Pygmalion

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pygm1938moviePygmalion (1938) — the non-musical film adaptation of George Bernard Shaw’s 1913 stage play

Phonetics Professor Henry Higgins makes a bet with Colonel Pickering that he can turn a Cockney flower girl, Eliza Doolittle into a lady within three months. To do so, he must transform her thick-accented voice, by coaching her to speak proper English, teaching her manners, and drilling her so she will be educated. “We were above that in Convent Garden… I sold flowers. I didn’t sell myself. Now you’ve made a lady of me; I’m not fit to sell anything else.” “I’m a good girl, I am.”

At a tea party, in her first public testing, she blurts out, “Not bloody likely.” However, she makes a spectacular debut at a society ball proving him right. The movie drastically diverges from Shaw’s play at the end by indicating that Higgins falls in love with Eliza. This is really not a love story.

Educating Rita

ritaby Willie Russell

Dr. Frank Bryant is a disillusioned university professor who’s sick of his work, his students, his wife and his life in general. He keeps a bottle or two behind the books in his office, and has a tendency of appearing in class drunk, but it doesn’t matter much to him as he sees himself as “an appalling teacher of appalling students.”

To make things worse, his marriage was a failure and his girlfriend spends an awful lot of time with his best friend, who tends to have the same telephone conversation with the same publisher every time Frank comes into the room. The professor knows of course, but couldn’t care less, at least when he’s got a mug of Scotch handy.

Enter Rita. She’s a hairdresser who, fed up with her job and husband, has decided to change her life, and she starts taking courses at the Open University. That’s where she meets Frank, who at first is reluctant to help her, but who soon sees her rare qualities and accepts the challenge of educating Rita.

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You may find it interesting to compare “Pygmalion” by George Bernard Shaw. It is also interesting to speculate whether Willy Russell intended Educating Rita to be his version of the Frankenstein story. When this novel is mentioned in Act II Scene V of Educating Rita, it is implied that Frank’s creation (Rita) has turned on her creator, who can no longer control what he has made. The strong sense of the loss of the power to control is exactly what Frank feels.

Is it only coincidence that the teacher who makes Rita what she is is called Frank, I wonder?

2.2.2 Pygmalion (1975)

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picassoThe first programming by demonstration research was David Smith’s Pygmalion, which was inspired by the question: “Can a programming environment be constructed to stimulate creative thought?” He identified various aspects of creative thought and concluded that programming systems should support visual and analogical aspects of creative thought and that programming should be less tedious. The design of Pygmalion was inspired by the ease of use of text editors, especially in comparison with programming languages. Pygmalion became that system. Unlike later systems which tried to add programming to otherwise typical user interfaces, Smith constructed a special user interface which contained the typical operations of a programming language. This user interface was the first to make use of icons, which he used to subsume the notions of variable, reference, data structure, function, and picture. Icons have since become Smith’s most well known contribution to computer science.

This urge to create something living is common among artists. Artists have consistently reported an exhilaration during the act of creation, followed by depression when the work is completed. “For it is then that the painter realizes that it is only a picture he is painting. Until then he had almost dared to hope that the picture might spring to life.” This is also the lure of programming, except that unlike other forms of art, computer programs do “come to life” in a sense.

The Metamorphosis of Pigmalion’s Image

goltziusMarston, John (?1575 – 1634)
Satirist and dramatist.

His father was a lawyer. John Marston was educated at Brasenose College, Oxford; lectured in the Middle Temple (one of the Inns of Court); entered the Church in 1609. His writing life runs from 1598 to 1607. During this period he engaged in literary warfare with Ben Jonson (‘the war of the theatres’) who satirized Marston and Dekker in The Poetaster (1601) and elsewhere. The two men were, however, intermittently friends, and collaborated (with Chapman) in writing Eastward Hoe (1605), for which they were imprisoned for offending the king’s Scottish friends.

In 1598 Marston published The Metamorphosis of Pigmalion’s Image and, under the pen-name of W.Kinsayder, a collection of satires entitled Scourge of Villainie (ordered burned by the Pope). The satires are modeled on those of the Roman poet Persius. The language is coarse and vigorous, and the violence and disgust they exhibit become a feature of Marston’s dramatic writing. His plays are his most successful work, but they are very uneven. Antonio and Mellida and Antonio’s Revenge (1599-Antonio) are revenge plays in the tradition of Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, and exhibit a mixture of Stoic idealism and melodramatic sensationalism, with passages of intense poetry. The Malcontent is a tragicomedy and usually considered to be Marston’s most effective work; its satirical qualities and the role of the central character suggest comparisons with Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure and Hamlet. The Dutch Courtesan (1605), The Parasitaster, or the Fawne (1606) and What You Will (1607) are comedies; Sophonisba, Wonder of Women (1605) and The Insatiate Countess (?1606) are tragedies.

