Decalcomania

Decalcomania (pronounced dih-kal-kuh-mey-nee-uh or dih-kal-kuh-meyn-yuh)

(1) The process of transferring designs from specially prepared paper to cardboard, paper, wood, metal, china, glass etc.

(2) A design so transferred (always rare).

1864: From the French décalcomanie, the construct being décalc- (representing décalquer (to trace, transfer (a design)) the construct being dé- (in the sense of “off”) + calquer (to press) + the interfix “-o-” + -manie (–mania).  Decalcomania is a noun; the noun plural is decalcomanias (the plural in French was decalcomania).  Disappointingly, the noun decalcomaniac is non-standard.

The French prefix dé- partly was inherited from the Middle French des-, from the Old French des-, from a conflation of Latin dis- (apart) (ultimately from the primitive Indo-European dwís).  In English, the de- prefix was from the Latin dē-, from the preposition dē (of, from (the Old English æf- was a similar prefix)).  It imparted the sense of (1) reversal, undoing, removing, (2) intensification and (3) derived from; of off.  In French the dé- prefix was used to make antonyms (as un- & dis- function in English) and was partially inherited from the Old and Middle French des-, from the Latin dis- (part), the ultimate source being the primitive Indo-European dwís and partially borrowed from Latin dē-.  In English de- became a most active word-forming element, used with many verbs in some way gained French or Latin.  The frequent use in Latin as “down, down from, from, off; down to the bottom & totally (hence “completely” (intensive or completive)) came to be reflected in many English words.  As a Latin prefix it was used also to “undo” or “reverse” a verb's action; it thus came to be used as a pure privative (ie “not, do the opposite of, undo”) and that remains the predominant function as a living prefix in English such as defrost (1895 and a symbol of the new age of consumer-level refrigeration), defuse (1943 and thus obviously something encouraged by the sudden increase in live bombs in civilian areas which need the fuses to be removed to render them safe) and de-escalate (1964, one of the first linguistic contributions of the political spin related to the war in Vietnam).  In many cases, there is no substantive difference between using de- or dis- as a prefix and the choice can be simply one of stylistic preference.  Calquer (to press) was from the Italian calcare, from the Latin calcāre (to tread on; to press (that sense derived from calx (heel)).

The suffix –mania was from the Latin mania, from the Ancient Greek μανία (mania) (madness).  In modern use in psychiatry it is used to describe a state of abnormally elevated or irritable mood, arousal, and/or energy levels and as a suffix appended as required.  In general use, under the influence of the historic meaning (violent derangement of mind; madness; insanity), it’s applied to describe any “excessive or unreasonable desire; a passion or fanaticism” which can us used even of unthreatening behaviors such as “a mania for flower arranging, crochet etc”.  As a suffix, it’s often appended with the interfix -o- make pronunciation more natural.  The use of the suffix “-mania” in “decalcomania” may appear a curious use of an element in a word describing a process in graphical or decorative art given usually it’s appended to reference a kind of obsession or madness (kleptomania, bibliomania, megalomania et al) but here it’s used in a more abstract way.  The “-manie” in the French décalcomanie was used to suggest a fad or craze (the latter in the sense of something suddenly widely popular) and was not related to the way “mania” is used by mental health clinicians.  So, it was metaphorical rather than medical rather as “Tulipmania” came to be used of the seventeenth century economic bubble in the Netherlands which was centred on the supply of and demand for tulip bulbs.

TeePublic’s Lindsay Lohan decals (page one).

The noun decal (pronounced dee-kal or dih-kal) was in use by at least 1910 as a clipping of decalcomania, a process which came into vogue in France as early as the 1840s before crossing the channel, England taking up the trend in the early 1860s.  As a noun it referred to (1) the prepared paper (or other medium) bearing a image, text, design etc for transfer to another surface (wood, metal, glass, etc) or (2) the picture or design itself.  The verb (“to decal” and also as decaled or decaling) described the process of applying or transferring the image (or whatever) from the medium by decalcomania.  The noun plural is decals.  In the US, the word came to be used of adhesive stickers which could be promotional or decorative and this use is now common throughout the English speaking world.  The special use (by analogy) in computer graphics describes a texture overlaid atop another to provide additional detailing.

Variants of the transfer technique which came to be called decalcomania would for centuries have been used by artists before it became popularized in the mid-eighteenth century.  The method was simply to spread ink or paint onto a surface and, before the substances dried, it was covered with material such as such as paper, glass, or metallic foil, which, when removed, transferred the pattern which could be left in that form or embellished.  Originally the designs were deliberate but the innovation of the Surrealists was to create imagery by chance rather than conscious control of the materials.  The artistic merits of that approach can be discussed but young children have long taken to it like ducks to water, splashing colors on one side of a piece of paper and then folding it in half so, once pressed together, the shape is “mirrored”, creating what is called a “butterfly print”, something like the cards used in the Rorschach tests.

