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I heard a very beautiful poem read this week, by David Kinloch, from his collection Finger of a Frenchman (2011). It imagined the life of Esther Inglis (1571-1624), a Scottish calligrapher, miniaturist, and embroiderer. The poem was as delicate and carefully structured as the pieces that Inglis made, and was very moving -- as was the poet's commentary on it, talking about how she gestured at authorship, when words were considered male and images female. She produced very exquisite, tiny volumes of pious writings (most notably her productions of the Psalms) to try to sell to patrons (not hugely successfully -- of course she died penniless), illustrating and stitching around the letters. It really was gorgeous, as you can imagine from these images (all images are from the Folger Shakespeare Library, which holds some of Inglis's pieces). I love the way she has written, in her delicate hand, 'written and limd by me, Esther Inglis' -- such a poignant leap into the future, akin to Robert Browning shouting his name at the end of the one recording there is of him reciting a poem. Apparently, this is also the first identified Scottish self-portrait.

All images: Folger Shakespeare Library