© Bryan Anselm for The New York Times
© Bryan Anselm for The New York Times
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# cmd
*\Chrome\Chrome-bin>start chrome.exe --user-data-dir="../User Data"
# chrome://version
命令行chrome.exe --user-data-dir="../User Data"
可执行文件路径*\Chrome\Chrome-bin\132.0.6834.111\chrome.exe
----------------------------------↑这怎么多了个版本号，关键这目录下就没有这程序
个人资料路径*\Chrome\User Data\Default
看了下此板块的帖子,现在依然可以开启 V2,并没有被彻底禁用掉. 由于是新装的系统,旧的都没了.
应用商店里下载的,现在全部都是 V3. V2 版现在去哪里下载呢?
例:AdGuard,AdBlock 都行
浏览器版本是 141.0.7
By international disagreement, last Sunday morning the UK, along with Europe, set its clocks back an hour from British Summer Time to good old GMT, and this coming Sunday it’s the turn of most of the US to do the same. Unless you’re in Hawaii or Arizona (excluding the Navajo Nation), which apparently don’t take part in this bizarre ritual. This is marginally better than ancient Greece, where adjacent cities kept separate and discoordinated calendars even though their sundials might have remained in sync.
While Macs should take this all in their stride, there’s one feature that twice every year throws its hands up in horror leaving you to work around it, the log show command. Whatever you’re doing in the small hours when the clocks go back or forward, don’t try accessing log entries written during those couple of hours or you could be sadly disappointed.
When clocks go forward in the Spring, log show just skips an hour, leaving a void in the fabric of time. But when they go back, a whole hour occurs twice, and wreaks havoc with the log. That’s another time feature subject to general disagreement, when to change to and from summer or daylight saving time. In the UK and Europe, that’s undertaken at 01:00 UTC (or, in the UK, GMT), while in the US it’s at 02:00 local time. It’s surely confusing enough that clocks change simultaneously across the whole of Europe, but to know when those in a US state are due to change you also have to know the local time before they change.
To see how bad this is, after the dust had settled on the system clocks of two of my Macs last Sunday, I dared to look with two log browsers, Ulbow that relies on the log show command, and LogUI that has better sense and calls the OSLog API direct.
Accessing the log using Ulbow, there was no problem around 02:00 or 01:00 GMT (if you must, UTC), when you might have expected the clock change to have had greatest impact. On both Macs running here at the time, it was exactly 01:49:02 GMT or BST that the log fell over. Calling for a single second of the log at that moment elicited over 300,000 entries on one Mac, and just short of four million on the other.
Whatever logoclysm strikes at that moment is over in the twinkling of an eye. Step back a second or two and you’ll see normal log entries reported in the previous time (here, BST +0100), and step forward to see everything orderly and in new time (GMT +0000). Use LogUI instead of Ulbow, though, and you can’t even tell when local time was adjusted, as that app expresses all times according to the prevailing setting at the time you read the log.
There is a seldom-used option for the log show command in -timezone local, which displays all times in the current local time. Yet the default is for log entries to be “displayed in the timezone at the time the entry was written to source archive or file”, as explained in man log. In some circumstances that may make entries more readable, but at least twice a year it causes chaos, and I’m puzzled why log show still makes that its default.
Although Apple doesn’t document it, I suspect that the Unified log, like other time-reliant subsystems in macOS, relies on Mach ticks since a clock datum. Because those are strictly monotonic, they can’t go backwards and cause the confusion seen here, unless of course you disable network time syncing and manually set your Mac’s clock to a time in the past (and even that is appearance rather than reversal). That used to occur on old Macs whose system clock relied on a small internal battery with a limited life. When that battery expired, the system date and time reverted to the datum of 1 January 1970, at the time the mark of a Mac that needed its battery replaced.
If you’re in the US, I wish you a smooth transition when your clocks go back this weekend, and hope you don’t need to access any entries in the log for the hour that time is out of joint.