Although an ancient practice, it is French engraver Simon François Ravenet (1706–circa 1774) who is crediting with give the technique its name because he called it décalquer (from the French papier de calque (tracing paper) and this coincided with painters in Europe experimenting with ink blots to add “accidental” forms of expression into their work.  Ravenet spent years working in England (where usually he was styled Simon Francis Ravenet) and was influential in the mid century revival of engraving although it was in ceramics decalcomania first became popular although the word didn’t come into wide use until adopted by the Spanish-born French surrealist Óscar Domínguez (1906–1957).  It was perhaps the German Dadaist and Surrealist Max Ernst (1891–1976) who more than most exemplified the possibilities offered decalcomania and it was US philosopher turned artist Robert Motherwell (1915–1991) who said of him: “Like every consequential modern painter, Max Ernst has enforced his own madness on the world.”  Motherwell was of the New York School (which also included the Russian-born Mark Rothko (1903–1970), drip painter Jackson Pollock (1912-1956) and the Dutch-American Willem de Kooning (1904–1997)) so he was no stranger to the observation of madness.  Condemned by the Nazis variously as an abstractionist, modernist, Dadaist and Surrealist, Ernst fled to Paris and after the outbreak of World War II (1939-1945) he was one of a number of artistic and political figures who enjoyed the distinction of being imprisoned by both the French and the Gestapo; it was with the help of US art patron and collector Peggy Guggenheim (1898–1979) he in 1941 escaped Vichy France and fled to the US.

That “help” involved their marriage, hurriedly arranged shortly after the pair landed in New York but although in the technical sense a “marriage of convenience”, she does seem genuinely to have been fond of Ernst and some romantic element wasn’t entirely absent from their relationship although it’s acknowledged it was a “troubled” marriage. A divorce was granted in 1946 but artistically, she remained faithful, his work displayed prominently in her New York gallery (Art of This Century (1942–1947)), then the city’s most significant centre of the avant-garde.  Through this exposure, although he never quite became integrated into the (surprisingly insular) circle of abstract expressionists, Ernst not only became acquainted with the new wave of American artists but contributed also to making European modernism familiar to Americans at a time when the tastes of collectors (and many critics) remained conservative.  He was an important element in her broader mission to preserve and promote avant-garde art despite the disruption of war.  So, the relationship was part patronage and part curatorial judgment and historians haven’t dwelt too much on the extent it was part love; even after their divorce, Guggenheim continued to collect pieces by Ernst and they remain in her famous “Venice Collection” at the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni.  As a wife she would have had opinions of her husband but as a critic she also classified and never said of Ernst as she said of Pollock: “...the greatest painter since Picasso.”

Untitled (1935), Decalcomania (ink transfer) on paper by André Breton.

For Ernst, the significance of decalcomania was not its utility as a tool of production (as it would appeal to graphic artists and decal-makers) but as something which would result in a randomness to excite his imagination.  What he did was use the oil paint as it ended up on canvas after being “pressed” as merely the starting point, onto which he built elements of realism, suggesting often mythical creatures in strange, unknown places but that was just one fork of decalcomania, Georges Hugnet (1906–1974) rendering satirical images from what he found while André Breton (1896–1966 and a “multi-media” figure decades before term emerged) used the technique to hone surrealism, truly decalcomania’s native environment.

Decalcomania in psychiatry and art: Three of the ink-blot cards (top row) included by Swiss psychiatrist Hermann Rorschach (1885-1922) in his Rorschach Test (1927), a projective psychological tool in which subjects' perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed with psychological interpretation or historical statistical comparison (and now, also AI (artificial intelligence)) and three images from the Pornographic Drawing series by Cornelia Parker (bottom row).

Nor has decalcomania been abandoned by artists, English installation specialist Cornelia Parker (b 1956) producing drawings which overlaid contemporary materials onto surfaces created with the decalcomania process, the best known of which was the series Pornographic Drawing (1996) in which an inky substance extracted from pornographic film material was applied to paper, folded in half and opened again to reveal the sexualised imagery which emerged through the intervention of chance.  Although it’s speculative, had Ms Parker’s work been available and explained to the Nazi defendants at the first Nuremberg Trial (1945-1946) when they were considering the Rorschach Test cards, their responses would likely have been different.  Rudolf Hess (1894–1987; Nazi Deputy Führer 1933-1941) would have been disgusted and become taciturn while Julius Streicher (1885–1946; Nazi Gauleiter of Franconia 1929-1940) would have been stimulated to the point of excitement.

Europe after the Rain II, 1940-1942 (Circa 1941), oil on canvas by Max Ernst.

Regarded as his masterpiece, Europe after the Rain II (often sub-titled “An Abstract, Apocalyptic Landscape”) was intended to evoke feelings of despair, exhaustion, desolation and a fear of the implications of the destructive power of modern, mechanized warfare.  It was a companion work to an earlier to the earlier Europe after the Rain I, (1933), sculpted from plaster and oil on plywood in which Ernst built on a decalcomania base to render an imaginary relief map of Europe.  It was in 1933 Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) gained power in Germany.

Europe after the Rain I, (1933), oil & plaster on plywood by Max Ernst.

