Armies of the War of the Triple Alliance

Those of you who read Richard Marcinko’s Rogue Warrior are probably familiar with the problem of third world armies; peasant soldiers and playboy officers. Whether you’re in Latin America, Africa, or the Middle East, you’ll see that the officers get their jobs through patronage and are treated like princes, while the soldiers are from poor families and they get treated like slaves. In this book, the writers and illustrators pull no punches; they don’t attempt to flatter.

Armies of the War of the Triple Alliance is all about the uniforms of Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil during Latin America’s wars of the mid-1800’s. As with all Osprey books, the illustrations are perfect and well-researched, but in this one they’re comical. They make the officers look like an overdressed parade crew, while the soldiers look like a biker gang. The “troopers,” if you prefer, were probably from the Indian classes, and their uniforms are really peasant clothes, and I’d wager they were better for the climate and the terrane. Some of the lower-ranking troops had fancy uniforms, like the French Zuaves, with baggy red trousers and green jackets. You wonder how the army paid for fancy uniforms, but it doesn’t say.

Another issue covered in the book is the regular soldier versus the tribal fighter. The Gauchos, for instance, came into the service already trained in horsemanship, so they’d be in demand for an army that can’t afford the time and money to train cavalry. Here we have a funny illustration of a Gaucho splashing two grandly-attired men as he rides through the mud, rightly oblivious to the men shaking their fists at him. I say, why wouldn’t he be oblivious? Cavalry are in big demand, so the lazy officers probably have to give him whatever he wants.

This book says that more soldiers died of disease than in combat, thanks to malaria, dengue fever, yellow fever, food poisoning, typhoid, dysentery, and a host of other diseases. They’d be dead from the filthy water before they could fire a shot, and unless they’d lived in the swamps all their lives, they’d have no immunity to mosquito-borne diseases. The uniforms also reflect some of the incompetence surrounding the armies’ failure, with regard to practicality. If the clothing followed the fancy Spanish styles, what use would they be in the tropics? If they were not meant for rugged work, wouldn’t they wear out quickly? Who would pay for them to be replaced?

I would have high school students read Armies of the Triple Alliance if they’re studying Global History. Along with this book, they should read Modern African Wars and The Chaco War (also from Osprey Publishing) to get a good feel for the military problems of non-western nations. The problem of having soldiers trained to march in parades versus soldiers who are trained to fight would factor again when Pancho Villa fought the Mexican army, and again when Israel fought her Arab neighbors.

Getting Your Sh*t Together: The Ultimate Manual For Every Practicing Artist

Though nobody wants to acknowledge it, a working artist (performing or other) ends up with as much work as they do their “art.” You have workspace, material costs, and exhibitions to organize, and if you want to show your work in galleries, you’ll have to get past the picky and snotty gallery owners. If you want to market your own art, you’ll need a business plan and forms. It can be aggravating.

Karen Atkinson begins her book Getting Your Sh*t Together by creating a checklist for personal goals. She advises the reader to make a diagram showing all the possibilities, including galleries, freelancing, agencies, etc. Then she advises choosing which ones are the most feasible, giving your economic and personal situation. Further chapters cover resumes, portfolios, photographing your artwork, and shipping artwork.

I recall a gallery in New York’s Chelsea neighborhood, where the director advised me on painting sizes. Her customers wanted nothing bigger than 18x24 inches, because most New Yorkers don’t have room for a bus-size painting. If you read Art Studio America, you can see how sculptor Artis Lane does her small statues in her kitchen, and her pieces are rarely more than 2 feet tall. If large works were her intention, she’d need a larger studio space, and that would incur rent, transportation costs, assistants, etc. Atkinson advises going through all these factors before you even start a project.

Studio space gets a full chapter in this book, and as usual, it begins with a questionnaire about the pros and cons. How much can you afford to spend on a studio? What kind of electricity will you need? What about sharing a studio? After going over all the possibilities, I wondered if it’s worth bothering about. Why not just make small drawings at home? If nobody buys your paintings, storing them will be a b*tch. Unless you’re painting with oils or using spray paint, you should be able to do your art in the kitchen.

This is a great book for a working artists, or anyone who’s considering making some money on the side from their art. It treats art professions as serious business, and expects the artist to behave in a businesslike way. However, there is one thing missing, and that is the case study. There were few, if any, examples of real-life artists making a living from their art, and I think that they can help drive the point across. I thought of Lucy Knisley, the cartoonist responsible for the wonderful autobiography Relish: My Life in the Kitchen, and how she does all her art at home. She would’ve made a great profile to illustrate the home studio.

Secret Paris

Paris is an old city that follows an ancient street plan. Unlike New York City, it’s not plotted in a grid, so you’ll have lots of sharp turns, narrow alleys, and odd shaped buildings. While Paris does have wide boulevards and avenues, there are still many areas that follow the old map. Parts of the Rue Saint-Denis are higher than others, and according to this book, it’s because the street used to be the rampart of a fortress. The church of Saint Joseph Des Carmes contains the bones of Catholic Bishop who were murdered in the revolution. They were buried, but the Paris building boom of the 1800’s cut through the cemetery, so the bones were moved into a crypt. It’s creepy, but then again so is most of Paris, since everything is so cramped.

The Rue de Blanche gets its name from the plaster that used to be quarried nearby and blanch the street as it fell from the carts. The plaster from that quarry was heat-resistant, and that’s why Paris rarely suffered from huge fires. There’s a firehouse on the street, with a climbing grape vine on the property, and every year there’s a wine-making festival on the site, but a non-alcoholic wine, so you won’t see any statues of Bacchus. As for the plaster, that’s where the term “plaster of Paris” comes from.

Perhaps some of the charm of Paris has to do with the fact that the old streets still exist. The wide boulevards were plowed through the city during the time of Louis Napoleon, but he did manage to leave some old bits behind. The Paris of The Red Balloon is mostly gone now, because those old buildings were old and collapsing, but much of the city still stands as it did 100 years ago. One funny thing not mentioned in this book; when Barefoot In The Park was staged in Paris, the setting had to be changed from a 4^th floor to 9^th floor walkup. Old Parisian buildings were built before elevators, and for the Parisians, four flights of stairs was NOT an inconvenience!

Scottish Pewter 1600-1850

The churches in Scotland were some of the biggest consumers of pewter cups and pots in the late 1600’s. Piles of cups and pots were needed to accommodate the hordes that descended on the churches for baptisms, communions, and other sacraments, and since the nobility were sometimes prohibited from using private chapels for baptism, the crowds would be in the local church. Once it was silver cups that were used for communions, but after the Reformation reached Scotland, and smaller churches sprang up, you had congregations that couldn’t afford silver. The market for pewter increased.

For merchants of wine, beer, and other liquids, mass-produced pewter cups and lavers became essential. Since alcohol was often taxed, they needed a standardized cup that would always have the same measurement inside. There were standard pewter cups for ale, wine, and other alcoholic drinks common in Scotland, and some were custom made with a particular enameled emblem of the city or the merchant.

Pewter was always a cheap alternative to silver. It has a low melting point, so it’s easier to smelt, and it’s an alloy. So it can be made of several different metals, never reliant on anything in particular. Since it was cheaper than silver and stronger than ceramic, it was great for anything that required rough wear (like rowdy pubs.) The author, Peter Spencer Davies, is not an art historian, but a collector. He writes this book from the perspective of someone who appreciates fine antiquities.