© Ricardo Arduengo/Reuters
那年冬天，国际天文学联合观测网宣布，人类再次捕捉到一个“跨恒星访客”。
代号：3I / ATLAS。
它并非金属，也不像冰体。所有望远镜的数据都在闪烁、紊乱、跳跃。
有科学家提出，它的表面并非反光均匀，而是一种会散射观测波段的天然迷彩。
这意味着，它在主动隐藏自己。
天文学家称之为“被注视的凝视物”。
两个月后，一个名叫苏弋的工业设计师在社交媒体上发布了一张照片。
他掌心托着一个13厘米长的灰黑色小模型，表面布满刻意的不规则反光。
标题很简单：
照片下没有说明，也没有解释。
但第二天早晨，它就出现在各大科技博主与艺术账号的页面上。
短短几天，#ATLAS掌心体# 的话题播放量突破一千万。
人们惊讶地发现：这个模型拿在手里，会因角度与光线不同而不断改变亮度与轮廓，好像真的在呼吸。
没有任何机械结构，却让人产生一种“被凝视”的幻觉。
潮流品牌纷纷推出联名款、限量款，甚至高定银质版本。
3I/ATLAS 成了地球上最受欢迎的“掌心饰物”。
直到那时，人们才开始注意到模型命名里那个奇怪的后缀：SUiTHiNK。
起初只是粉丝在 Reddit 上随口猜测：
“是不是苏弋 think 的意思？他在表达‘思考的我’？”
很快，语言学与符号学圈子加入了讨论。
牛津大学的一位古文字学家在论坛上指出，SUi 在苏美尔语音节表中确有记录，对应音素「šù-i」，意为“手中之物”或“掌握的”。
而 THiNK 若取古日耳曼转写体系中「þenkaz」的变体，则可指“思想、意志”。
这两个词放在一起——SUi / THiNK——意外构成一种双重结构：
“思想被握于手中”
“手成为思想的延伸”
正好对应了那枚贴合掌心的模型。
一个名为《ATLAS分析草稿》的PDF文件在暗网流出，署名不明。
文件记录了苏弋受邀前往某个“国际天文资料保存计划”设计储存容器的过程。
文件被加密，只能读到部分片段：
「……他拒绝使用镜面金属，要求采用能分散反射的表层……」
「……他说它看我们的方式，与光的角度有关……」
消息曝光后，网友纷纷去翻苏弋的旧贴。
有人发现，在他早期设计的数个装置艺术中，常出现一种奇怪的结构：
不规则的反光面、内部空洞、可置于掌心的尺寸。
似乎他早在3I/ATLAS出现前，就在“模拟它”。
半年后，苏弋停止更新。
没有告别，也没有声明。
他最后一条动态是一张模糊的近景：
灰色反光面，指纹模糊，背景是实验室的冷光。
账号沉寂，模型销量却持续飙升。
ATLAS 成了新世代的“图腾物”——有人把它挂在胸前祈祷，有人说握着它冥想能听见低频嗡鸣。
心理学家解释那是“自我投射效应”，
可越来越多的视频声称，模型在暗处能“微微震动”。
一位梵文与苏美尔语双修的学者在学术会议上展示了一页《纳格·哈玛第文库》的边注。
那是一段13世纪的修订版手抄本，边缘用拉丁混写体标注着一个模糊的词组：
“SUI · THINC”
他解释说，古修士在这里用“sui”（自我）与“thinc”（思想、议会）并置，
象征“自我与思想的合一”。
而这页手稿讨论的主题正是——“被造物如何回望造物主”。
学者最后说：
“这并非巧合。有人在重新复写那一页。”
几个月后，一个匿名账户上传了一段短片。
画面是普通实验室，一枚3I/ATLAS模型被置于光谱仪下。
随着仪器启动，反射光像是被吸入某种结构中——
在高倍放大镜头下，模型表面出现了极细的刻痕，
排列成一种自相似的螺旋分布。
字幕写着：
「不是反射，而是记忆。」
短片很快被删除，但无数人下载、转发。
有科技频道尝试复刻实验，结果不同——有的只是普通塑料折射，有的却出现微光闪烁。
人们开始相信，真正的那批限量模型里藏着“某种东西”。
如今，3I/ATLAS 已成全球设计学院的研究对象。
有人研究其造型心理学，有人分析其符号学层次。
但没人再提那个名字——苏弋。
只有极少数人记得，他在一篇采访中留下过一句话：
“如果我们注视的东西，也在注视我们，那我们看到的，或许只是它让我们看到的部分。”
这句话如今被无数次印在ATLAS周边的包装盒上，
也被误以为是广告语。
而在某个收藏论坛上，一张从未公开的照片被匿名发出：
桌上放着数枚模型，灯光昏暗，镜头对焦在最后一排。
那些模型的反光形成一条微弱的线，连成一个英文单词——
RETURN.