Even the physical base of Europe After the Rain I was a piece of surrealist symbolism, the plywood taken from the stage sets used for the film L'Âge d'or (1930) (The Age of Gold or the Golden Age depending on the translator's interpretation).  Directed by Spaniard Luis Buñuel (1900-1983), L'Âge d'or was a film focused on the sexual mores of bourgeois society and a critique of the hypocrisies and contradictions of the Roman Catholic Church's clerical establishment.  While one of France's first "sound films", it was, as was typical during what was a transitional era, told mostly with the use of title cards, the full-screen explanatory texts which appeared between scenes.

Snow Flowers (1929) oil on canvas by means of frottage & grattage by Max Ernst.

Technically, Ernst was an innovator in Decalcomania, in 1925 using the technique of frottage (laying a sheet of paper over a textured surface and rubbing it with charcoal or graphite).  The appeal of this was it imparted the quality of three dimensionality and Ernst liked textured surfaces as passages in a larger composition.  He also employed grattage (frottage’s sister technique) in which an object is placed under a piece of paper, which is then covered with a thin layer of pigment and once the pigment is scraped off, what is revealed is a colorful imprint of the object and its texture.

1969 Chrysler (Australia) VF Valiant Pacer 225 (left), 1980 Porsche 924 Turbo (centre) and cloisonné Scuderia Ferrari fender shield on 1996 Ferrari F355 Spider (right).

There was a time when decals or cars were, by some, looked down upon because they were obviously cheaper than badges made of metal.  That attitude changed for a number of reasons including their use on sexy, high-performance cars, the increasing use of decals on race cars after advertising became universally permitted after 1968 and the advent of plastic badges which, being cheaper to produce and install, soon supplanted metal on all but the most expensive vehicles.  By the mid 1970s even companies such as Porsche routinely applied decals and the Scuderia Ferrari fender shield, used originally on the cars run by the factory racing team, became a popular after-market accessory and within the Ferrari community, there was a clear hierarchy of respectability between thin, “stuck on” printed decals and the more substantial cloisonné items.

A video clip explaining why a Scuderia Ferrari fender shield costs US$14,000 if it's painted in the factory.

However, many of the cloisonné shields were non-authentic (ie not a factory part number), even the most expensive selling for less than US$1000 and there was no obvious way to advertise one had a genuine “made in Maranello” item.  Ferrari’s solution was to offer as a factory option a decalcomania, hand-painted by an artisan in a process said to take about eight hours.  To reassure its consumers (keen students of what the evil Montgomery Burns (of The Simpsons TV cartoon series) calls “price taggery”), the option is advertised (depending on the market) at around US$14,000.

Accidie

Accidie (pronounced ak-si-dee)

Sloth; apathy, in the sense of both (1) a general listlessness and apathy and (2) spiritual torpor.

1200–1250: From the Middle English accidie, from the Anglo-Norman accidie, from the Old French accide & accidie, from the Medieval Latin accidia (an alteration of Late Latin acedia (sloth, torpor), from the Ancient Greek ἀκήδεια (akḗdeia) (indifference), the construct being ἀ- (a-) (in the sense of “not”) +‎ κῆδος (kêdos).  It was a doublet of acedia, still cited as an alternative form and replaced the Middle English accide.  The word was in active use between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries and was revived in the nineteenth as a literary adornment.  Accidie and acediast are nouns and acedious is an adjective; the noun plural is acediasts.

The alternative literary words include (1) ennui (a gripping listlessness or melancholia caused by boredom; depression), an unadapted borrowing from the French ennui, from the Old French enui (annoyance), from enuier (which in Modern French persists as ennuyer), from the Late Latin inodiō, from the Latin in odiō (hated) and a doublet of annoy, (2) weltschmerz, used as an alternative letter-case form of the German Weltschmerz (an apathetic or pessimistic view of life; depression concerning or discomfort with the human condition or state of the world; world-weariness), the construct being Welt (world) + Schmerz (physical ache, pain; emotional pain, heartache, sorrow) and coined by German Romantic writer Jean Paul (1763–1825) for his novel Selina (published posthumously in 1827) and (3) mal du siècle (apathy and world-weariness, involving pessimism towards the current state of the world, often along with nostalgia for the past (originally in the context of French Romanticism) (literally “disease of the century”) and coined by the French writer Alfred de Musset in his autobiographical novel La Confession d'un enfant du siècle (The Confession of a Child of the Century (1936)).

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December, 2011.

