Available now, iFont version 2.0 allows iPhone users, and for the first time iPad users, to install .ttf and .otf files on their device for use in other apps such as word processors. Mobile users can now use custom typefaces on previously limited mobile devices, increasing creativity and productivity. iFont also includes tools for comparing fonts and sharing messages on social media platforms – anyone can now communicate in a variety of typefaces from their iPhone or iPad.
Import favourite typefaces into iFont to use throughout the system. Just open each file (either .ttf or .otf) in iFont to import it and use in other apps. Now font enthusiasts can also import fonts straight from popular cloud storage services, streamlining their workflow. iFont makes it easy to compose the next leaflet or presentation in a unique typeface, right from the palm of the hand.
Use iFont to compare many different fonts to see which will suit the situation best. Arial or Helvetica? Georgia, Iowan Old Style or Times New Roman? Bold or regular? With the comparison view in iFont, anyone can be the judge. Compare up to twelve different fonts on one screen with iFont for iPad.
The Scratchpad enables users to send images of messages to friends and family in any font which is installed, and Advanced view allows users to see detailed information about each font, from the copyright license and Postscript CID to the spacing of the ascents and descents. iFont is a comprehensive application which can be utilised by casual users and professionals alike.
iFont is ad-supported and available free on the App Store, with an optional $0.99 (priced accordingly in other regions) In-App Purchase to remove adverts and enable the option for a blue theme. iFont is available worldwide in both English and Spanish.
iFont is developed by Coding Corner LLP, a partnership founded in 2016 by Tom Hunt, Cameron Leask and Robin Sullivan.
When we first reviewed the MOO Lay Flat Hardcover Notebook, it was only available in gray with mint colored accent pages, and they sold out immediately. MOO has now introduced several new colors that you can find here, assuming they aren’t sold out already!
Here is a look at all of the new colors available, I really like the Sky Blue/Pastel Pink version myself, but they are all pretty nice, and the quality of them is amazing. Check out our recent review of the original grey version here. (buy via MOO)If you are looking for a really nice new notebook, trust me, this is the next one you want to try, especially now that its available in some nice new colors.
“A poem … is when you are in love and have the sky in your mouth.”
“Poetry can break open locked chambers of possibility, restore numbed zones to feeling, recharge desire,” Adrienne Rich wrote in contemplating the cultural power of poetry. But what is a poem, really, and what exactly is its use?
Every once in a while, you stumble upon something so lovely, so unpretentiously beautiful and quietly profound, that you feel like the lungs of your soul have been pumped with a mighty gasp of Alpine air. This Is a Poem That Heals Fish (public library) is one such vitalizing gasp of loveliness — a lyrical picture-book that offers a playful and penetrating answer to the question of what a poem is and what it does. And as it does that, it shines a sidewise gleam on the larger question of what we most hunger for in life and how we give shape to those deepest longings.
Written by the French poet, novelist, and dramatist Jean-Pierre Simeón, translated into English by Enchanted Lion Books founder Claudia Zoe Bedrick (the feat of translation which the Nobel-winning Polish poet Wisława Szymborska had in mind when she spoke of “that rare miracle when a translation stops being a translation and becomes … a second original”), and illustrated by the inimitable Olivier Tallec, this poetic and philosophical tale follows young Arthur as he tries to salve his beloved red fish Leon’s affliction of boredom.
Arthur’s mommy looks at him.
She closes her eyes,
she opens her eyes…
Then she smiles:
— Hurry, give him a poem!
And she leaves for her tuba lesson.
Puzzled and unsure what a poem is, Arthur goes looking in the pantry, only to hear the noodles sigh that there is no poem there. He searches in the closet and under his bed, but the vacuum cleaner and the dust balls have no poem, either.
Determined, Arthur continues his search.
He runs to Lolo’s bicycle shop.
Lolo knows everything, laughs all the time, and is always in love.
He is repairing a tire and singing.