模型由我使用 Midjourney、Tripo 设计制作；
短文由 ChatGPT 配合我完成；
首图为模型实拍，经 Banana 和 Snapseed 处理。
点击这里打印模型，祝大家玩得开心！
最近有个「理财产品」，叫理光 GR IV。
这台定焦相机小巧、可以随时放进兜里，滤镜诱人，选择多样，让它成了当之无愧的相机圈顶流之一。
但现实是，排队加价，一机难求。
没关系，如果你只是痴迷那种 GR 特有的味道，这里还有一台 GR 的「精神化身」——真我 GT8 Pro。
没错，我们熟悉的 realme，和理光联名了。
当一台 GR IV 的售价已经破万的时候，3999 元起步价的真我 GT8 Pro 就显得格外有性价比。
现在摆在我们面前的，就只剩一个问题： 这手机，到底学到了理光几分？
很多人以为，GR 的灵魂是滤镜。
是，但不全是。
GR 之所以是 GR，首先在于它提供了一套完整的体验逻辑——抬手就拍，是 GR 的关键。
打开真我 GT8 Pro 的相机，你会发现一个专门定制的「理光 GR 模式」。
放眼看去，这就是真我学习 GR 体验的成果：
在取景器底部，你只能在 28mm 和 40mm 两个焦段中切换，这是 GR 的经典配置。
28mm 是 GR 系列一贯以来的「人文之眼」，视角广阔，容纳环境；40mm 则是出现在 GR IIIx 的「观察之眼」，更专注，也更不打扰主体。
没有 2X、3X、5X，没有那些花里胡哨的变焦滑块， 这是一种「减法」，它强迫你用脚步代替变焦，去集中注意力思考画面。
抬头看，在屏幕顶部，你能看见「Snap」图标。
这是 GR 另一个标志性的功能。
简单说，它允许你「预设对焦距离」，比如 2.5 米，当你按下快门的瞬间，相机根本不需要对焦，直接拍下 2.5 米处清晰的画面。
这是「街拍神器」的灵魂——在街头，决定性的瞬间转瞬即逝。
等你举起手机、点击屏幕、拉动对焦框……那只打哈欠的猫早就走了，而「快拍」，就是为了消灭这个对焦过程，为了那个「非完美但真实」的瞬间。
realme 把这套逻辑原封不动地搬了过来，甚至还做了一个「沉浸式取景器」，隐藏所有 UI 元素，让你像用光学取景器一样，只专注构图。
到这里，我得说，realme 至少在「架势」上，已经学到了五成，它理解了 GR 不是一台相机，而是一种体验。
好了，架势摆好，我们再来看「味道」，这才是联名的「里子」。
真我 GT8 Pro 复刻了 GR 经典的五大胶片影调，我们挑三个最有代表性的，和 GR IV 硬碰硬。
正片 (Posi)
这是 GR 最受赞誉的模式，它的特点是色彩浓郁，影调硬朗，尤其对蓝、红色的表现力很强。
▲ 上：真我 GT8 Pro / 下：Ricoh GR IV
▲ 上：真我 GT8 Pro / 下：Ricoh GR IV
从对比来看，除了红色的亮度稍微低了一些，真我 GT8 Pro 与 GR4 的正片基本没有区别，颜色倾向、对比度和整体氛围都非常接近，可以说有九分相似。
结论：学到九成。
这味儿太正了，如果不是 100% 放大看，的确很难分辨，真我抓住了「正片」的精髓：浓郁但不艳俗，厚重且有氛围。
负片 (Nega)
如果说「正片」是热烈的，那「负片」就是柔和的， 它的饱和度偏低，对比度偏低，画面常有一种淡淡的忧郁感。
▲ 上：真我 GT8 Pro / 下：Ricoh GR IV
真我这边将负片的特点也抓得八九不离十——色调压得很准，绿色偏暖，对比度低，除了光比较大的时候，计算摄影的介入会让画面出现轻微差异，但整体风格是对的。
结论：学到八成。
到这里，我已经有点惊喜了，realme 确实在「全行业最深的一次影像联名」这句话上，花了大功夫。
高对比黑白 (Hi-Contrast B&W)
但别急，还有重头戏——高对比黑白，这是 GR 最别具一格的模式，来源于森山大道。
它的特点是极高的对比度，暗部死黑，亮部过曝，颗粒感强，这是力量感和冲击力的代名词，也是这次联名最难的考卷。