In Antiquity, the Greeks seemed to have refined accidie (which translated literally as being in “a state so inert as the be devoid of pain or care”) to be used of those who has become listless and no longer cared for their own lives or their society, thus distinguishing it from other conditions of melancholy which tended to be individually focused although in surviving medical texts, what’s being diagnosed was something like what might now be called “depression”.  Predictably, when adopted by moral theologians in Christian writing, it was depicted as a sin or at least a personal flaw.  Others wrote of it as a “demon” to be overcome and even a temptation placed by the Devil, one to which “young men who read poetry” seem to have been chronically prone.  It can be thought of as falling into the category of sloth, listed in the Medieval Latin tradition as of the seven deadly sins and appeared in Dante Alighieri’s (circa 1265–1321) Divina Commedia (Divine Comedy (circa 1310-1321)) not only as a sin worthy of damnation & eternal punishment but the very sin which led Dante to the edge of Hell.  In his unfinished Summa Theologiae (literally Summary of Theology), the Italian Dominican friar, philosopher & theologian Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) noted accidie was a spiritual sorrow, induced by man’s flight from the Divine good, “…on account of the flesh utterly prevailing over the spirit”, the kind of despair which can culminate in the even greater sin of suicide.

Google ngram: Accidie 1800-2020.

Google ngram: Because of the way Google harvests data for their ngrams, they’re not literally a tracking of the use of a word in society but can be usefully indicative of certain trends, (although one is never quite sure which trend(s)), especially over decades.  As a record of actual aggregate use, ngrams are not wholly reliable because: (1) the sub-set of texts Google uses is slanted towards the scientific & academic and (2) the technical limitations imposed by the use of OCR (optical character recognition) when handling older texts of sometime dubious legibility (a process AI should improve).  Where numbers bounce around, this may reflect either: (1) peaks and troughs in use for some reason or (2) some quirk in the data harvested.

Etymologists note that between the mid sixteenth and mid nineteenth centuries the word acedia was close to extinct and whether it was the revival of interest in the Romantic poets (often a glum lot) or the increasing number of women becoming novelists, there was in the late 1800s a revival with the term, once the preserve of theologians, re-purposed as a decorative literary word; in the “terrible twentieth century” there was much scope for use and it appears in the writings of Ian Fleming (1908–1964), Aldous Huxley (1894–1963) and Samuel Beckett (1906-1989).  Intriguingly, in The Decline and Fall of Nokia (2014), Finnish-based expatriate US writer David J Cord introduced the concept of corporate acedia, citing the phenomenon as one of the causes of the collapse of Nokia's once dominant mobile device unit.

Joan Didion (1934-2021) and cigarette with her Daytona Yellow (OEM code 984) 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray (on the C2 Corvette (1963-1967) and in 1968 the spelling had been "Sting Ray”).  The monochrome image was from a photo-session commissioned in 1970 by Life magazine and shot by staff photographer Julian Wasser (1933-2023), outside the house she was renting on Franklin Avenue in the Hollywood Hills.  To great acclaim, her first work of non-fiction, Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968), had just been published.

Writing mostly, in one way or another, about “feelings”, Joan Didion’s work appealed mostly to a female readership but when photographs were published of her posing with her bright yellow Corvette, among men presumably she gained some “street cred” although that might have evaporated had they learned it was later traded for a Volvo; adding insult to injury, it was a Volvo station wagon with all that implies.  She was later interviewed about the apparent incongruity between owner and machine and acknowledged the strangeness, commenting: “I very definitely remember buying the Stingray because it was a crazy thing to do.  I bought it in Hollywood.”  Craziness and Hollywood were then of course synonymous and a C3 Corvette (1968-1982) really was the ideal symbol of the America about which Ms Didion wrote, being loud, flashy, rendered in plastic and flawed yet underpinned by a solid, well-engineered foundation; the notion of the former detracting from the latter was theme in in her essays on the American experience.

A 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray in Daytona Yellow.

Disillusioned, melancholic and clinical, Ms Didion’s literary oeuvre suited the moment because while obviously political it was also spiritual, a critique of what she called “accidie” of the late 1960s, the moral torpor of those disappointed by what had followed the hope and optimism captured by “Camelot”, the White House of John Kennedy (JFK, 1917–1963; US president 1961-1963).  In retrospect Camelot was illusory but that of course made real the disillusionment of Lyndon Johnson (LBJ, 1908–1973; US president 1963-1969) leading the people not to a “great society” but to Vietnam.  Her essays were in the style of the “new journalism” and sometimes compared with those of her contemporary Susan Sontag (1933-2004) but the two differed in method, tone, ideological orientation and, debatably, expectation if not purpose.

Susan Sontag (1962), monochrome image by Village Voice staff photographer Fred McDarrah (1926–2007).

Ms Didion’s used accidie to describe a society which the troubled 1960s seemed to have bludgeoned into a state not of acquiescence but indifference, a moral exhaustion.  Her writings were observational (and, as she admitted, sometimes “embellished” for didactic purposes), sceptical and cool, her conception of the failure of contemporary politics a matter of describing the disconnect between rhetoric and reality, understanding the language of theatre criticism was as appropriate as that of the lexicon of political science.  In a sense, twas ever thus but Ms Didion captured the imagination by illustrating just how far from the moorings of reality the political spectacle of fragmentation and myth-making had drifted.  Ms Sontag’s tone was declarative and distinctly authoritative (in the way of second-wave feminism), tending often to the polemic and the sense was she was writing in opposition to a collective immorality, not the kind of moral indifference Ms Didion detected.  Both were students of their nation’s cultural pathology but one seemed more a palliative care specialist tending a patient in their dying days while the other offered a diagnosis and suggested a cure which, while not something to enjoy: "would be good for them".  While Ms Didion distrusted ideological certainty, Ms Sontag engaged explicitly with “isms”, not in the sense of one writing of the history of ideas but as a protagonist, using language in an attempt to shape political consciousness, the former a kind of secular moral theologian mourning a loss of coherence in American life while the latter was passionate and wrote often with a strident urgency, never losing the sense that whatever her criticisms, things could be fixed and there was hope.  The irony of being an author to some degree afflicted by the very accide she described in others was not lost on Ms Didion.