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It was Marston’s lack of critical control and the bad taste of his extravagance which caused the satirical attacks on him by Jonson. His violent revulsion from sensuality and worldly vice inspired some of his best passages as well as his worst ones.

Bibliography
Ellis-Fermor, U. M., The Jacobean Drama; Caputi, A., John Marston, Satirist; Finkelpearl, P., John Marston of the Middle Temple.

Bloomsbury Dictionary of English Literature, © Bloomsbury 1997

Drowne’s Wooden Image

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mastheadBy Nathaniel Hawthorne

One sunshiny morning, in the good old times of the town of Boston, a young carver in wood, well known by the name of Drowne, stood contemplating a large oaken log, which it was his purpose to convert into the figure-head of a vessel. And while he discussed within his own mind what sort of shape or similitude it were well to bestow upon this excellent piece of timber, there came into Drowne’s workshop a certain Captain Hunnewell, owner and commander of the good brig called the Cynosure, which had just returned from her first voyage to Fayal.

“Ah! that will do, Drowne, that will do!” cried the jolly captain, tapping the log with his rattan. “I bespeak this very piece of oak for the figure-head of the Cynosure. She has shown herself the sweetest craft that ever floated, and I mean to decorate her prow with the handsomest image that the skill of man can cut out of timber. And, Drowne, you are the fellow to execute it.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve, Captain Hunnewell,” said the carver, modestly, yet as one conscious of eminence in his art. “But, for the sake of the good brig, I stand ready to do my best. And which of these designs do you prefer? Here,”–pointing to a staring, half-length figure, in a white wig and scarlet coat,–”here is an excellent model, the likeness of our gracious king. Here is the valiant Admiral Vernon. Or, if you prefer a female figure, what say you to Britannia with the trident?”

“All very fine, Drowne; all very fine,” answered the mariner. “But as nothing like the brig ever swam the ocean, so I am determined she shall have such a figure-head as old Neptune never saw in his life. And what is more, as there is a secret in the matter, you must pledge your credit not to betray it.”

“Certainly,” said Drowne, marvelling, however, what possible mystery there could be in reference to an affair so open, of necessity, to the inspection of all the world as the figure-head of a vessel. “You may depend, captain, on my being as secret as the nature of the case will permit.”

Captain Hunnewell then took Drowne by the button, and communicated his wishes in so low a tone that it would be unmannerly to repeat what was evidently intended for the carver’s private ear. We shall, therefore, take the opportunity to give the reader a few desirable particulars about Drowne himself.

He was the first American who is known to have attempted–in a very humble line, it is true–that art in which we can now reckon so many names already distinguished, or rising to distinction. From his earliest boyhood he had exhibited a knack–for it would be too proud a word to call it genius–a knack, therefore, for the imitation of the human figure in whatever material came most readily to hand. The snows of a New England winter had often supplied him with a species of marble as dazzingly white, at least, as the Parian or the Carrara, and if less durable, yet sufficiently so to correspond with any claims to permanent existence possessed by the boy’s frozen statues. Yet they won admiration from maturer judges than his school-fellows, and were indeed, remarkably clever, though destitute of the native warmth that might have made the snow melt beneath his hand. As he advanced in life, the young man adopted pine and oak as eligible materials for the display of his skill, which now began to bring him a return of solid silver as well as the empty praise that had been an apt reward enough for his productions of evanescent snow. He became noted for carving ornamental pump heads, and wooden urns for gate posts, and decorations, more grotesque than fanciful, for mantelpieces. No apothecary would have deemed himself in the way of obtaining custom without setting up a gilded mortar, if not a head of Galen or Hippocrates, from the skilful hand of Drowne.

But the great scope of his business lay in the manufacture of figure-heads for vessels. Whether it were the monarch himself, or some famous British admiral or general, or the governor of the province, or perchance the favorite daughter of the ship-owner, there the image stood above the prow, decked out in gorgeous colors, magnificently gilded, and staring the whole world out of countenance, as if from an innate consciousness of its own superiority. These specimens of native sculpture had crossed the sea in all directions, and been not ignobly noticed among the crowded shipping of the Thames and wherever else the hardy mariners of New England had pushed their adventures. It must be confessed that a family likeness pervaded these respectable progeny of Drowne’s skill; that the benign countenance of the king resembled those of his subjects, and that Miss Peggy Hobart, the merchant’s daughter, bore a remarkable similitude to Britannia, Victory, and other ladies of the allegoric sisterhood; and, finally, that they all had a kind of wooden aspect which proved an intimate relationship with the unshaped blocks of timber in the carver’s workshop. But at least there was no inconsiderable skill of hand, nor a deficiency of any attribute to render them really works of art, except that deep quality, be it of soul or intellect, which bestows life upon the lifeless and warmth upon the cold, and which, had it been present, would have made Drowne’s wooden image instinct with spirit.

