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It has been a long time since this blog has explored the strange and evocative world of mascots, those perplexing symbolic stand-ins who (or “which”?) represent an organization or concept. This year’s Halloween theme is graveyards, and naturally the question arose (snicker) of whether there are gravestone mascots. The world contains Japan–so of COURSE there are (albeit not many). We will get to them shortly, but first let’s philosophize about this subject for a moment. After all a grave itself is already a sort of mascot–a symbolic stand-in which represents an entire life. Even when that life is gone, the idea remains (for what is a person to another person really, but a complicated arrangement of ideas). Oftentimes the idea supersedes the life itself. How many people actually knew Lenin or Colonel Sanders or whatever?
Also, as I “researched” this article I found hundreds of graves of mascots which underlined what a powerful idea both graves and mascots are. I included Colonel Sanders’ grave above because, just as Colonel Sanders was the epitome of mascots, his tomb is the epitome of mascot tombs (in fact, it might be nicer than Philip the Apostle’s tomb at Hierapolis, and the Byzantines had 600 years to spiff that up). Yet most of the bulldogs, homing pigeons, goats, and pigs had pretty nice graves too. There was something particularly moving about the granite memorials of regimental mascots from WWI and WWII–which made it seem like mascots not only bore the honor of their units but also served as much needed emotional surrogates for the soldiers. Symbols are much more powerful than people initially suppose!
We will return to these ideas. The reason I am writing about graves is not (just) because I am a morbid weirdo, but to examine the relationship we have with people of the past–who never knew us, but whose ideas, works, and institutions are the basis of our own lives. Maybe it is also a way of asking what meaning and assistance we can provide for the unknowable people (and suchlike entities) of the future other than useless hunks of rock which narcissistically yet feebly proclaim that we existed. Um…ok…anyway, here are some strange grave mascots I found online:
Ok! We (finally) had our 2000th post yesterday, and the great Ferrebeekeeper jubilee continues apace. I promised give-aways, special posts, contests, and…pageantry. Now I have plenty of weird art and cool toys to give away (provided I can think up a contest), but what do we do for Gothic pageantry (it’s Gothic because, well, what other sort would we feature?)?
Alas, my plans to hire great troops of pipers, marchers, ornate festival birds, and dancers have come undone because of coronavirus concerns (although hopefully you are all enjoying the very special fireworks displays which I orchestrated throughout the nation). Thus, due to, uh, the constraints of this era, our pageant will have to come together in our imagination rather than in the real world. We can list out the elements here though and fantasize them coming together as a sort of parade!
When I thought about what sort of Gothic pageant we would want, my first question was whether those splendid glistening white peacocks are available in Gothic black. It turns out that they very much are (although such peafowl are quite rare)
Next I wanted pipers, and when I looked up “gothic pipers” I was taken straight to Ferrebeekeeper’s own long forgotten post concerning pig bagpipers (which were a popular medieval ornament for reasons which are now subject to debate). Obviously these musical pigs are perfect, so after the sable peacocks lets have some of them.
Following the peacocks, pigs, and pipers, it would be good to have some soldiers (who esteem pageantry on a supreme level that only the most flamboyant showfolks can ever hope to match). I have taken a page from the pope’s book here: my favorite soldiers (for decorative novelty use only, of course) are late medieval/early Renaissance billmen with ridiculous heraldic garb. The pope’s own Swiss Guard are instructive here, although of course pipers in our procession would be wearing magenta, vermilion, and icterine.
I think a legion of such characters would be extremely impressive (especially coming immediately after the black peacocks and the musical pigs).
Next we would need fashion mavens dressed in resplendent gowns covered with lace appliques and dark ribbons. I couldn’t find the right picture on line (and I started to get scared/alarmed by how many dress pictures there are), but this sort of thing should do.
