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Photo Friday

By Kelsey McKinney

Each Friday, the Ransom Center shares photos from throughout the week that highlight a range of activities and collection holdings. We hope you enjoy these photos that reveal some of the everyday happenings at the Center.

Dale Rapley, of Actors From The London Stage, performs at Poetry on the Plaza. Photo by Pete Smith.
Dale Rapley, of Actors From The London Stage, performs at Poetry on the Plaza. Photo by Pete Smith.
Ransom Center’s Audio-Visual Equipment Technician Jason MacLeod runs the audio for Wednesday’s Poetry on the Plaza. Photo by Pete Smith.
Ransom Center’s Audio-Visual Equipment Technician Jason MacLeod runs the audio for Wednesday’s Poetry on the Plaza. Photo by Pete Smith.
Undergraduate student Adriane Pudom examines Frank Shay’s bookshop door in the Center’s current exhibition 'The Greenwich Village Bookshop Door: A Portal to Bohemia, 1920-1925'. Photo by Pete Smith.
Undergraduate student Adriane Pudom examines Frank Shay’s bookshop door in the Center’s current exhibition 'The Greenwich Village Bookshop Door: A Portal to Bohemia, 1920-1925'. Photo by Pete Smith.
Afternoon sun shines through the north atrium’s etched windows. Photo by Pete Smith.
Afternoon sun shines through the north atrium’s etched windows. Photo by Pete Smith.

David Douglas Duncan photos of Pablo Picasso highlighted in exhibition in Spain

By Mary Alice Harper

Cover of exhibition catalog for 'Picasso at Work, Through the lens of David Douglas Duncan.'
Cover of exhibition catalog for 'Picasso at Work, Through the lens of David Douglas Duncan.'

In October 1996, world-renowned photographer and author David Douglas Duncan donated his archive to the Harry Ransom Center. The Center has preserved, organized, cataloged, exhibited and made available a variety of images and artifacts that complete the archive, including many that document his years of friendship with Pablo Picasso. Recently, Duncan donated a plate painted by Picasso of his beloved dachshund named Lump.

The new exhibition Picasso at Work. Through the lens of David Douglas Duncan, runs through September 25 at the Museo Picasso, Malaga, and will then move to the Picasso Kuntsmuseum Munster from October 15 to January 15, 2012 and finally at La Piscine Musee d’Art in Roubaix, France, beginning in February 2012. Ransom Center photo archivist Mary Alice Harper’s essay “The Nomadic Lens of David Douglas Duncan,” featured in the exhibition catalog, has been published in English and Spanish by Museo Picasso Malaga, in German by Hirmer, and in French by Gallimard. Below is an excerpt from Harper’s essay.

In late January of 1956, Duncan set off to begin his next Life assignment. He was headed for Spain but with one detour in mind, stopping in Cannes to try and meet Picasso. Duncan was unsure whether or not he would find the artist at home, and, if so, be permitted to enter. In fact, he had intended to meet Picasso for years, ever since his friend and fellow photojournalist Robert Capa promised to introduce them. But Capa had died tragically in 1954, so Duncan decided to present Picasso with a gift when the time came. He had a ring made for the occasion: a solid but simple heavy gold band with “PICASSO—DUNCAN” incised inside and set with an ancient carnelian with a “Picassoesque” rooster carved on it. Picasso clearly appreciated the gesture as Duncan was permitted to enter. Three days later in a letter to a friend he described what had transpired:

The girl [Jacqueline] came down. Maybe thirty, black slacks and pullover… and wonderfully friendly. I’d thought that she might be the protective guardian type. Told her why I was there, and gave her the ring for Pablo P. She went upstairs, two at a time. I looked around. The place was jammed with crates, boxes, bronzes, cartons, barrels… they had been in the place for around half a year—not a single piece of furniture. Nothing! She came downstairs, grabbed me by the hand and up we went. No furniture. Whizzed through a series of corridors and rooms, followed a black electrical connection cord… into the bathroom, and there he was—cheerily lathering himself, in the tub! It was perfect! Pablo Picasso without much question, the greatest living artist of our century, black eyes dancing, warm and safe and wringing wet, in his bathtub. In went the ring, soap and all. She went on scrubbing his back… which she’d been doing when I arrived. Picasso and I talked in Spanish, she and I in English; I must have seemed naked, too, without my camera so he told me to get it, that the pictures, if I wanted them, might be interesting, since this was one place where no one had ever nailed him. From that moment on we had one of those times that I really shall treasure. After she dried him off and he pulled on a heavy bathrobe, we went into the next room… no furniture… where he got his glasses, and my magnifier, and then really looked at his ring… After carefully examining the stone, and carving… “What instrument could the man possibly have used?”, sort of a query to himself. Best of all he understood the reason why I gave it to him and accepted it exactly as intended. I feel that it delights him. We went downstairs. The front three rooms… only two tables, crammed with things he has made, painted, turned or twisted into life… The place was mine. Picasso and Jacqueline simply took me in as a third member… fourth, counting that boxer… Possibly it was an exceptional day, but he radiated one extraordinary quality… youthful exuberance; a child’s direct, intense feeling for the impact of those moments that we remember through the remainder of our years. This man still has it.