The captain of the Cynosure had now finished his instructions.

“And Drowne,” said he, impressively, “you must lay aside all other business and set about this forthwith. And as to the price, only do the job in first-rate style, and you shall settle that point yourself.”

“Very well, captain,” answered the carver, who looked grave and somewhat perplexed, yet had a sort of smile upon his visage; “depend upon it, I’ll do my utmost to satisfy you.”

From that moment the men of taste about Long Wharf and the Town Dock who were wont to show their love for the arts by frequent visits to Drowne’s workshop, and admiration of his wooden images, began to be sensible of a mystery in the carver’s conduct. Often he was absent in the daytime. Sometimes, as might be judged by gleams of light from the shop windows, he was at work until a late hour of the evening; although neither knock nor voice, on such occasions, could gain admittance for a visitor, or elicit any word of response. Nothing remarkable, however, was observed in the shop at those late hours when it was thrown open. A fine piece of timber, indeed, which Drowne was known to have reserved for some work of especial dignity, was seen to be gradually assuming shape. What shape it was destined ultimately to take was a problem to his friends and a point on which the carver himself preserved a rigid silence. But day after day, though Drowne was seldom noticed in the act of working upon it, this rude form began to be developed until it became evident to all observers that a female figure was growing into mimic life. At each new visit they beheld a larger pile of wooden chips and a nearer approximation to something beautiful. It seemed as if the hamadryad of the oak had sheltered herself from the unimaginative world within the heart of her native tree, and that it was only necessary to remove the strange shapelessness that had incrusted her, and reveal the grace and loveliness of a divinity. Imperfect as the design, the attitude, the costume, and especially the face of the image still remained, there was already an effect that drew the eye from the wooden cleverness of Drowne’s earlier productions and fixed it upon the tantalizing mystery of this new project.

Copley, the celebrated painter, then a young man and a resident of Boston, came one day to visit Drowne; for he had recognized so much of moderate ability in the carver as to induce him, in the dearth of professional sympathy, to cultivate his acquaintance. On entering the shop, the artist glanced at the inflexible image of king, commander, dame, and allegory, that stood around, on the best of which might have been bestowed the questionable praise that it looked as if a living man had here been changed to wood, and that not only the physical, but the intellectual and spiritual part, partook of the stolid transformation. But in not a single instance did it seem as if the wood were imbibing the ethereal essence of humanity. What a wide distinction is here! and how far the slightest portion of the latter merit have outvalued the utmost degree of the former!

“My friend Drowne;” said Copley, smiling to himself, but alluding to the mechanical and wooden cleverness that so invariably distinguished the images, “you are really a remarkable person! I have seldom met with a man in your line of business that could do so much; for one other touch might make this figure of General Wolfe, for instance, a breathing and intelligent human creature.”

“You would have me think that you are praising me highly, Mr. Copley,” answered Drowne, turning his back upon Wolfe’s image in apparent disgust. “But there has come a light into my mind. I know what you know as well, that the one touch which you speak of as deficient is the only one that would be truly valuable, and that without it these works of mine are no better than worthless abortions. There is the same difference between them and the works of an inspired artist as between a sign-post daub and one of your best pictures.”

“This is strange,” cried Copley, looking him in the face, which now, as the painter fancied, had a singular depth of intelligence, though hitherto it had not given him greatly the advantage over his own family of wooden images. “What has come over you? How is it that, possessing the idea which you have now uttered, you should produce only such works as these?”

The carver smiled, but made no reply. Copley turned again to the images, conceiving that the sense of deficiency which Drowne had just expressed, and which is so rare in a merely mechanical character, must surely imply a genius, the tokens of which had heretofore been overlooked. But no; there was not a trace of it. He was about to withdraw when his eyes chanced to fall upon a half-developed figure which lay in a corner of the workshop, surrounded by scattered chips of oak. It arrested him at once.

“What is here? Who has done this?” he broke out, after contemplating it in speechless astonishment for an instant. “Here is the divine, the lifegiving touch. What inspired hand is beckoning this wood to arise and live? Whose work is this?”

“No man’s work,” replied Drowne. “The figure lies within that block of oak, and it is my business to find it.”

“Drowne,” said the true artist, grasping the carver fervently by the hand, “you are a man of genius!”