Susan Sontag, circa 1971, photographed by Jim Cartier.  The pop-art portrait of comrade Chairman Mao Zedong (1893–1976; chairman of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 1949-1976) was a print of Roy Lichtenstein's (1923–1997) Mao (1971) which had been used as the cover for US author Frederic Tuten's (b 1936) novel The Adventures of Mao on the Long March (1971).  Ms Sontag had written a most favourable review of the book and the framed print was reputedly a gift.

Joan Didion with Corvette, another image from Julian Wasser’s 1970 photo-shoot.  The staging in this one is for feminists to ponder.

While a stretch to say that in trading-in the Corvette for a Volvo station wagon, Ms Didion was tracking the nation which had moved from Kennedy to Richard Nixon (1913-1994; US president 1969-1974), it’s too tempting not to make.  Of the Corvette, she used the phrase: “I gave up on it”, later recounting: “the dealer was baffled” but denied the change was related to moving after eight years from Malibu to leafy, up-market suburban Brentwood.  While she “…needed a new car because with the Corvette something was always wrong…” she “…didn’t need a Volvo station wagon” although did concede: “Maybe it was the idea of moving into Brentwood.”  She should have persevered because as many an owner of a C3 Corvette understands, the faults and flaws are just part of the brutish charm.  Whether the car still exists isn't known; while Corvette's have a higher than average survival rate, their use on drag strips & race tracks as well as their attractiveness to males aged 17-25 has meant not a few suffered misadventure.

Joan Didion with Corvette, rendered as oil on canvas with yellow filter.

The configuration of her car seems not anywhere documented but a reasonable guess is it likely was ordered with the (base) 300 horsepower (hp) version (ZQ3) of the 350 cubic inch (5.7 litre) small-block V8, coupled with the Turbo-Hydramatic 400 (TH400) (M40) three-speed automatic transmission (the lighter TH350 wouldn't be used until 1976 by which time power outputs had fallen so much the robustness of the TH400 was no longer required).  When scanning the option list, although things like the side-mounted exhaust system (N14) or the 430 hp versions (the iron-block L88 & all aluminium ZL1, the power ratings of what were barely-disguised race car engines deliberately understated, the true output between 540-560 hp) of the 427 cubic inch (7.0 litre) big-block V8 would not have tempted Ms Didion, she may have ticked the box for the leather trim (available in six colors and the photos do suggest black (402 (but if vinyl the code was ZQ4)), air conditioning (C60), power steering (N40), power brakes (J50), power windows (A31) or an AM-FM radio (U69 and available also (at extra cost) with stereo (U79)).  Given she later traded-in the Corvette on a Volvo station wagon, presumably the speed warning indicator (U15) would have been thought superfluous but, living in Malibu, the alarm system (UA6) might have caught her eye.

Quintessential symbols of France, Bridget Bardot (b 1934), Citroën La Déesse and a lit Gitanes.

The combination of a car, a woman with JBF and a cigarette continued to draw photographers even after smoking ceased to be glamorous and became a social crime.  First sold in 1910, Gitanes production in France survived two world wars, the Great Depression, Nazi occupation but the regime of Jacques Chirac (1932–2019; President of France 1995-2007) proved too much and, following the assault on tobacco by Brussels and Paris, in 2005 the factory in Lille was shuttered.  Although Gitanes (and the sister cigarette Gauloise) remain available in France, they are now shipped from Spain and while in most of the Western world fewer now smoke, Gitanes Blondes retain a cult following.

Emily Labowe with Mercedes-Benz 300 TD (S123), photographed by Kristin Gallegos.

An image like this illustrate why, even if no longer quite as glamourous, smoking can still look sexy.  The 300 TD is finished in Manila Beige and for the W123 range Mercedes-Benz also offered the subdued Maple Yellow and the exuberant Sun Yellow which was as vivid as the Corvette's Daytona Yellow. 

No images seem to exist of Joan Didion with her Volvo station wagon but Laurel Canyon's Kristin Gallegos (b 1984) later followed Julian Wasser’s staging by photographing artist Emily Labowe (b 1993) with a Mercedes-Benz 300 TD station wagon and that once essential accessory: a cigarette.  One of the last of the “chrome Mercedes”, the W123 range was in production between 1975-1986 and the station wagon appeared in 1977 with the internal code S123 (only nerds use that and to the rest of the world they’re “W123 wagons”).  The designation was “T” (the very Germanic Tourismus und Transport (Touring and Transport)) or TD for the diesel-powered cars and the S123 was the company’s first station wagon to enter series production, previous such “long roof” models coming from coach-builders including many hearses & ambulances as well as station wagons.  The English still call station wagons "estates" (a clipping of "estate car") although a publication like Country Life probably still hankers after "shooting brake" and the most Prussian of the German style guides list the compound noun Kombinationskraftwagen which for decades has usually been clipped to the semi-formal Kombiwagen, (plural Kombiwagen or Kombiwägen) or, in general use: Kombi.   