Remembering Penelope Fitzgerald: “We Can Only Hope It Keeps Going.”

By Alicia Dietrich

The American publication of
The American publication of

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Philip Christensen, College Associate Dean for Curriculum Development at Suffolk County Community College, maintained a seven-year correspondence with novelist Penelope Fitzgerald, whose archive is housed at the Ransom Center. Christensen recently donated the letters from their correspondence to the Ransom Center, and in this essay, he shares some of the contents of those exchanges.

Email and social media appear virtually spontaneous, and yet, as Robert McCrum conceded in a recent blog on The Guardian’s website, “a physical correspondence, an exchange of missives, in envelopes, carries more freight than a high speed email.” In 1993, I mailed a letter to British novelist Penelope Fitzgerald, care of her publisher, asking if she would read my paper on her uncle Ronald Knox, the once renowned Catholic apologist best remembered today for his “Detective Story Decalogue.” To my surprise, she wrote back, thus beginning a literary correspondence that came to a close, in April 2000, when I received an email, with the subject “Condolences” and a link to her obituary in The New York Times. (Terence Dooley, Fitzgerald’s literary executor and the editor of So I Have Thought of You: the Letters of Penelope Fitzgerald, and Hermione Lee, Fitzgerald’s biographer, have kindly given permission to quote from these unpublished letters.)

Fitzgerald corresponded in aerogrammes, those blue papers that fold into their own airmail envelopes, and I recall opening each with surgical precision, for fear of excising her graceful marginalia, in italic hand, along the folds. Surely, Fitzgerald must have found my typescripts diffident and rehearsed, but she never hinted at any disparity, and, after an initial “Penelope Fitzgerald,” she signed her letters “Penelope.”

Penelope, a former tutor, regarded teaching as “some of the hardest work on earth.” Her lessons must have been memorably aphoristic. Of Hamlet’s “undiscovered country,” she wrote: “it is a difficult subject, I think, as poor Hamlet must have felt that one traveller at least returned too often,” or, regarding the challenge of understanding the Duke in Measure for Measure: “he does break into octosyllabics at one point, & Shakespeare usually keeps them for actors with magic power.” She agreed that Let Dons Delight was Uncle Ronnie’s best book, and added that his invention of fictional disputations at an imaginary Oxford college, from 1588 to 1938, “carries imitation of the past to the point of second sights.”  When I made a passing reference to Vladimir and Estragon as modern pilgrims, she chided: “Surely, there are no ‘pilgrims’ in Waiting for Godot. Productions over here usually show Vladimir & Estragon as tramps, but as a matter of fact they are clowns, whose relationship to society is quite different.”

Penelope was philosophical about her late celebrity, writing that her reputation “is up now, but it will go down” and, within the context of her short story “The Red Haired Girl,” encouraged me not to give up: “it’s certainly never too late to be a writer.” She was also open about discussing her own work. In one letter, she described laying the foundation, almost literally, of a fictitious college in The Gate of Angels: “I walked all round Cambridge to find a spare piece of ground where another ancient college—a small one—could have been built.” She also commended one of my students for her essay on the same novel: “The references to divine providence I thought were very good because I didn’t mention it in the book but left it to be understood by discerning readers.”