As Copley departed, happening to glance backward from the threshold, he beheld Drowne bending over the half-created shape, and stretching forth his arms as if he would have embraced and drawn it to his heart; while, had such a miracle been possible, his countenance expressed passion enough to communicate warmth and sensibility to the lifeless oak.

“Strange enough!” said the artist to himself. “Who would have looked for a modern Pygmalion in the person of a Yankee mechanic!”

As yet, the image was but vague in its outward presentment; so that, as in the cloud shapes around the western sun, the observer rather felt, or was led to imagine, than really saw what was intended by it. Day by day, however, the work assumed greater precision, and settled its irregular and misty outline into distincter grace and beauty. The general design was now obvious to the common eye. It was a female figure, in what appeared to be a foreign dress; the gown being laced over the bosom, and opening in front so as to disclose a skirt or petticoat, the folds and inequalities of which were admirably represented in the oaken substance. She wore a hat of singular gracefulness, and abundantly laden with flowers, such as never grew in the rude soil of New England, but which, with all their fanciful luxuriance, had a natural truth that it seemed impossible for the most fertile imagination to have attained without copying from real prototypes. There were several little appendages to this dress, such as a fan, a pair of earrings, a chain about the neck, a watch in the bosom, and a ring upon the finger, all of which would have been deemed beneath the dignity of sculpture. They were put on, however, with as much taste as a lovely woman might have shown in her attire, and could therefore have shocked none but a judgment spoiled by artistic rules.

The face was still imperfect; but gradually, by a magic touch, intelligence and sensibility brightened through the features, with all the effect of light gleaming forth from within the solid oak. The face became alive. It was a beautiful, though not precisely regular and somewhat haughty aspect, but with a certain piquancy about the eyes and mouth, which, of all expressions, would have seemed the most impossible to throw over a wooden countenance. And now, so far as carving went, this wonderful production was complete.

“Drowne,” said Copley, who had hardly missed a single day in his visits to the carver’s workshop, “if this work were in marble it would make you famous at once; nay, I would almost affirm that it would make an era in the art. It is as ideal as an antique statue, and yet as real as any lovely woman whom one meets at a fireside or in the street. But I trust you do not mean to desecrate this exquisite creature with paint, like those staring kings and admirals yonder?”

“Not paint her!” exclaimed Captain Hunnewell, who stood by; “not paint the figure-head of the Cynosure! And what sort of a figure should I cut in a foreign port with such an unpainted oaken stick as this over my prow! She must, and she shall, be painted to the life, from the topmost flower in her hat down to the silver spangles on her slippers.”

“Mr. Copley,” said Drowne, quietly, “I know nothing of marble statuary, and nothing of the sculptor’s rules of art; but of this wooden image, this work of my hands, this creature of my heart,”–and here his voice faltered and choked in a very singular manner,–”of this–of her –I may say that I know something. A well-spring of inward wisdom gushed within me as I wrought upon the oak with my whole strength, and soul, and faith. Let others do what they may with marble, and adopt what rules they choose. If I can produce my desired effect by painted wood, those rules are not for me, and I have a right to disregard them.”

“The very spirit of genius,” muttered Copley to himself. “How otherwise should this carver feel himself entitled to transcend all rules, and make me ashamed of quoting them?”

He looked earnestly at Drowne, and again saw that expression of human love which, in a spiritual sense, as the artist could not help imagining, was the secret of the life that had been breathed into this block of wood.

The carver, still in the same secrecy that marked all his operations upon this mysterious image, proceeded to paint the habiliments in their proper colors, and the countenance with Nature’s red and white. When all was finished he threw open his workshop, and admitted the towns people to behold what he had done. Most persons, at their first entrance, felt impelled to remove their hats, and pay such reverence as was due to the richly-dressed and beautiful young lady who seemed to stand in a corner of the room, with oaken chips and shavings scattered at her feet. Then came a sensation of fear; as if, not being actually human, yet so like humanity, she must therefore be something preternatural. There was, in truth, an indefinable air and expression that might reasonably induce the query, Who and from what sphere this daughter of the oak should be? The strange, rich flowers of Eden on her head; the complexion, so much deeper and more brilliant than those of our native beauties; the foreign, as it seemed, and fantastic garb, yet not too fantastic to be worn decorously in the street; the delicately-wrought embroidery of the skirt; the broad gold chain about her neck; the curious ring upon her finger; the fan, so exquisitely sculptured in open work, and painted to resemble pearl and ebony;–where could Drowne, in his sober walk of life, have beheld the vision here so matchlessly embodied! And then her face! In the dark eyes, and around the voluptuous mouth, there played a look made up of pride, coquetry, and a gleam of mirthfulness, which impressed Copley with the idea that the image was secretly enjoying the perplexing admiration of himself and other beholders.