Mercedes-Benz G4s: Gepäckwagen (baggage car, top left) & Funkauto (radio car, top right) and 300 Messwagen (bottom left) at speed on the test track, tethered to a W111 sedan (1959-1968, bottom right).

The factory did though over the decades build a handful including a brace of the three-axle G4s (W31, 1934-1939), one configured as a Gepäckwagen (baggage car), the other a Funkauto (radio car).  In 1960 there was also the Messwagen (measuring car), a kind of “rolling laboratory” from the era before technology allowed most testing to be emulated in software.  The capacious Messwagen was based on the W189 300 “Adenauer” (W186 & W189 1951-1962) and was then state of the art but by the 2020s, the capabilities of all the bulky equipment which filled the rear compartment could have been included in a single phone app.  Students of design will admire the mid-century modernism in the curve of the rear-side windows but might be surprised to learn the muscle car-like scoop on the roof is not an air-intake but an aperture housing ports for connecting the Messwagen’s electronic gear with the vehicle being monitored, the two closely driven in unison (often at high speed) on the test track while being linked with a few metres of cabling and although we now live in a wireless age, real nerds know often a cable is preferable, the old ways sometimes best.  The Messwagen remained in service until 1972 and is now on display at the factory’s museum in Stuttgart.

1957 Mercury Turnpike Cruiser (left), details of the apparatuses above the windscreen (centre) and the Breezeaway rear window lowered (right)

The 1957 Mercury Turnpike Cruiser was notable for (1) the truly memorable model name, (2) introducing the “Breezeway" rear window which could be lowered and (3) having a truly bizarre assembly  of “features” above the windscreen.  There’s no suggestion that when fashioning the 300 Messwagen the engineers in Stuttgart were aware of the Turnpike Cruiser but had they looked, it could have provided an inspiration for the way access to ports in the roof could have been handled.  Unfortunately, the pair of “radio aerials” protruding from the pods at the top of the Mercury’s A-pillars were a mere affectation, a “jet-age” motif embellishing what were actually air-intakes.  They were though a harbinger of the way in which future “measuring vehicles” would be configured when various forms of wireless communication had advanced to the point where a cable connection was no longer required.  

Gargoyle & Grotesque

Gargoyle (pronounced gahr-goil)

(1) A grotesquely carved figure of a human or animal crafted as an ornament or projection, especially in Gothic and neo-Gothic architecture.

(2) In architecture, a spout, terminating in a grotesque representation of a human, animal or supernatural figure with open mouth, projecting from the gutter of a building for throwing rain water clear of a building.

(3) Archaic slang for person with a grotesque appearance, especially if small and shrivelled.

(4) Fictional monsters; pop-culture creations inspired by the decorative and/or functional projections in Gothic and neo-Gothic architecture.

1250–1300: From the Middle English gargoile & gargurl (grotesque carved waterspout) from the Old French gargouille & gargoule (throat) and it’s from here modern English gets gargle.  Even in the Gothic period, not all gargoyles were conduits for draining rainwater; many were purely decorative and were therefore grotesques.

Grotesque (pronounced groh-tesk)

(1) In architecture, a thing odd, unnatural or fantastic in the shaping and combination of forms, as in the sixteenth-century decorative style (in any material) combining incongruous human, animal or supernatural figures with scrolls, foliage etc.

(2) Distorted, deformed, weird, antic, wild.

(3) In the classification of art, of or characteristic of the grotesque.

(4) In typography, the family of 19th-century sans serif display types

1555:1565: From the Middle French grotesque from the Italian grottesco (of a cave), derived from grotta from the Vulgar Latin grupta.  Ultimate root is the Classical Latin crypta from which English picked up crypt.  Grotta entered French from the Italian pittura (grottesca) (cave-painting) and it was via French English picked up grotto.  Connection with the decorative forms attached to gothic architecture is the fantastical nature of some cave-paintings.  Spreading from Italian to the other European languages, the term was long used interchangeably with arabesque and moresque for decorative patterns using curving foliage elements.

The Gargoyle and Water Management

Gargoyle: Bern Minster, Switzerland.

Often used interchangeably, the technical difference between gargoyles and grotesques is that gargoyles contain a water sprout, carved usually through the mouth, whereas grotesques do not.  A gargoyle thus has a function in engineering whereas a grotesque’s purpose is essentially decorative although it is nominally functional in that they were believed to provide protection from evil, harmful, or unwanted spirits.  The application of more modern techniques of rainwater management has had the effect of turning many gargoyles into grotesques although architectural historians maintain the original designations.  As long ago as the sixteenth century, drainpipes were installed in the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris so the gargoyles became merely ornamental, although, they did of course continue to ward off evil.