Penelope, who thought her novels too British for Americans, was impressed by their sheer energy. When I wrote about a possible move from New York to Jackson, Mississippi, she replied, “Americans think nothing of tremendous moves, they just pack everything in the car and drive away.” She was also stirred by their good will. In reminiscences years after her visit to the Harry Ransom Center, which had purchased selections of her papers, her memory of nagging financial worries is assuaged by the kindnesses of the university staff: “I went to consult something in the University library, and had to manage on 2 dollars a day, but it was quite possible, if you just had breakfast, and I’ll never forget the patience & courtesy with which I was treated at the Humanities Library.”

As her American readership began to grow, Penelope gave all the credit to Houghton Mifflin, her new American publisher. American publication of The Blue Flower in April 1997 resulted in its wider recognition, including the cover page of The New York Times Book Review and in 1998, the first year of eligibility for non-American writers, the National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction. In a letter written shortly thereafter, she so typically deflected the spotlight from herself and onto Christopher Carduff, her American editor: “It was a great encouragement for my wonderful book editor at Houghton Mifflin, who flew to New York with a ready-written speech in his pocket just in case it was necessary, and, lo and behold, it was.”

Twice, Penelope was selected as a judge for the Man Booker Prize, which her novel Offshore received in 1979. Shortly after her second Booker stint, in 1998, she wrote about the weariness following this task: “I have to admit that I’m glad the Booker is over—it’s bad enough having to judge it, but worse still, during the dinner an alternative panel of judges is broadcasting from a cellar beneath your feet and contradicting everything you say.”

Penelope often reflected on “time’s fell hand,” for instance in her memories of The Sole Bay Bookshop, in Southwold, and the inspiration of her second novel, which “has now alas closed its doors.” She was relieved that her father Edmund George Valpy (“Evoe”) Knox, editor of Punch for nearly two decades (1932 to 1949), “didn’t live to see the disappearance of Punch, which would once have seemed hardly believable” or that her Uncle Ronnie, whose unecumenism appeared hopelessly out of place after Vatican II, can be judged, “like the rest of us, only in terms of the time he lived in.” One Advent, she abruptly closed with wishes haunted by the recent death of her brother Rawle: “I’m lucky to be with my family this Christmas, although I was very sad to lose my brother this year. He was an old man & I’m getting to be an old woman,” and, elsewhere, her perfect balance of concession and grace is faultless in her observation of grandchildren at play: “I haven’t been so well lately, but hearing my grandchildren play football (handicapped by the kitten) in the garden just outside my window made me feel better.”

To this day, one of Penelope’s letters remains undelivered, “a catastrophe” she blamed on the “confused postal service.” I remain hopeful this letter, retrieved from some untidy corner at the Royal Mail, will one day miraculously appear, evidence of what the editors of her selected essays confidently call The Afterlife (2000). Penelope once wrote, regarding the Old Vic: “We can only hope it keeps going,” a sentiment she playfully applied to herself. This reminiscence is dedicated to her, with the hope that this conversation will “keep going” for a long time.

King James Bible exhibition opening at Folger Shakespeare Library will travel to the Ransom Center in the spring

By Io Montecillo

First edition of the authorized version of the King James Bible, 1611, Pforzheimer Collection. Harry Ransom Center.
First edition of the authorized version of the King James Bible, 1611, Pforzheimer Collection. Harry Ransom Center.

In the four centuries since its printing, the King James Bible has influenced much of the English-speaking world in its history and culture. In a collaboration between the Harry Ransom Center, the Folger Shakespeare Library, and the Bodleian Library, an exhibition has been launched that tells the little-known story of this influential work. From today through January 15, the Folger will present Manifold Greatness: The Creation and Afterlife of the King James Bible. This exhibition will present the history leading up to the publication of the King James Bible in 1611, the process of translating the book, and finally, its influence on English-speaking cultures from the seventeenth century until today. View a video preview of the exhibition.

An online exhibition accompanies the physical exhibition and provides a series of multimedia presentations concerning the history of the King James Bible, as well as many interactive resources that can be accessed online that are meant to supplement the exhibition and to prepare guests prior to visiting the Folger.

After its time at the Folger Shakespeare Library, the exhibition will travel to the Ransom Center, where it will be presented as The King James Bible: Its History and Influence and include additional material from the Center’s collecions. The exhibition will be on display at the Ransom Center from February 28 through June 2, 2012.

The Manifold Greatness project is jointly produced by the Folger Shakespeare Library and the Bodleian Library at University of Oxford, with assistance from the Ransom Center.