So begins the wonderful meta-story of how poetry comes into being as a tapestry of images, metaphors, and magpie borrowings. Each person along the way contributes to Arthur’s tapestry a different answer, infused with the singular poetic truth of his or her own life. Lolo offers:
— A poem, Arthur, is when you are in love and have the sky in your mouth.
— A poem? I don’t know much about that.
But I know one, and it is hot like fresh bread.
When you eat it, a little is always left over.
— Oh…? Okay.
Arthur turns to his neighbor next, “old Mahmoud who comes from the desert and waters his rhododendrons every morning at 9 o’clock.”
Mahmoud offers his answer with easeful conviction:
— A poem is when you hear the heartbeat of a stone.
— Oh…? All right.
Arthur hastens home to check on poor Leon, who appears to be asleep, “floating gently amidst the seaweed as if thinking.” And because this is the sort of story in which a canary can only be named after an Ancient Greek comic playwright, Arthur next seeks an answer from his canary named Aristophanes, “who is no bird brain.”
Our imagination is left to ponder why, on the next page, the cage contains not the yellow canary but a red-haired woman, who sings Aristophanes’s answer. Perhaps she is a visual allusion to Aristophanes’s play Assemblywomen, or perhaps she represents a muse, whom Tallec invokes to remind us that the muse hides in many guises and reveals herself in the most improbable of places.
— A poem is when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.
— Oh…? Okay.
Just then, Arthur’s grandmother arrives and is met with the same question, which she answers after thinking hard, evidenced by the way “she always smiles a silly smile when thinking.”
— When you put your old sweater on backwards or inside out, dear Arthur, you might say that it is new again.
A poem turns words around, upside down, and — suddenly! — the world is new.
But grandma encourages Arthur to ask his grandfather, too, who “often writes poems … instead of repairing pipes.”
— A poem? grandpa says, tugging on his mustache and looking worried. A poem, well… it’s what poets make.
— Oh…? All right.
— Even if the poets do not know it themselves!
Frustrated with the multitude of confounding answers, Arthur returns to Leon’s fishbowl only to find him sound asleep beneath his large stone, enveloped in seaweed.
— I’m sorry, Leon, I have not found a poem. All I know is this:
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.
is words turned upside down
the world is new.
Leon opens one eye, then the other, and for the first time in his life he speaks.
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In the last decade of his life, from 1740 to 1750, Johann Sebastian Bach abandoned the furious pace of composition he had maintained for over 30 years and concentrated his creative energies largely on the composition of just six works.
They were the second volume of The Well-Tempered Clavier, the Goldberg Variations, the Canonic Variations on Vom Himmel Hoch, The Musical Offering, the B Minor Mass and finally, The Art of Fugue.
In these six works he not only encapsulated all the discoveries and achievements of the previous 40 years, but extended to the outermost reaches of what was possible, the musical language bequeathed to him – which he had already done so much to develop.
The Australian composer Felix Werder once drily remarked that we cannot fully understand a work of art unless we know who paid for it. Remarkably, however, Bach was not paid for any of the above works, and indeed barely made any profit by personally financing the publication of four of them.
Thus about 30 copies of the Art of Fugue were bought, and later the copper plates used in the printing process were sold by his sons as scrap, in the hope of recouping some of the costs. So clearly Bach was driven by fierce personal inner necessity to compose these late works.
He seems to have begun working on The Art of the Fugue in 1742 and, with many interruptions, continued working on it until 1749. It was published posthumously in 1751, and in that first edition, the editors added Bach’s final composition, his short Chorale Prelude Before The Throne I Stand as compensation for the missing ending of the final fugue.
It is easy to forget that the purpose of Bach’s keyboard output was primarily pedagogical. Similarly, his three Passions (one now lost) and around 200 church cantatas were also intended pedagogically, but naturally in a profoundly more meaningful way. With this work, his primary purpose was to demonstrate all the myriad possibilities of fugal composition.
What is a fugue?
