Writer's block

Hello friends. I felt that I should pen some words about an affliction I am suffering, one that I know the cure of. The affliction is writer's block, and I know the cure to be a disciplined commitment to writing, at a time set aside at least once a day. When I say that I know this to be the cure, what I really mean is that I believe this to be the cure. According to the best advice I have found it would appear that the solution of the problem of being unable to write is - strangely - to simply write, on the clock, come hell or high water. And yet, this is easier said than done.
Part of the problem seems to be the need for a suitable venue. I love nothing better than lounging about the apartment on a cold winter's day, stuffing around with reading and random television or movie watching, and for some reason - let's call it a temperamental reluctance - I feel unable to put down books, turn off devices and concentrate on writing. I love writing more than just about any other activity, but to be frank the prospect also makes me anxious. It is far easier to read than to write, especially if one is to calm one's nerves through the choice of one or other of these two activities. Subsequently, when at home, and feeling slightly unsettled as I am occasionally wont to do, I tend not to write.
The solution to this problem may be to acquire a studio space somewhere in the city. I had a studio years ago when I was studying, and it was a fantastic way to experience the city. I got more coffee drinking than work done, but it was a rich and stimulating experience. The problem with this solution is that it will cost at least $200 a month for a desk somewhere, with like minded people. And yet, it might just be worth it to break the circuit of inaction. Certainly, paying out cash on a monthly basis would be excellent incentive to use the space, and if it is just a desk, then it will probably be distraction free when compared to the plethora of entertainment options on hand at my apartment.
Just reading over this post, I cannot help but reflect on the fact that this is truly a 'first-world problem', if ever there was one. Get over it and get on with it, you might say - and on balance I would have to agree with you. So I will.

Encyclopedia Britannica to go

I recently subscribed to the Encyclopedia Britannica, using the iPad app. For a modest sum, you can gain access to a wealth of information written in a pleasingly scholarly tone. I was curious about the app as I read recently that this venerable institution of western knowledge was, for the first time, going out of print and destined in the future to rely only on digital forms of propagation. I don't really know what this means for knowledge, but I felt it signified something of interest.
I am as guilty as the next person of relying on Wikipedia for 'snippets' of information, and while I always read material from that source with a proverbial block of salt, it was still deeply refreshing to dip into the Britannica and read scholarly articles written with some skill and rigour. In fact, I had forgotten what such writing was like. While you wouldn't accuse the Britannica's writers of dazzling wordplay, the articles are written to a thoughtful structure, and possess the many elements of good scholarly writing. The transmission of meaning in the one long article I read, on the Byzantine Empire, was both subtle and nuanced; in contrast to the flat and two-dimensional tone of much of Wikipedia, the writing was well-rounded and satisfying in an informative kind of way. That the article had a structure at all was almost startling enough, and felt like a cool drink in a drought.
I recommend it for all your random knowledge needs.

Love and Devotion

This morning I had the privilege of viewing the State Library of Victoria exhibition entitled Love and Devotion - From Persia and Beyond, which focuses primarily on illuminated manuscripts of Persian poetry. A gallery of images can be found here. These works are on loan from the Bodleian Library at Oxford University, and they are truly remarkable. 

While I was looking at the works, I tried to imagine their first owners and readers, and I attempted to look at the exquisite illustrations and spiderweb-script with fresh eyes. I imagined that the far-off (and now long dead) reader would have felt they were at a pinnacle of refinement, and their civilisation at a peak to produce such extraordinary works. This made me wonder about our own civilisation. 

We produce some amazing things, no doubt, but they are almost exclusively machine made, and the qualities of the objects and documents I come in contact with are somewhat pixelated and crude when compared to these rarified hand-illuminated plates. The works in the exhibition are impossibly fine - and entirely without pixels. The only thing in our contemporary world that compares is, perhaps, the impossible filigree of a printed circuit board, which can strangely bear a passing resemblance to some of the more abstract illuminated panels in the exhibition. 

A life without pixels is something to consider. I was put in mind of this recently, as I have purchased and begun using an electric typewriter. I am still astonished at the clarity and crispness of a page of typed text; with its faint debossing, each character is razor sharp, and computer printed pages look slushy by comparison - even those that have been laser-printed. The beauty of the typewriter is that it is now old technology, and it has been more-or-less perfected. It is like having my own printing press. 

Of course, these may not be original observations, but it doesn't really matter - they were prompted by a fleeting impression gained from the exhibition, a strange sense that we are not as 'advanced' in the developed nations as we persist in thinking we are. Who knows: if media devices such as the typewriter cease to exist, perhaps we are going backwards.