Finally, we would need a parade float to serve as centerpiece. My favorite underrated artist, the matchless Piero di Cosimo, was famous in his time for designing parade spectacles and, although the actual originals are, of course, long gone, I imagine that his floats would be much like the monster in his masterpiece, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda. I would have a similar float to Perseus and the monster, except it would be Cronus mounted upon an enormous flounder.
Sadly, this is how my brain works and I could go on and on like this forever…creating ridiculous fantastical processions which the world will never see, but I think we had better wrap up by putting the entire extravaganza in a great pleasure garden with a Gothic folly tower in the middle.
The The real world example which best suits my taste is St. Anne’s Church in Vilnius, Lithuania (pictured above) which I think is the prettiest building ever, however the master illuminators of Belgium also loved such structures and they drew them without any real world constraints which bedevil architects.
Imagine all of those strange magical animals and people and frogfish passing in front of this, and I think you have imagined the Ferrebeekeeper parade we would have staged…if only we could fully assemble outside right now (and if I were an impossibly rich archduke of fairyland).
The fun of this exercise is really imagining what sort of procession you would craft if you were a grand parade master and could do anything. Tell me your ideas below! Maybe we can incorporate some of your plans into my next parade…as soon as I finish teaching these pigs to play the pipes and sewing all of these orange and purple striped tights for mercenaries.
I got home a bit later than I planned…and there is still dinner to be cooked and sculptures to be crafted, but, just so that we don’t have a day with no content, here is a stupid animal meme which I crafted for the impeachment hearings.
It’s just a joke of course: quolls are marsupial carnivores, they are hardly the sort of debased predators who would blackmail eastern European countries into shameful acts by pointedly withholding cash assistance.
One of the things which has surprised me most about this blog is how popular crowns are. Currently Ferrebeekeeper’s most popular post (in terms of traffic) is about the crowns of ancient Egypt. Because there are sooo many examples from practically every culture and timeframe, crowns are my go-to subject when I can’t think of anything to write about. In addition to a dazzling rainbow of visual styles from all history, crowns showcase the strange vicissitudes of history. Many crowns are steeped in stories of murder, cunning, and circumstances so peculiar they seem like something out of fiction (indeed it is the coronal outlier which sits harmlessly on a velvet pillow in a museum or cathedral for centuries). Yet people’s interest in these jeweled hats supersedes the fascinating historical tales behind individual crowns . When I wanted to write about catfish mascots or mollusk mascots I had to search the edges of the internet, but went to write about “royal” mascots I was overwhelmed by material—dancing queens, comic kings, playing cards, whiskey brands, tattoos, and all sorts of royal iconography on every sort of consumer good. Clearly even in our democracy, people are drawn to the symbolism and stagecraft of royalty.
Now, obviously, I want people to click on my blog posts and then enjoy perusing them! Yet I have always tried to be deliberately impertinent in how I write about crowns because I find their innate meaning to be troubling and I find the objects themselves to be almost as silly as they are impressive. Examples of crowns as high-status/royal items go back to the dawn of civilization, however the Greeks crafted an explanation of the meaning of crowns from within their religious/mythological symbology. Allegedly the sparkling points of light are meant to indicate a corona—a halo of light which indicates divine favor or divinity itself (this same idea was appropriated by the Christian church as a visual shorthand for saints, apostles, and angels).
So crowns (objects built by human hands) are meant to convey some sort of heavenly/supernatural status. It is indeed a telling combination: however it doesn’t reflect the divine right of kings but our species tendency to self-abasement in front of hierarchical authority. Primatologists (or their subjects) would understand this intuitively: put a shiny thing on your head to appear taller and more dazzling. This need for hierarchy allows us to organize and do amazing things, but it makes us susceptible to terrible leadership mistakes. To quote Sir Terry Pratchett “It seemed to be a chronic disease. It was as if even the most intelligent person had this little blank spot in their heads where someone had written: “Kings. What a good idea.” Whoever had created humanity had left in a major design flaw. It was its tendency to bend at the knees.”