“And will you,” said he to the carver, “permit this masterpiece to become the figure-head of a vessel? Give the honest captain yonder figure of Britannia–it will answer his purpose far better–and send this fairy queen to England, where, for aught I know, it may bring you a thousand pounds.”

“I have not wrought it for money,” said Drowne.

“What sort of a fellow is this!” thought Copley. “A Yankee, and throw away the chance of making his fortune! He has gone mad; and thence has come this gleam of genius.”

There was still further proof of Drowne’s lunacy, if credit were due to the rumor that he had been seen kneeling at the feet of the oaken lady, and gazing with a lover’s passionate ardor into the face that his own hands had created. The bigots of the day hinted that it would be no matter of surprise if an evil spirit were allowed to enter this beautiful form, and seduce the carver to destruction.

The fame of the image spread far and wide. The inhabitants visited it so universally, that after a few days of exhibition there was hardly an old man or a child who had not become minutely familiar with its aspect. Even had the story of Drowne’s wooden image ended here, its celebrity might have been prolonged for many years by the reminiscences of those who looked upon it in their childhood, and saw nothing else so beautiful in after life. But the town was now astounded by an event, the narrative of which has formed itself into one of the most singular legends that are yet to be met with in the traditionary chimney corners of the New England metropolis, where old men and women sit dreaming of the past, and wag their heads at the dreamers of the present and the future.

One fine morning, just before the departure of the Cynosure on her second voyage to Fayal, the commander of that gallant vessel was seen to issue from his residence in Hanover Street. He was stylishly dressed in a blue broadcloth coat, with gold lace at the seams and button-holes, an embroidered scarlet waistcoat, a triangular hat, with a loop and broad binding of gold, and wore a silver-hilted hanger at his side. But the good captain might have been arrayed in the robes of a prince or the rags of a beggar, without in either case attracting notice, while obscured by such a companion as now leaned on his arm. The people in the street started, rubbed their eyes, and either leaped aside from their path, or stood as if transfixed to wood or marble in astonishment.

“Do you see it?–do you see it?” cried one, with tremulous eagerness. “It is the very same!”

“The same?” answered another, who had arrived in town only the night before. “Who do you mean? I see only a sea-captain in his shoregoing clothes, and a young lady in a foreign habit, with a bunch of beautiful flowers in her hat. On my word, she is as fair and bright a damsel as my eyes have looked on this many a day!”

“Yes; the same!–the very same!” repeated the other. “Drowne’s wooden image has come to life!”

Here was a miracle indeed! Yet, illuminated by the sunshine, or darkened by the alternate shade of the houses, and with its garments fluttering lightly in the morning breeze, there passed the image along the street. It was exactly and minutely the shape, the garb, and the face which the towns-people had so recently thronged to see and admire. Not a rich flower upon her head, not a single leaf, but had had its prototype in Drowne’s wooden workmanship, although now their fragile grace had become flexible, and was shaken by every footstep that the wearer made. The broad gold chain upon the neck was identical with the one represented on the image, and glistened with the motion imparted by the rise and fall of the bosom which it decorated. A real diamond sparkled on her finger. In her right hand she bore a pearl and ebony fan, which she flourished with a fantastic and bewitching coquetry, that was likewise expressed in all her movements as well as in the style of her beauty and the attire that so well harmonized with it. The face with its brilliant depth of complexion had the same piquancy of mirthful mischief that was fixed upon the countenance of the image, but which was here varied and continually shifting, yet always essentially the same, like the sunny gleam upon a bubbling fountain. On the whole, there was something so airy and yet so real in the figure, and withal so perfectly did it represent Drowne’s image, that people knew not whether to suppose the magic wood etherealized into a spirit or warmed and softened into an actual woman.

“One thing is certain,” muttered a Puritan of the old stamp, “Drowne has sold himself to the devil; and doubtless this gay Captain Hunnewell is a party to the bargain.”

“And I,” said a young man who overheard him, “would almost consent to be the third victim, for the liberty of saluting those lovely lips.”

“And so would I,” said Copley, the painter, “for the privilege of taking her picture.”

The image, or the apparition, whichever it might be, still escorted by the bold captain, proceeded from Hanover Street through some of the cross lanes that make this portion of the town so intricate, to Ann Street, thence into Dock Square, and so downward to Drowne’s shop, which stood just on the water’s edge. The crowd still followed, gathering volume as it rolled along. Never had a modern miracle occurred in such broad daylight, nor in the presence of such a multitude of witnesses. The airy image, as if conscious that she was the object of the murmurs and disturbance that swelled behind her, appeared slightly vexed and flustered, yet still in a manner consistent with the light vivacity and sportive mischief that were written in her countenance. She was observed to flutter her fan with such vehement rapidity that the elaborate delicacy of its workmanship gave way, and it remained broken in her hand.