▲ 上：真我 GT8 Pro / 下：Ricoh GR IV
▲ 上：真我 GT8 Pro / 下：Ricoh GR IV
说实话，我觉得真我 GT8 Pro 的高对比黑白，还是有点「收着」——对比度没有拉到 GR 那么极限，颗粒也没有那么粗犷，但换个角度想，这样保守的高对比黑白模式也更容易上手，更不容易翻车。
结论：学到八成。
如果你是 GR 的忠实用户，总觉得对比度和颗粒还不够有味道，也别急——
GT8 Pro 几乎把 GR 所有的自定义参数都给你了。
在任何一个影调下，你都可以自定义调节：饱和度、色相、影调、对比度、锐度、明暗、清晰度，甚至还有「颗粒」的强度和大小。
你可以亲手把刚刚那个「干净」的高对比黑白，调得和 GR 一样极限，调完之后，你还能把它存为 U1、U2 这样的用户预设，最多支持 6 个。
有句俗话说：
玩 GR，就是玩自定义参数
而真我 GT8 Pro，的确是把精髓学了过来。
在看完了所有对比后，我们回到开头的问题。 真我 GT8 Pro 这次，学到了几成？
综合刚刚的表现来看，我的答案是，八成，甚至九成。
它在「形」上做到了复刻，将 GR 抬手就拍的体验尽力地移植了过来；
在「味」上做到了 90% 还原，算法在减少硬件差距，自定义给了多元化的可能。
老实说，realme 这个选择非常聪明——
这个以往并不以影像见长的品牌，正用风格化联名这条已经被验证的路径，快速杀入了这个大战正酣的市场。
现在，移动影像可谓是百家争鸣，有哈苏的厚重，有徕卡的德味，有蔡司的通透，又迎来了理光的多样化。
留给其他手机厂商的相机品牌，真的不多了。
#欢迎关注爱范儿官方微信公众号：爱范儿（微信号：ifanr），更多精彩内容第一时间为您奉上。
谢谢你，鳌拜。
真我GT8 Pro 的 ID 设计师游胜博在设计这款手机的准备工作里，第一个谢谢的人，是周星驰主演电影《九品芝麻官》里的大权臣鳌拜。
原因是他收到的真我GT8 Pro 设计需求只有八个字：既要性能，也要影像。
对于手机设计而言，方形以理性的形态暗喻性能，圆形以拟物镜头的方式呼应影像。虽然「既要又要还要的需求」是几乎所有人工作里的常态，但需求是二者兼得，现实是只能二选一的纠结困扰游胜博许久，直到一个画面突然出现在了他的脑中：
我全都要。
▲ 《九品芝麻官》剧照
一念心中起，顿觉天地宽。
首批拿到真我GT8 Pro 的用户，除了选择手机的配色之外，还有多种背部镜头Deco 形式可以手动选择，比如：
通过行业首创的机械拼装设计，这款手机在设计上不仅全都要，还通过 Deco 可拆可拼可换给了更多，甚至可以给到无限多可能性。
真我产品线总裁王伟 Derek 告诉了爱范儿这款手机设计的最底层逻辑：
手机行业设计的确越来越同质化，很多时候，后盖上的相机 Deco 成了唯一能体现各家手机区别的地方。无论是方是圆，只要和谐都是好设计，但我们想在此之上，做出一些更有意思、更有趣的东西。
如今非方即圆设计定式下，如果整个行业都在追求一种「最安全」的选择，那最终的结果就是所有人的产品都长得一样。这本质是设计上的懒惰，更是对用户的一种傲慢。
手机设计不该成为面无表情的「大众脸」。
真我GT8 Pro 的机械拼装设计，本质不是单纯为了炫技或者博眼球。背后是我们的一种尝试：我们想和用户一起玩起来，认可并鼓励年轻人个性化的自我表达。
它不仅仅是终结方圆之争，更是为了将设计的主动权交还给用户，把手机变成不撞款的大玩具，像高达或者乐高这样可以动手拼装。
真我GT8 Pro 不再仅仅是个工具了。从工具到玩具的转变，让冰冷的科技产品变成一个能与人产生情感连接的载体，甚至成为不可替代的「伙伴」。
圆规，矩尺，是最基础的工具，设计上也有一个最优解，从古至今，规和矩的大差不差，因而规和矩，也成了一种规矩。
但玩具不一样，去掉「实用」的包袱之后，它的设计可以天马行空汪洋恣肆。
掌握产品最终命运的真我产品线总裁王伟 Derek 其实也面临着真我GT8 Pro 的 ID 设计师游胜博一样的纠结，那便是手机作为工具本身，同时也要兼具创新的时候，产品定义和产品设计该如何取舍的问题。