I hoped that by writing about crowns I could deconstruct this concept a bit. Crowns are always being usurped by con-men, stolen by knaves, walled up inside cathedral storerooms, or melted into ingots by misguided revolutionaries. Although they are exceptional works of craft (and made of rare expensive materials), their history shows them to be anything but supernatural! They don’t reflect on a king so much as on his subjects who are inclined to take him at his word when he puts on a ridiculous spiky golden hat and says he is better than everyone.
Wow! There is a lot of exciting space news in the headlines lately…it is a thrilling time to have one’s eyes fixed on the heavens. However, for the moment, let’s tear our eyes from the splendors of the firmament and concentrate instead on the most mundane of wonders here at our feet—the potato. Originally domesticated in the Andes mountains, the potato is a small starchy tuber which…
Whoah! What the heck? That’s not the garden-variety potato! What is going on here?
It turns out that this massive potato is a public sculpture by Idaho artists Chris Schofield and Sharolyn Spruce, who specialize in fabricating large custom projects (a job I would dearly love to have). According to the Idaho Potato Commission’s website, they built this colossal spud to promote “the certified heart-healthy Idaho Potato, and its mission… to help small charities in town and cities with its Big Helping Program.”
Made of concrete, plywood, foam, and steel, the six ton sculpture weighs as much as 32,346 medium-sized Idaho potatoes (at least according to the PR literature of the great potato mavens who commissioned it). The potato travels cross-continent on a special big-rig with circuslike giant vegetable slogans on it, however now that it has reached the Hudson tidal zone, the truck and the faux tuber have moved aboard a special barge which is being pushed around the city by tug boat. Now when is that giant duck going to get here?
A commercially available lamb costume
Last week was sheep week on Ferrebeekeeper. I was surprised by the extent to which sheep farming and wool production have been woven into humankind’s language, religion, and culture since time immemorial. Unfortunately, I became so impressed with these ancient ties, that I forgot to include my special bonus post—a gallery of silly sheep mascots just for fun…
Hopefully you are still celebrating Chinese New Year, because here, a week late, are the sheep mascots. There are so many, and they represent so many different crazy organizations!
Rameses, a live Dorset ram, is the mascot of the North Carolina Tar Heels. look how magnificently his horns are painted!
Lance Corporal William Windsor (a regimental mascot in the armies of the Queen of England)
A black sheep costume
“Shaun the sheep” at a mall looking skeezy
“High Quality Angry Sheep Mascot Costumes”
Oh dear…
Cam the Ram–Colorado State Mascot
Dodge Ram Logo
Stock Ram Logo…
There are ever so many more, in every shape and with every expression… i sort of gave up on making a comprehensive list. I am struck anew by how much people love sheep–even as the symbol of an organization or a product (although maybe its subconsciously appropriate for organizations trying to gain followers?)
There’s even a professional football team. Look how angry his face is!
Swan Ice Sculpture
Hopefully the long winter is coming to a close (although I wouldn’t be surprised if 2014 still has a few mean tricks left). Before the season of ice and snow ends, let’s give in to winter and celebrate frozen water itself with a gallery of exquisite ice sculptures.
The quintessential ice sculpture should feature elegance, sinuous curves, strength, and, well, iciness. Of course nothing combines these qualities quite like swans. The massive waterfowl are thematically and stylistically perfect for the medium. Additionally, since swans form monogamous pair bonds which can last for years–or even for life—paired swans are the perfect symbol for weddings, romantic events, and, um… mergers I guess (hey, you try figuring out why swans are so omnipresent as ice sculptures).
An ice swan swimming on a bed of strawberries (by Tampa Ice Sculpture)
You can’t have a fancy fund raiser without an ice swan! (photo by: Barbara Nelson)
Hey! That’s a digital image of a painting of a sculpture of a swan! How ersatz can this blog get?