Arriving at Drowne’s door, while the captain threw it open, the marvellous apparition paused an instant on the threshold, assuming the very attitude of the image, and casting over the crowd that glance of sunny coquetry which all remembered on the face of the oaken lady. She and her cavalier then disappeared.

“Ah!” murmured the crowd, drawing a deep breath, as with one vast pair of lungs.

“The world looks darker now that she has vanished,” said some of the young men.

But the aged, whose recollections dated as far back as witch times, shook their heads, and hinted that our forefathers would have thought it a pious deed to burn the daughter of the oak with fire.

“If she be other than a bubble of the elements,” exclaimed Copley, “I must look upon her face again.”

He accordingly entered the shop; and there, in her usual corner, stood the image, gazing at him, as it might seem, with the very same expression of mirthful mischief that had been the farewell look of the apparition when, but a moment before, she turned her face towards the crowd. The carver stood beside his creation mending the beautiful fan, which by some accident was broken in her hand. But there was no longer any motion in the lifelike image, nor any real woman in the workshop, nor even the witchcraft of a sunny shadow, that might have deluded people’s eyes as it flitted along the street. Captain Hunnewell, too, had vanished. His hoarse sea-breezy tones, however, were audible on the other side of a door that opened upon the water.

“Sit down in the stern sheets, my lady,” said the gallant captain. “Come, bear a hand, you lubbers, and set us on board in the turning of a minute-glass.”

And then was heard the stroke of oars.

“Drowne,” said Copley with a smile of intelligence, “you have been a truly fortunate man. What painter or statuary ever had such a subject! No wonder that she inspired a genius into you, and first created the artist who afterwards created her image.”

Drowne looked at him with a visage that bore the traces of tears, but from which the light of imagination and sensibility, so recently illuminating it, had departed. He was again the mechanical carver that he had been known to be all his lifetime.

“I hardly understand what you mean, Mr. Copley,” said he, putting his hand to his brow. “This image! Can it have been my work? Well, I have wrought it in a kind of dream; and now that I am broad awake I must set about finishing yonder figure of Admiral Vernon.”

And forthwith he employed himself on the stolid countenance of one of his wooden progeny, and completed it in his own mechanical style, from which he was never known afterwards to deviate. He followed his business industriously for many years, acquired a competence, and in the latter part of his life attained to a dignified station in the church, being remembered in records and traditions as Deacon Drowne, the carver. One of his productions, an Indian chief, gilded all over, stood during the better part of a century on the cupola of the Province House, bedazzling the eyes of those who looked upward, like an angel of the sun. Another work of the good deacon’s hand–a reduced likeness of his friend Captain Hunnewell, holding a telescope and quadrant–may be seen to this day, at the corner of Broad and State streets, serving in the useful capacity of sign to the shop of a nautical instrument maker. We know not how to account for the inferiority of this quaint old figure, as compared with the recorded excellence of the Oaken Lady, unless on the supposition that in every human spirit there is imagination, sensibility, creative power, genius, which, according to circumstances, may either be developed in this world, or shrouded in a mask of dulness until another state of being. To our friend Drowne there came a brief season of excitement, kindled by love. It rendered him a genius for that one occasion, but, quenched in disappointment, left him again the mechanical carver in wood, without the power even of appreciating the work that his own hands had wrought. Yet who can doubt that the very highest state to which a human spirit can attain, in its loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural state, and that Drowne was more consistent with himself when he wrought the admirable figure of the mysterious lady, than when he perpetrated a whole progeny of blockheads?

There was a rumor in Boston, about this period, that a young Portuguese lady of rank, on some occasion of political or domestic disquietude, had fled from her home in Fayal and put herself under the protection of Captain Hunnewell, on board of whose vessel, and at whose residence, she was sheltered until a change of affairs. This fair stranger must have been the original of Drowne’s Wooden Image.

Artificial Intelligence

muellerIntellectual roots of AI, and the concept of intelligent machines, may be found in Greek mythology. Greek myths of Hephaestus and Pygmalion incorporate the idea of intelligent robots. Other myths involve human-like artifacts. Mechanical toys and models were constructed by Hero, Daedalus and other historical persons.

In the 13th century talking heads were said to have been created, Roger Bacon and Albert the Great reputedly among the owners. Then in the 16th century after the invention of machines for discovering nonmathematical truths through combinatories, Rabbi Loew of Prague supposedly invented the Golem, a clay man brought to life.

