Writing with light (or the dawn of “pixelography”)

When we “trip the light fantastic,” we dance.

When we see “light at the end of the tunnel,” we have hope.

When we “lighten someone’s load,” we help them out.

When we “write with light,” what are we doing?

We are not creating messages with neon tubing.

We are taking a photograph.

Recently, Rich and I attended One Day University, a program of lectures—in this instance on history--over the course of a day.  We attended a lecture entitled, “Understanding America Through Three Remarkable Photographs.” The lecturer, Louis Masur of Rutgers University, noted in beginning that the word “photograph” comes from two Greek words, “photo” meaning “light” and “graph” meaning “write,” hence “writing with light.”

As usual, I consulted the Oxford English Dictionary to “shed some light” on this concept, which the OED defines as “the process or art of producing pictures by means of the chemical action of light on sensitive film on a basis paper, glass, metal, etc.” When technology creates new concepts, the challenge facing linguists is naming them. In this instance, Sir John Herschel introduced the words “photograph,” “photography,” and “photographic” in a paper delivered before the Royal Society on 14 March 1839. Since when we take a photograph, we write with light, what are we doing when we take a picture?

I went back to the OED for enlightenment. The word “picture” goes farther back in history to the 15th century, descending from a Latin word meaning “painting.” Before the technology of writing with light, portraits had to be “written” in other media, in this instance paint.  The first definition which the OED supplies for “picture” is an obsolete one meaning “the action or process of painting or drawing.”  The American Heritage Dictionary supplies a more current definition of picture as “a visual representation or image painted, drawn, photographed, or otherwise rendered on a flat surface.” As photographic technology advances, whether we “take a photograph” or “take a picture,” we still “write with light.”

Digital photography adds a new wrinkle to the idea, as more often than not, images captured by digital technology—phones, cameras—never are transferred to that flat surface of paper.  Are we still “writing with light” when our pictures remain digital? Or does the technology need a new word to capture the idea of an image viewed on a screen—“pixelography,” perhaps?

Regardless of whether you take a photograph, a picture, or a pixelograph, let your light shine!

LAGNIAPPE 1:  According to the web site The Phrase Finder, “Trip the light fantastic” originates in the works of Milton, not Shakespeare!  In Comus he writes, “Come, knit hands, and beat the ground,/
In a light fantastic round.”  The Phrase Finder also cites a line from Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale, “In twenty manere koude he trippe and daunce. (In twenty ways could he trip and dance.)”

LAGNIAPPE 2: Why do we spell the word as “photograph,” not “fotograf”? As it turns out, the Greek language has a symbol that corresponds to the English “ph” but not the English “f.”  Therefore, words of Greek origin are spelled with the “ph,” not the “f,” as seems to make sense to writers of British and American English.

Mother Love

When I took History of the English Language in graduate school, in introducing the concept of language, the teacher made a memorable point.  He noted that he disliked using the same word, “love,” for spaghetti that he used to describe his feelings for his wife.  Not only does this comment underscore the vagaries of the English language, but also it illuminates the plethora of types of love, ranging from romantic love to fraternal love to the love between parents and children.  February 15, 2014, marked the 25^th anniversary of my mother’s death—a quarter of a century! In this blog entry, I would like to depart from a discussion of words specifically and write about the mother-child bond and about my mother’s life.

Shirley Ann Newman Prescott

27 April 1935 – 15 February 1989

My mother was a talker—not just a talker, always, but also a storyteller.  One of her stories involved her birth.  A premature baby, she fit inside a cigar box.  The doctors did not expect her to survive, but she thrived.  Once she learned to talk, she never stopped, a trait we found endearing--usually.

Mama was the oldest of three children and only daughter.  She wanted to go to the Catholic school instead of the public school because the education was better.  Because of the cost of tuition, her parents sent her to public school, saving the money in order to send their sons to Catholic school, as they would one day have to support families.  While my mother did not understand the level of education I achieved, she still supported my endeavors.  When I was completing my doctoral studies she noted, “Donna, you have been in school all of your life.”

My mother and my father met on a blind date and fell very quickly in love.  In a recent oral history, Daddy talked of them sitting on the doorstep at her parents’ house, the same doorstep we climbed an infinite number of times in our childhood.  The young lovers sat and talked, deciding to get married.  As Daddy related that story, I imagined the spirits of their future children dancing around them on that doorstep.

Mama lived a very sheltered life.  One day, we went out to run errands.  When we got home, she realized that she had left the door unlocked.  Even though it was day time, she asked the man next door to go through the house to make sure no “booger” had gotten in.  Yet she thought nothing of loading a few kids in the car and heading out to Morgan City (Louisiana) or Gulf Port (Mississippi) to visit relatives.  Thankfully, I inherited that spirit of adventure from my mother.

My mother was a kind woman.  She believed in goodness in the world.  She would welcome any friend we brought home and proceed to talk the ear off of that person.  Yet many of my friends would come to the house just to visit Mama and hear her stories, not necessarily to see me.

My mother did not always like motherhood, but she loved her children fiercely.  She did everything she could to make sure we were safe and happy.  That Mother Love is difficult to lose.

Jewels to joy

As Valentine’s Day approaches, thoughts of jewelry dance in some people’s heads.  Recently, I looked up the history of the word “jewel” and found a surprising but joyous result.   According the Oxford English Dictionary, “jewel” comes from either the French word for joy, joie, or the French word for play, jouer, although the precise etymology surrounding the French words is under dispute.

I would have expected an etymology more in line with “value” or “adornment” as reflected in the OED definition, “an article of value used for adornment, chiefly of the person; a costly ornament, esp. one made of gold, silver, or precious stones.” In references from literature going back to the 13^th century, jewels were associated with “noble gifts.”  Therefore, it captured my imagination to read that jewelry comes from words meaning joy or play.

As usual, I consulted the American Heritage Dictionary, as well, to compare information.  Again, I found surprising results.  The AHD lists the history of “jewel” as going back to a vulgar Latin word meaning to play or to joke.  So not only does the word “jewel” come from joy and play, but also from the common folk, not the nobility.

Joy frequently accompanies the gift of jewelry, whether the jewelry marks an engagement, an anniversary, a birthday, or some other non-romantic occasion.  Occasionally, we see in the media stories of playful marriage proposals, where engagement rings are hidden in desserts. Amorous “play” can also result from a gift of jewelry from a romantic partner.  In romantic relationships, jewelry frequently represents commitment, fidelity, or renewal.

However, jewelry can also represent accomplishments, such as graduations, or rites of passage.  When I graduated from Louisiana State University, my father honored that accomplishment by buying me a class ring.  Because of its unique design, people occasionally ask if the ring is a family heirloom.  I reply that it will be one day.

When my daughter was born, to honor me, my mother-in-law gave me jewelry--a pair of earrings.  Years ago, I lost one, but I still have the other.  Nevertheless, the joy I received from the gift was not halved.  When my daughter had her first child, I gave her a pair of birthstone earrings to honor her and to link her to her grandmother.  Over the years, I have gifted birthstone earrings to my two sisters and to my niece, thus providing further joy to the women in my family.

Gifts of jewelry are appropriate year-round and mark many different aspects of life in addition to romance.  Let me encourage everyone who gives gifts of jewelry to remember the fun, playful quality of jewelry.  Enjoy!

LAGNIAPPE:  Scholars (and people like me) believe that Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls is the first Valentine’s Day poem written—or at least in existence.  The poem is a dream vision in which the narrator falls asleep and dreams he is present at a gathering of birds, held on 14 February, where the birds will choose their mates—perhaps a medieval version of “on-line” dating!  In the process, the birds discuss various aspects of love.