手机行业不是没有模块化拼装手机的尝试，也有不少惊世骇俗的纯玩物设计，但大多已经变成了史料。
一款使用年限在两三年甚至更久的手机，恰好介于快消品和耐用品之间，流星般闪耀不是手机产品定义和设计的目的，年轻的真我品牌也不是一个叛逆的品牌，它还是想做一个品学兼优但也潮流爱玩的学生。
王伟 Derek 说：
我们思考的原点不是「怎么设计最安全」，而是「在约束的框架内，怎么把选择的权利还给用户，怎么做出年轻人喜欢的设计」。
真我GT8 Pro 是一款「严肃活泼」的产品，这个严肃要置于活泼之前，王伟 Derek 给产品和设计团队一再强调的准则是「真我的设计，不是另类的设计，是在主流审美之上，去主动寻找年轻人更喜欢的元素」。
这款手机首先要是一款好看好用，并不怪异的手机，然后才是一款可拆卸拼装 Deco，用户能自己 DIY，具有玩具属性的手机。
那些更具模块和拼装属性的手机之所以没有多少出货就销声匿迹，最主要原因就是可拼装和模块化成为了第一卖点，但是由此牺牲了续航，性能和影像能力，付出了太多空间和重量给模块化这件事。
因此，除了设计上不能另类，不能为了不同而不同之外，王伟 Derek 还定下了另一个准则：
我们做机械拼装设计时，首要的衡量标准是不能给体验带来负担。
游胜博说：
如果用户不做拆卸的过程，真我GT8 Pro 本身是一个非常完整、一体化的设计，当用户拿起螺丝刀操作时，它才会有结构化和这些元素。
我们想在确保可靠性、一体感的前提下，尝试给用户找回逐渐消失在主流产品中的一种「人机互动感」。
这些可以更换的 Deco 装饰组件的创新方案，几乎没有对机身的厚度和重量造成影响，用户通过拼装更换解锁的好心情与成就感这些情绪价值，最终是以可以忽略的代价换来的。
这依然是一款厚度和重量在旗舰机范畴内表现优秀，同时仍然有 IP69 防尘防水等级的手机。
▲ 随手机赠送的螺丝刀也才采用了真我的品牌色
用游胜博的话来说，他们想做的是，宁愿被 3 亿人喜欢并感觉这很「独一无二」的设计，也不愿做 30 亿人评价为「还行」的复制品。
这大概与真我手机目前的市场形势有关，这个成立只有 7 年的品牌，一方面以「年轻」为品牌精神，需要在设计上更大胆活泼，来契合受众的需求，另一方面，智能手机行业的竞争如此激烈，任何想做「小而美，小而酷」的品牌，都面临从小到无的风险，兵行险招以小博大在这个行业并不成立。
真我GT8 Pro 是真我极具野心的产品，影像上选择了和当下大热的相机品牌理光 GR 联名，全链路深度定制的理光 GR 影像系统让真我影像有了极具风格化的竞争力。设计上的方圆俱全，「逾规矩，也守规矩」形成的可玩性也是收敛的，既增加了对年轻受众的吸引力，也不会引起对性能与影像更关注群体的反感。
在这场讨论真我GT8 Pro 的设计采访中，我与王伟 Derek 和游胜博就「无用之用」这个话题讨论了许久。
「无用之用，方为大用」也有一个通俗的版本：泡泡玛特创始人王宁曾经说过，如果他们的玩偶内置了一个 U 盘的话，那肯定卖不了这么多，因为消费者只需要一个 U 盘，不会再去买第二个。正是泡泡玛特的盲盒玩偶没有实用价值，才能让消费者不断复购。
手机的特殊性在于它本身就是工具，必须「有用」，「无用之用」是否能为「大用」，是个待确定的命题。
但真我的特殊之处在于，它可能是所有智能手机品牌里最像泡泡玛特的，更敢于在设计上去探索、创新。
「真奇喵」是真我推出的潮玩 IP，由皮克斯电影的动画指导和角色开发师 Mark A. Walsh 设计，真我也为这个潮玩形象推出过不少实体潮玩周边，可以说是手机圈里的 labubu。
于公司业绩，或者手机功能来说，「真奇喵」能够提供的实用价值极为有限，做一个手机支架已经是它实用性的极限了，但真我在它身上却倾注了不少精力。
王伟 Derek 说：
如果我们不做手机，那我们肯定会去潮玩和潮流文化。
