San Francisco 2016 – Travel Journal Spread 26-28

Visiting the Camera Obscura at the Cliff House and thought about playing basketball.
Visiting the Camera Obscura at the Cliff House and thoughts about playing basketball.
Visiting the Legion of Honor and seeing Raphael's "Portrait of a Lady with a Unicorn".
Visiting the Legion of Honor and seeing Raphael’s “Portrait of a Lady with a Unicorn”.
Four months after I arrived in San Francisco, it was time to ponder about how the relocation had gone so far.
Four months after I arrived in San Francisco, it was time to ponder how the relocation had gone so far.

San Francisco 2016 – Travel Journal Spread 7

About the joy felt when getting an apartment in San Francisco, going to buy art supplies at FLAX and reading Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath".

A Study of Stick People

Drawings of a stick person standing in different positions.As a rule of thumb the human body can be measured as 7 1/2 head high (the 1/2 being the feet). When drawing a stick version of a human I prefer to remove the neck and thus giving the body cleaner look. A stick person’s height can therefore be measured as 7 heads high. The upper part of the arm is 1 1/2 head long, and the same applies to the lower part. The “navel” is placed 2 1/2 head from the top. The legs start at 3 1/2 head from the top. Each leg is 3 head long. The feet are 1/2 head high.

Hamlet – the End

A stick version of Hamlets death in the end of the play Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare.

Hamlet: O! I die, Horatio ;
The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit :
I cannot live to hear the news from England ;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. – The rest is silence.
[Dies.]

Horatio: How cracks a noble heart.
– Good night, sweet prince ;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest !

Want a challenge? Why not solve the regex crossword made for this scene?

Alas Poor Yorick

A stick version comic of the scene in Hamlet – Prince of Denmark where Hamlet remembers the jester Yorick.

Hamlet: Whose was it?

Gravedigger: A whoreson mad fellow’s it was : whose do you think it was?

Hamlet: Nay, I know not.

Gravedigger: A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! ‘a poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, this same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the king’s jester.

Hamlet: This?

Gravedigger: E’en that.

Hamlet: Let me see [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick ! –I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, now abhorred my imagination is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes nor? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now, get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thich, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that.

Want a challenge? Why not solve the regex crossword made for this scene?

The Death of Ophelia

A stick version of John Everett Millais' famous painting of the death of Ophelia.

Queen: One woe doth tread upon another’s heel
So fast they follow. – Your sister’s drown’s, Laertes.

Laertes: Drown’d! – O, where?

Queen: There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream:
There with fantastic garlands did she come.
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them;
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies, and herself,
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up :
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu’d
Unto that element : but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laertes: Alas! then, is she drown’d?

Queen: Drown’d, drown’d.

Laertes: Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
and therefore I forbid my tears.

Want a challenge? Why not solve the regex crossword made for this scene?