Gargoyle: Cologne Cathedral, Germany.

The number of gargoyles attached to a building and their size and shape was a product of climate and fluid dynamics.  Architects used multiple gargoyles to divide the flow of rainwater off the roof to minimize the potential damage of a rainstorm and that number was influenced by the rainfall prevalent in the area where the structure sat.  The architect needed to consider not the annual rainfall but the heaviest prolonged rain-events expected; they thus had to cater for peak demand and the gargoyles needed to be sufficient in total capacity to evacuate the volume of water expected during the heaviest falls.  To achieve this, a trough was cut in the back of the gargoyle, rainwater typically exiting through the open mouth.  Gargoyles usually assumed their elongated fantastical animal forms because the length of the gargoyle determines how far water was thrown from the wall, the shape thus determined by fluid dynamics.  Prior to the extensive use of pipes reaching to the ground, the gargoyles were sometimes augmented by other techniques; when Gothic flying buttresses were used, aqueducts were sometimes cut into the buttress to divert water over the aisle walls.  Typically cut from stone, Non-ferrous metals and alloys such as aluminium, copper, brass and bronze have been used.

Grotesque: Saint Mary’s Cathedral, Edinburgh.  Technically, this is a pair of chimeras (a subset of the grotesque).

The term originates from the French gargouille (throat; gullet) from the Latin gurgulio, gula & gargula (gullet; throat) and similar words derived from the root gar (to swallow) which represented the gurgling sound of water (such as the Spanish garganta (throat) & g‡rgola (gargoyle)).  It was connected also to the French verb gargariser (to gargle).  Most helpful are the languages where the translation is architecturally precise.  The Italian word for gargoyle is doccione o gronda sporgente (protruding gutter), the German is Wasserspeier (water spewer) and the Dutch is waterspuwer (water spitter or (even better) water vomiter).  A building with gargoyles is said to be "gargoyled" but, during the Middle Ages, babewyn was slang used to describe gargoyles and grotesques, a word derived from the Italian babuino (baboon), an indication of what the things resembled, especially when viewed from a distance.  The size and shape of a gargoyle was thus dictated by function but the detail was left to the imagination of the designer.  Those creating grotesques had few limitations.  Because of the need to scare off and protect from evil or harmful spirits, the carvings often had the quality of chimeras, creatures a mix of different types of animal body parts creating a new animal, some notable chimeras being griffins, centaurs, harpies, and mermaids, these eerie figures serving as a warning to those folk who might underestimate the devil.

Grotesque: National Cathedral, Washington DC.  Although there's an open mouth, this plays no part in water management and is purely decorative.

In water management, the gargoyle has a long history.  In the architecture of Ancient Egypt, there was little variation, the spouts typically in the form of a lion's head carved into the marble or terracotta cymatium of the cornice.  The Temple of Zeus had originally 102 of these but, being rendered from marble, they were heavy and many have broken off or been stolen and only 39 remain.  Nor have they always been chimeric, some instead depicting monks, or combinations of real animals and people, many of which were humorous but as urbanisation increased, building codes were imposed which rendered the gargoyles, expect for their spiritual purpose, obsolete.  Typical was London’s 1724 Building Act which mandated the use of downpipes compulsory on all new constructions.

Gargoyle: Marble Church, Bodelwyddan, Clwyd, Wales.  Note the protruding spout: because the water flow will over time erode the passage, many gargoyles have internal piping (some now even plastic) which is replaceable.  The function means this Welsh figure is defined as a gargoyle although its hybrid nature is clearly that of a chimera.  

Within the Church however, the spiritual function wasn’t without controversy.  Gargoyles were thought to keep evil outside a church but existed also to convey messages to a people who usually were illiterate, scaring them into attending church, a reminder that the end of days was near.  However, there were some medieval clergy who viewed gargoyles as a form of idolatry and Burgundian abbot, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153), was famous for his frequent denunciations, his objections theological, aesthetic and fiscal:

"What are these fantastic monsters doing in the cloisters before the eyes of the brothers as they read?  What is the meaning of these unclean monkeys, these strange savage lions, and monsters?  To what purpose are here placed these creatures, half beast, half man, or these spotted tigers?  I see several bodies with one head and several heads with one body.  Here is a quadruped with a serpent's head, there a fish with a quadruped's head, then again an animal half horse, half goat.  Surely if we do not blush for such absurdities, we should at least regret what we have spent on them."

Grotesque: Crooked Hillary Clinton (digitally altered image).