Bartender stands between two giant ice swan statues at the ice bar at Damenti’s Restaurant
Ok, maybe I wanted to write a quick waterfowl/winter theme blog post and was out of good ideas. Yet ephemeral ice sculptures DO seem to represent the disposable decadence of our times. Who knows when global climate change, world economic meltdown, or zombie attack will sweep away our world of endless energy and leisure? But in the mean time enjoy the flock of swan sculptures. You can even buy an inexpensive plastic mold online if you want to have a brand new (but perfectly identical) swan statue for every meal.
This one is filled with fruit!
And this one is even better!
UC San Diego Triton
This week Ferrebeekeeper has been all about Tritons: we published posts on 1) The retrograde ice moon of Neptune; 2) the giant starfish-eating gastropod; and 3) the Greek merman god. The only major definition of triton left is the nucleus of a tritium atom which has one proton and two neutrons (as opposed to a normal hydrogen atom which has one proton and NO neutrons). Tritium is very important in nuclear engineering and could be critical to the development of nuclear fusion reactors—an effort which I regard as being of paramount importance to getting humankind moving forward. Unfortunately, I am no nuclear engineer, so you will have to research tritium elsewhere.
Although the concept of deuterium-tritium fusion is succinctly explained by this necktie…
What I did discover is that, for some reason, Triton is incredibly popular as a mascot. Numerous semi-professional and school teams have a triton (a merman) as a mascot. Is it because the figure is solemn and powerful? Is this a last breath of Greek polytheism blowing through America’s high schools and colleges? Do people simply love mermen? I have no idea, but for a lighthearted Friday post, here is a gallery of Triton mascots.
Edmond Community College Tritons
A homemade Triton outfit
The Triton College Seal
“Tryton the Laker King” (it beats me)
The University of Guam Triton
The University of Missouri–Saint Louis (their “tritons” are devilish red water monsters)
Eckerd College (St. Petersburg, Florida) weird anonymous triton mascot
San Clemente High School (San Clemente, California) Tritons
And, once again, the UCSD King Triton mascot…
Enjoy the mermen, stay warm, and I’ll see you next week!
Miscellaneous Yuru Kyara
Japan is the land of the mascot (as noted in passing in the first ferrebeekeeper post about mascots). Not only do sports teams and companies and public safety campaigns all have mascots, in recent year the country has been gripped by a mania for Yuru-kyara (AKA yuru characters or “gentle characters”) little animated figures which represent every single city, municipality, prefecture, and village in Japan. The yuru characters are meant to represent some aspect of the culture of the place which they hail from: so a district famous for manufacturing aviation equipment might have a cute little jet mascot, whereas a farming village might be represented by a happy turnip. Some of the meanings are rather obscure (like the little berry boy which represents the Japan Self Defense Force Yamanashi Provincial Cooperation Office).
Maybe the Japan Self Defense Force Yamanashi Provincial Cooperation Office just really like berries…
The most famous yuru-kyara become hugely popular and can be quite lucrative—for example Kumamoto, the beloved yuru-kyara of Kumamon brought in hundreds of millions of yen for the prefecture (and sold huge piles of Kumamoto figures and merchandise). Many of the others labor in obscurity (or are replaced by more likable mascots). Sometimes two figures will be in conflict: Funabashi City is unofficially represented by Funassyi a frolicsome “pear fairy” however the official Funabashi City yuru-kyara is Funaemon, who looks like an anxious and fussy bureaucrat.
Funassyi, the pear spirit
Funaemon hopes you have filled out your forms correctly
You can check out all sorts of amazing Yuru-kyara on this website (thanks to my roommate Steven Sho Sugita-Becraft for the link!), but, unless you read Japanese, you might be hard pressed to figure out who they are and what they represent. I wonder if all the money-grubbing attention-hungry municipalities of America will ever adapt a similar scheme of crazy mascots (or are we just stuck with MacGruff and Mr. Yuck)?
I guess they could come over on their pirate ship?
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