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The term “Artificial Intelligence” was coined by John McCarthy in 1956 during the first conference devoted to this subject. He also laid the foundation of the AI industry at the same time, earning the title “Father of Artificial Intelligence”. The first AI program called “The Logic Theorist” was written by written by Allen Newell, J.C. Shaw and Herbert Simon in 1956.

Burne-Jones and Pygmalion (III)

burne-jones1st-3The second Pygmalion and Galatea series is lighter and contains more detail. During this period, Burne-Jones was having an affair with his pupil Maria Zambaco. Though he was said to have felt he had found the perfect woman in his wife Georgiana, he considered Zambaco his muse. The affair caused Burne-Jones a great deal of inner turmoil and would lead to the artist having bouts of depression. Pygmalion and Galatea is an interesting parallel between the subject of Burne-Jones work and his life at the time.

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Pictured on this page:

“The Godhead Fires”, Pygmalion Series. 1868-70, Oil on canvas. Joseph Setton Collection, a private collection in Paris, France.

“The Godhead Fires”, Pygmalion and Galatea: Series I-IV (1875-78), is the second painting in this series and may be viewed at the Birmingham City Museums & Art Gallery in Birmingham, England.

Burne-Jones and Pygmalion (II)

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burne-jones1st-2Burne-Jones series Pygmalion and Galatea consisted of four paintings. There were two series he did on the subject. The first (top picture) was commissioned in 1868 by Euphrosyne Cassavetti, Mother of Maria Zambaco and today is in a private collection (Pygmalion Series, 1868-70, Joseph Setton Collection, Paris). The first series of paintings is done with darker colors with a harsher feeling about the work.

Pictured on this page:

“The Hand Refrains” The Pygmalion Series. 1868-70. Oil on canvas. Joseph Setton Collection, a private collection in Paris, France.

“The Hand Refrains”, Pygmalion and Galatea: Series I-IV (1875-78), is the second painting in this series and may be viewed at the Birmingham City Museums & Art Gallery in Birmingham, England.

SPECIAL PACKAGES

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Priced for the individual, small company or non-profit organization needing to establish a basic internet presence — a site that is visually pleasing and functional for both communications and marketing. If you are unclear about the need for these services, read through the FAQs page.

These packages are for those who do not have a domain name, web host or existing web page — nada, zip, nothing.

Business Card Web Presence
An economic way to get started on the Internet. This package is a low cost way of getting your business out on the World Wide Web.

  • One year web hosting – www.pygmalion.ws/YourCompany
  • 1 page (400 words maximum text provided by you)
  • Images and logo provided by you
  • Inclusion in Pygmalion Design’s link list$100 development fee
    $30 annually after the first year (for web hosting and one free text information change per year)

Expandable Starter Package

  • Permanent domain name, (www.yourname.com) the annual registration fee is included
  • Full featured web hosting for first year included ($100 per year after the first year). Setup included.
  • Unlimited Email xxx@yourname.com (POP3 and webmail, Alias, Autoresponders, and forwarding accounts)
  • 3-page website design, plus 3 changes after pages approved.(including metatags, ready for search engine registration)
  • Custom html & page counter and hit statistics
  • Images and logo provided by you. Scanning or modifying for the web provided.
  • Color printout of your site, digital copy of all files and scans and setup and maintenance documentation$450 Development Fee
    $100 annually after the first year (for domain name and web hosting)

A Little Bigger Package

  • Permanent domain name, (www.yourname.com) the annual registration fee is included
  • Full featured web hosting for first year included ($100 per year after the first year). Setup included.
  • Unlimited Email (POP3, Alias, Autoresponders, and forwarding accounts – all created through your own web-based control panel)
  • 5-page website design, plus 5 changes after pages approved.(including meta tags, ready for search engine registration)
  • Custom html (home page and secondary page design) & and statistics
  • 3 Custom Java script (eg. time & date, rotating images, etc.)
  • Custom logo design
  • Photos and images provided by you. Scanning or modifying for the web provided.
  • Color printout of your site, digital copy of all files and scans and setup and maintenance documentation$600 development fee
    $100 annually after the first year (for domain name and web hosting)

The Biggest Package

  • Your own permanent domain name, (www.yourname.com) the annual registration fee is included
  • Full featured web hosting for first year included ($100 per year, billed annually after the first year). Setup included.
  • Unlimited Email (POP3 and webmail, Alias, Autoresponders, and forwarding accounts – all created through your own web-based control panel)
  • 10-page website design, plus 5 changes after pages approved. (including meta tags, ready for search engine registration)
  • Custom html (home page and secondary page design) & and statistics
  • 1 Contact form
  • 3 Custom Java script (eg. time & date, rotating images, etc.)
  • Custom logo design
  • Photos and images provided by you. Scanning or modifying for the web provided.
  • Color printout of your site, digital copy of all files and scans and setup and maintenance documentation$900 Development Fee
    $100 annually after the first year (for domain name and web hosting)