Even after drainpipes took over responsibilities for drainage, the tradition was maintained by the grotesque, sometimes emulating the earlier elongated lines, sometimes more upright.  Grotesques were popular as decoration on nineteenth and early twentieth century skyscrapers and cathedrals in cities such as New York Minneapolis, and Chicago, the stainless steel gargoyles on New York’s Chrysler Building especially celebrated by students of the art.  The twentieth century collegiate form of the Gothic Revival produced many modern gargoyles, notably at Princeton University, Washington University in Saint Louis, Duke University, and the University of Chicago.  One extensive collection of modern gargoyles is on the National Cathedral in Washington DC.  Beginning in 1908 the cathedral was first encrusted with limestone demons but, over the years, many have been added including Star Wars character Darth Vader, a crooked politician, robots and other modern takes on the ancient tradition.  In England, Saint Albans Cathedral has a grotesque of former Archbishop of Canterbury Dr Robert Runcie and one of an astronaut adorns the Cathedral of Salamanca in Spain.

Grotesques modernes, left to right: Star Wars' Darth Vader (from the Star Wars film franchies), National Cathedral, Washington DC; Astronaut or cosmonaut, Cathedral of Salamanca, Spain; Lindsay Lohan, Notre Dame Cathedral of Reims, Marne France (digitally altered image); Dr Robert Runcie (Baron Runcie, 1921–2000; Archbishop of Canterbury 1980-1991) (centre), St Albans Cathedral, England.

Grotesques and chimeras

A chimera of Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris, contemplating the city, photographed by Noemiseh91.

So, in architecture, gargoyles are a specialized class of grotesques that include the functional feature of a waterspout and even if a building is renovated with a modern water management system added which means a gargoyle’s spout now longer is connected to the flow, it does not become reclassified as a grotesque; it remains a gargoyle, albeit a “dry” one.  While the difference between a gargoyle and grotesque is a matter of whether the design incorporates the handling of fluid, the distinction between a chimera and a grotesque is at the margins fluid in the metaphorical sense, both being ornamental sculptures most associated with Gothic architecture but critics have created criteria, however loose the parameters may seem.  Classically, a chimera was a fantastical, mythical creature, often a hybrid of multiple animals or a mix of human and animal features and for the architectural feature to be classified thus, it has to conform to this model.  In that chimeras differ from any grotesque which is a representation, however bizarre, of a creature from a single species.  What that means is that while all chimeras are grotesques, not all grotesques are chimeras.

Horodecki House (House with Chimaeras), Ukraine, Kyiv.

One of the most celebrated buildings said (erroneously) to be adorned with chimeras is Horodecki House in the Ukrainian capital Kyiv, a structure better known on Instagram as “House with Chimaeras” which received much attention when Volodymyr Zelensky (b 1978, president of Ukraine since 2019) in February 2022 stood in front of it to deliver his “Our weapon is truth” address following the Russian “special military operation” (invasion of Ukraine).  Classified as being in the Art Nouveau style, the building was designed by Polish architect Władysław Horodecki (1863–1930) and despite all the intricate detailing and other complexities, it was completed in little more than two years, opened in 1903.  One thing which made the speed of construction possible was the core technique of using concrete piles as the underpinning, something necessitated by the land being steeply sloped, resulting in an asymmetric building with six floors on Ivan Franko Square while three face Bankova Street.  Another novelty was the use of cement as the finishing material, something at the time not unknown but still rare.  Despite the popular moniker “House with Chimaeras”, the many sculptures which lend Horodecki House its distinctiveness are technically grotesques because all, bipeds & quadrupeds, are representations of real animals, not figures from mythology or fantastical hybrids and it’s believed it picked up the romantic nickname because it imparts such a wonderful air of gloominess and recalls the Gothic style.  The grotesques, rendered in cement, were the work of the Italian sculptor Emilio Sala (1864-1920) who spent most of his working life in St Petersburg (Leningrad) and Kyiv (Kiev).

Interior detailing, Horodecki House Ukraine, Kyiv.

The motif was the theme also for the interior detailing with stuccos, high reliefs and sculptures decorating the ceilings, walls and stairs and of particular interest is that while what’s depicted on the exterior uses only living creatures as a model, inside, everything is dead and often dismembered; Horodetskyi was an avid hunter.  Despite the pervasive feeling of gloom as one approaches the thing, it’s different inside because (the many carcases notwithstanding) the rooms are bright and airy with the floral ornaments typical of early Modernism although it’s of regret all the original furniture and many of the frescos fell victim during World War II (1939-1945) to marauding Red Army soldiers and other looters.  Although in recent years substantially restored, no attempt was made to re-create the frescos, the space now taken by paintings.

Woman with Catfish, Horodecki House Ukraine, Kyiv, photographed by Константинъ. 

Although there are two creatures in this sculpture, it's still a grotesque because they're separate beings; had the depiction been part fish and part human, it would have been as chimaera.  Although large, certain catfish reach 3 metres in length so the sculptor was rendering still still in the realist tradition.

Following restoration, in 2004 the building was designated a museum but since 2005 it has enjoyed official status as the “Small Residence of the President of Ukraine”, curious term meaning it’s used for meetings with foreign dignitaries and in that there are many advantages, the location meaning it’s easy for security forces to secure the site while the larger rooms are spacious and make a most attractive backdrop for photo opportunities.  Daily Art Magazine has a feature with a fine collection of images.