The Oxford Dictionary’s definition of a fugue is:
a polyphonic composition in which a short melodic theme, the subject, is introduced by one part or voice, and successively taken up by the others and developed by their interweaving.
Bach brought the fugue to the peak of its development in the hundreds that he composed, and this work represents the apotheosis of the form.
The entire work is based on a theme which consists of the two building blocks of Western tonal music: the three notes of a D minor chord and a scale.
Nothing could be simpler, and it strains credulity that Bach could erect such a monumental edifice with seemingly unpromising material.
But this simple theme undergoes many permutations throughout the 14 fugues and four canons (in baroque terminology, fugues also) which constitute this work. Thus in the third fugue he turns it upside down, that is, where the original melody descends it now ascends and vice versa.
The final fugue was the last he was ever to write, and also his longest. Although he had often hidden the BACH motif in his music (in German nomenclature it consists of the notes B flat, A, C and B) here – for the first and only time – he overtly introduces it as the third main theme of this massive fugue. It is this fugue which has come down to us incomplete, and the reasons for this are disputed.
We can now be certain that it was not due to Bach’s final illness, which was probably late stage diabetes, although we cannot be certain.
So the question remains open whether after his death, a final page went missing, or whether he had indeed composed it but not yet written it down, or even deliberately left it incomplete.
What we do know is that there are almost certainly 47 bars missing and that here Bach would have combined the main theme of the entire work with the other three themes of this mighty fugue.
A quandary for performers
Its incomplete state creates a musical, aesthetic, philosophical and even moral quandary for the performer. Most allow the work to trail off at the point where Bach’s manuscript ceases Others conclude with the chorale prelude mentioned above (a chorale prelude being a short contrapuntal elaboration of a traditional hymn tune). This means that after almost 80 minutes of D minor, the work ends with a four-minute chorale prelude in G major.
As one critic remarked, this makes no musical sense whatsoever, but it does make enormous non-musical sense. To the extent that music ultimately deals with existential questions of human existence, to conclude thus is perfectly valid. This writer, however, prefers to play one of the many attempted completions, in this case that by the renowned British harpsichordist Davitt Moroney.
A further contentious issue is for what instruments Bach composed this work. It is written in open score, that is, one stave for each polyphonic voice and, unlike almost every other work by Bach, no instrumentation is specified.
Already in 1751 it was advertised as being arranged in such a way as to be playable by two hands on a keyboard instrument, and this has led nearly all scholars to conclude it was conceived for the harpsichord. However, to assert that it is playable on the harpsichord is very different from saying that it was conceived for that instrument.
The American pianist and writer Charles Rosen has tellingly pointed out that the question of what instrument the work was composed for would not have occurred to a musician of Bach’s time. For the few fortunate purchasers of the original print, it would have been played on whatever instruments they could play and had available at home.
The fact that the first complete performance of this work did not occur until 1922 has often been the subject of scandalised comment. But Bach would never have envisaged a public rendition of any of these fugues, much less a performance of the complete work, which in any case was unthinkable in the context of the performance practice of the time.
As the Hungarian musicologist Paul Henry Lang has said:
each component of this work was to be painstakingly studied and slowly absorbed at home.
To drag it into the glare of the concert hall is akin to displaying mediaeval altar triptychs in modern art museums. In both cases, however, these are among the few avenues we now have to experience these marvels of Western civilisation.
As usual Bach gives us almost no performance indications whatsoever, so it is each performer’s obligation to impart to each component of this work its own distinct character. So although Die Kunst der Fuga is a work of high art of the utmost seriousness, this does not mean that each individual fugue must be played seriously.
Thus after the solemn opening fugue, the second fugue might almost be felt as a parody. The fifth, sixth and seventh fugues, all featuring prominent dotted rhythms, can be felt as, by turns, skittish, pompous and melancholy, while the 12th fugue borders on the tragic.
This is in keeping with the late works of such diverse artists as Shakespeare, Beethoven and Goya, which exemplify how pathos, humour, gravity, exuberance and tragedy are inextricably enmeshed in the deepest recesses of the human psyche.