Optional Add On Features
(check average rates page, call 253-761-8455, or email for price)

Any option below may be added to a special package

  • Special Online Forms (contact, registration, etc.)
  • Custom Built and/or
  • Additional web pages designed
  • Shopping Cart for secure ordering by your customers
  • Animated Banner Ad Design (For your site or to be used with a banner exchange program)

FAQs

1. How much do your services cost?

This depends upon two main factors; the size and content of your site. Standard small business or non-profit organization web sites will contain between 3-10 pages and will be comprised of a combination of text and graphics. A database is usually used for those with a product line to sell. These types of sites generally cost more. Sites that require additional hand coded pages, custom scripting or the implementation of numerous custom graphics will cost more based upon the work involved.

2. How long will it take to build my web site?

Standard business sites will be completed within a two week period. Larger sites requiring more complex design strategies will take a bit longer. Sites that only require minor changes can be done in several days.

3. What should my site should look like?

Why is the site being built? What information are you trying to convey through your web site? Who is your target audience? A site geared towards elderly people will have a much different look and feel than a site designed for children. Ultimately, you want your audience to feel comfortable and connected within your site. Do you have an existing logo or color scheme? Once you have a clear idea why you’re doing this and for whom, we can discuss designs that will attract your audience and meet their needs.

4. How big does my site need to be?

This is really dependent upon the purpose of the site and how well you organize the content. The best way to approach this is to write down everything that you want people to be able to find out from your site. Once everything is on paper, organize this information into smaller groups. Through this approach you can generally determine how many pages your site will contain.

5. How do I obtain my own web address?

In order to get your own unique web address, also known an a URL, you must register the name through one of many name registration services. This is called DNS (Dynamic Name System) Registration. One of the primary services is networksolutions.com; another is register.com. Go Daddy is very inexpensive, and works equally well.

If you wanted to use www.special.com, you would first have to check with any registration company to verify that nobody else is using that name. If the name is available, you can register and reserve the name immediately with a credit card. Name registration fees run $5-$35 per year, they are a commodity. Alternately, DNS Registration is included with any of the Pygmalion special packages.
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6. Once my site is built, how does it get on-line?

A web site is basically a combination of HTML files (web pages) and graphics, and maybe a database. In order to be able to view your site, these files and images need to be uploaded to a server or host, which is essentially a specially configured computer with a fast connection to the internet. Many companies offer hosting services and charge monthly fees depending upon the size and nature of your site. It’s important to realize that the least expensive hosting services are not always the most dependable and may not provide services you need. Which company will host your site is up to you. Pygmalion uses a service that is feature filled and dependable. The annual cost is $100, which is also one of the most reasonable rates you will find. Whether you want your own domain name or not, both types hosting services are covered in the special packages.

7. How will people find my site online?

Metatags that will promote search engine placement are included in the web design. A natural “proliferation” of your site happens (over several months) because of how “search bots” functions.

A way to assist people to find your site online is to register your site with search engines. Again, there are many companies that offer these services and their prices run anywhere from a hundred to several thousand dollars. These services sometimes guarantee high placement on the search lists. Depending upon the nature of your business, you must decide how important it will be for people to be able to find your web site through search engines. Pygmalion initially submits to several major search engines as part of the development process.

In addition, incorporate your web address as part of your standard business information. This would include adding it to business cards, letterhead, advertisements, brochures, answering machine messages, checks, etc. Submit links to related professional organizations and local and regional chamber of commerce type organizations. The number of links to and from your site increase your visibility.

8. What if I already have a site but simply want changes?

I offer site redesigns for existing sites. This generally involves analyzing your existing site with you and determining what could be done to improve your site. Fees for this services are either billed on a project fee or hourly fee, depending upon the nature of the work.

9. Who will be responsible for updating my site?

While some sites require more changes than others, all sites need to be maintained on some level. Whether it’s to update an image, improve a description or introduce new products or events, web sites require attention. If you keep your content fresh and current, viewers will be more inclined to return. Web maintenance services are available for a flat monthly/annual rate or an hourly fee. The fee depends on the nature of the changes and how often they will be required.

If your organization has the resources to assume the maintenance chores, mention it early in the planning process. Features can be built into your site design that will assist you to make your own changes.

10. Who owns the rights to the site?

You will have sole ownership and copyright authority over the site’s content. Once your site is up and running, you will be provided with access details, all original work and your site backup on a CD.