the couple had bought a decrepit house in the south of France and, despite her illness, Monica continued to devote her time making this house a home.

Devastated with his wife’s diagnosis Ronald did the only thing he knew how to do to cheer her up. .. draw.

Before every chemotherapy session he gave his wife a painting. Monica was depicted as a mole, a very happy mole celebrating life in their new home. (The Mole idea came after their discovery of a large celler that they made into a cosy room)

‘Everything about them had to be romantic and perfect,’ says Ronald. ‘I drew them originally for no one’s eyes except Mo’s, so she would look at them propped up against her bedside lamp and think: “When I’m better, everything will be beautiful.”

Searle died last week at 91.

(Images via bluedoorbooks)