The Phrenological Journal & Haunted Typebox Blog

Die Todesfahrt: The Ride to Death. Whenever we examine a new acquisition we are drawn into its drama, its interplay of symbols and themes. Immediately we look for our humanity in it. In extreme hubris we decide we are the cyclists! Yes! We circle bravely above a pit of danger for the enjoyment of others. We risk life and limb! But no, that is not who we are.

Next we consider ourselves the lion tamer. Surely that is our position. Are we not always between things? Are we not always somehow orchestrating some fierce menagerie? We are truly the center, lamely defended by the barest of threads—but again we are wrong.

I said we look for our humanity—but in such anthropocentrism are we not deceived? The truly observant have found themselves already among the lions.We mistakenly believe we are above, or at the centre, when in truth we are always part and parcel the maelstrom itself! We find ourselves trapped, tormented. And while the crowd gasps at the bravery of the cyclists, what of us? What should befall us if one should in fact fall upon us? Fifteen pounds of metal frame, and bloody well-tailored pulp we dare not eat. And yet we cannot leave. We can only posture our rage.

You thought perhaps we were the spectators? Not all postcards invite us as tourists. Do you see bars in front of you? No, my friend, you and I are always, and only, enclosed.

Newly acquired for the Museum of Unexceptional Ephemera: Die Todesfahrt. Meaning, literally, the death ride. A woodcut postcard, date unknown, probably c. 1900. Verso says “Postekarte”, has address lines and a box for a stamp, but is otherwise blank.

Rigorous analysis to follow.

The picture within the theatre within the plan.

One of the many areas of study most interesting to the M.U.E. is the study of theatrical scenes presented in architectural plans of theatre buildings. Though seen as trivial by students of architecture, these theatrical ’scenes’ are as worthy of study as the plans themselves. After all, the architecture of a theatrical building is dependent upon quotidian matters such as space considerations, as well as requirements of use. The theatrical scene, while seemingly arbitrary, is not. This freedom grants it the position of cypher. To view a plan of Halle’s Stadttheatre, for instance, we are shown its passageways, its exits, its basement—I see I’ve lost you already!

Shift your view. Zoom in on proscenium. The curtains are parted. There are no actors (so is it really a theatre?) but rather a second frame. Is this a tableau vivant? No, this is a ‘real’ picture, a picture inside a proscenium, inside the set of a plan for a theatre. We think of Hamlet’s Mousetrap. And what does this picture—this inner picture—show us? A trio of figures presides above a faint cityscape, obscured as if by the smoke of battle. A building beset with columns is at (stage) left, something like a minaret is at (stage) right. Below we see figures with raised swords. The moment feels arrested in time. Are we seeing an annunciation, the halting of some terrible conflict? Do the figures on the ground raise their weapons in vain at attackers from above? Are these avenging valkyries, or angels granting salvation?

The theatre will not tell us, but maybe history (oh, theatre of theatres!) may give us the clue. Would this latter supposition not be played out some fifty years later in the allied bombing of Germany, an event that would alter this very theatre? Are not all our futures inscribed in the dramas we create today?

One of the main tenants of the Museum of Unexceptional Ephemera is that we discover who we are through the examination of crowds. This photo, long thought lost from our collection, provides the perfect illustration. Much like the Coprus Christi postcard of 1907, the photograph of the US Army Entering Vladivostok shows us what can be gained from close examination of the spectator—even as the photo’s supposed subject commands importance.

We ignore the soldiers marching down the thoroughfare (heroes that they are!), and the flanking column of Navy on the left, and civilians on the right. No, our subject is a group of individuals standing between the foot soldiers and the sailors. We may be inclined to think that the straw boater worn by the gentleman on the right is what should demand our attention, this vacationer amongst the liberators. We might also be inclined to draw an association with the aforementioned Corpus Christi postcard. 

Another man wears a fedora and a white coat. He wears a kind of shoulder strap. Comander? Politician? It’s doubtful. He does not have the military posture. No, he is more likely a journalist, the observer. We imagine a camera on his chest. As if he is capturing the moment, just as he is being captured, just as Vladivostok is being captured.

Whether they journalists or pleasure seekers, we are reminded of the visibility of the observer, that even when we watch, we too our watched. And even you, observer of this photo, is there not someone observing you?

Here, from “The Volume Library” of 1928 (A Concise, Graded Repository of Practical and Cultural Knowledge Designed for both Instruction and Reference), is a useful bit of information on the methods of execution practiced in different countries, as well as signifying the publicity of the executions. Of particular note is the technological advancement shown by the United States.

Perhaps even more interesting is the item’s placement in the miscellany: between “Echo” and “Expectation of Life.”

Methods of Execution by Country (1928)

As we analyze the Corpus Christi image further we find unexpected things. We enlarge it. We pass through the crowd. We notice all heads turned towards the procession. All heads?—No! In the lower right corner we notice a man, his head turned as if to see the camera. He wears a bowler (in contrast with so many of his fellows) and his right arm is raised, cocked as if to strike a neighbor, or to raise a weapon against himself!

He takes his eyes from the religious spectacle—breaking not one, but two contracts. That between himself and the object of the parade (devotion! wonder!) and that between himself and the pictorial plane.

Further Analysed!

The Museum of Unremarkable Ephemera is pleased to announce its latest acquisition: this 1907 postcard from Quebec, showing the Corpus Christi parade. Of particular note, is the number of straw boaters relative to the number of bowlers. Also worthy of mention, perhaps attesting to the future unimportance of the card, is the message written on the back, in the barest of margins, “Hello, how are you? Alma.”

As a public service: the First World War, part 1 of 12.

The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand

From The Volume Library (1928).

If today was 1932.

If you were stationed at Pearl Harbor.

Boxing Program, 1932

This is the Heidelberg Castle. It did not look like this when I was there in 2008. To my knowledge it has never looked like this. Not so small, and so white, so perfect. It looks both drawn and modeled, both flat and three dimensional. This is a dream of a place, on a postcard, sent from 1910. A circuitous route to my hands, holding it in San Francisco in 2008.

The caste as flat.