This article is appears in conjunction with upcoming performances by Daniel Herscovitch of The Art of Fugue at Brisbane Conservatorium at 7.30 pm on April 5, Canberra ANU School of Music at 6.30 pm on April 21 and Melbourne at Monash University Clayton Campus Music Auditoriumon at 2 pm on April 28.
Daniel Herscovitch does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond the academic appointment above.
Kelly, a geological consultant by day, built the rest of her life around her family: husband, daughter, two dogs. From the outside her suburban house looks like a sweet, comfortable place to build a family. Inside the soft fragrances of the season make you think you walked into a Hallmark commercial.
“For years I followed my daughter everywhere with the camera,” Kelly explained, a self-labeled scrapbook mom and family documentarian. “We’re a unit – my husband, daughter and myself. For eighteen years that’s how things were. We’ve just always done everything together.”
One day, however, it struck Kelly like a freight train. Her daughter would soon be moving out to go to college.
“Oh shit, what am I going to do now!?” she wondered. “For years it was the three of us (my husband, myself, and my daughter). We were a unit. And now the muse, for this thing that I like to do, is gone. What does that mean for me?”
She weathered the storm of her ‘super dramatic midlife crisis’ and, all the while, continued taking pictures. Without her daughter around Kelly “learned to see life through the camera a little bit differently; I began to see myself and my whole life a little bit differently.”
It isn’t uncommon for mothers to feel the pains of an empty nest. So much of a mother’s identity revolves around her home and her children that, when they’re gone, can be tough for some to deal with. During this transition, Kelly decided to take a ‘Big Picture’ photography class taught by Tracey Clark, a formidable lifestyle photography and motherhood blogger. In this time she learned some new technical skills, but ultimately began to understand more about the heart and emotion behind the genre of everyday photography.
“That totally spoke to me. That’s what turned around my empty nest and gave it a little room to grow.”
In this transition she also started a blog. Though no longer in the mommy-blogger niche, her site Minding My Nest touches on many common family and crafty themes that female photographers would be interested in. Unknowingly, as she discovered editing tools for her photography, Kelly developed a consistent tone and feel for her photography.
“The softer tones and matte finish feel right for me. It’s timeless,” she explained. “I don’t know if I set out specifically to shoot for a homey and cozy vibe. The idea of layers and slight color adjustments just feel natural for me (because of my technical dayjob). I aim to take technically good photos first and then enhance the mood of the photo slightly in Lightroom. It’s just another tool in my arsenal.”
A few years after she really began to dig into photography, as a hobby, tragedy struck her family. An extended family member committed suicide, and it hit Kelly’s family pretty hard. Where previously much of her photography was very light hearted and bright, in this time she found herself in some personal darkness.
“It wasn’t that I was personally or consciously in a dark place, but this experience made me face darkness fact to face.” Though the morose emotions worried her a bit, she embraced the feelings and began “exploring the idea of shadow and light in my own photos to mirror how I was experiencing darkness in my own life.”
Amidst her blogging in this time a John Gay quote stood out to her – ‘A shadow owes its birth to light.’
Particularly it struck her that a shadow is only darkness because of its contrast to light. Light is only a bright and shining moment because of the depth and darkness that is created by shadows. One is not one without the other. Since then, even though emotionally Kelly has recovered her footing and moves forward every day, she has echoed this idea in her photographs.
“Photography is a way for me to deal with struggles for myself first, and if it somehow inspires or brings comfort to someone else [through my photos or blog] that’s worth it.”
Along her journey, Kelly has become an active member of the Shutter Sisters, a gang of female bloggers and Flickr photographers that has come together around photography of, by, and for women.
Kelly took a moment to show us the world #ThroughHerLens. It is filled with quaint moments that she draws inspiration from. Her home, her family, and her female FlickrFam drive purpose and infuse her photography with emotive sunrays that drift through her curtained windows.