我们品牌基因的内核就是「潮玩」，就是「敢」，就是和全球年轻人在情绪上同频，我们不仅仅是卖产品，也在构建属于年轻人的文化社群。与《火影》、《画江湖之不良人》这些 IP 的跨界合作，打造自家 IP 「真奇喵」，或者和理光 GR 携手推进街拍文化，都是一脉相承的理念。
王伟 Derek 和游胜博把这些非工具意义的「情绪价值」提炼成为「有趣，有意思」，并且，从一开始，他们就认为这些情绪价值不是「无用之用」，而是「天生有用」：
手机已经成为每个人使用时间最长的物品，它已经具备了足够的功能价值，但当它同时成为一台「有趣」的设备时，它也许还可以给你提供情绪价值。
特别是如今，设计趣味已经成为手机行业的濒危物种。旗舰市场竞争中，「好看」已经成为基准线，「有趣」成为一种奢侈品。有趣的设计，必然是好看的，因为它充满了创意和故事；但好看的设计，未必有趣。
真我GT8 Pro 希望成为那部既好用又有趣的手机。
更具体来讲，机械拼装设计带来的「选择的权利」和「表达的自由」本身，就是一种珍贵的用处。他说：
设计可以没有「用途」，但是不能没有「用意」。现在大家追求了太多的效率和有用，但是真我还是愿意为难得的「有趣」投入成本。
因为，让人会心一笑的情绪价值，是这个同质化时代里最奢侈的体验。
游胜博自己是资深的潮玩、手办和拼装模型的玩家，所以更能理解这些产品带来的情绪价值，他认为这里的「有趣，有意思」用英语的 Interesting 和 Fascinating 表述更贴切，而不是简单的 Funny：
这遵循一个类似马斯洛需求的层次：首先要满足有用和好用的基本需求，其次是好看的心理需求，在此之上，我们才进一步探索有趣，去实现用户的自我认同和情绪价值。
▲ 真我GT8 Pro 概念设计图
简单讲，就是一家「如果不做手机就去做潮玩」的手机品牌，把自己的产品目标受众定在了「年轻爱玩，敢想有趣」的群体，赋予旗下产品更多的「情绪价值」，来打造品牌，以及获得市场的故事。
▲ realme X 「白蒜」和「洋葱」大师版
过去，真我有大量类似的产品，真我进入国内市场的第一款产品 realme X 选择了和设计大师深泽直人合作，推出了「白蒜」和「洋葱」大师版，在一众渐变色手机里呈现了经得起时间考量的独特意味。
后面的「点」和「线」，「水泥」和「红砖」等等大师版机型也足够独特，并且回过头看依然觉得饶有趣味。
与我个人而言，真我GT 大师探索版最为经典，它以行李箱为设计灵感，大胆地在手机背部采用了立体素皮造型，还原旅行箱起伏的流线格栅，暗合了当时人们对「诗和远方」向往的情绪。
与引领行业走向扁平化和冷峻未来主义的苹果不一样，真我一定程度上钟爱「实感」，白蒜和洋葱的植物纹理，「水泥」和「红砖」的奇妙触感，以及真我GT大师探索版对行李箱的立体还原，都可以用游胜博的一句话来解释：
真我不想设计一个剥离了一切情感的极简工具。
在真我GT8 Pro 上，如果把所有的装饰 Deco 去掉，相机模组的形状类似于一个机器人，这也是一个暗喻时代的设计巧合。
王伟 Derek 认为，机器人造型与当下 AI 时代的机器人未来感相映成趣。
▲ 取掉 Deco 之后，相机部分就变成了「机能罗伯特形态」
游胜博则解释这里面的巧合：
这个形态我们命名为「机能罗伯特形态」，但是这个造型并非刻意为之，只是「形式追随了功能」，因为内部空间和元器件堆叠的约束下，摄像头这么排布是最高效的，闪光灯和色温传感器的位置，又被内部巨大潜望式摄像头挤到了两边，恰好形成了这个造型。
可以说这是一种「未完成」的状态，也可以说是方与圆之外的一个意外，但不管如何，真我的产品总是希望用户能够获得这样的一种感受，联想起一种事物，获得一种情绪。
在 ID 设计师看来，这也可以呼应建筑里面的工业风，当工业风装修风格刚开始出现时，很多人认为水泥、管线外露的风格是未完成的毛坯房，但现在工业风成为一种被广泛接受的设计美学。原始的「机能罗伯特形态」献给追求硬核、坦诚、原始机械美学的用户。
这是一种「敢」，也是一种竞争策略。
王伟 Derek 认为，以真我目前的规模，如果只靠实用性和价格，很难去和 Top5 手机品牌竞争，但恰恰是行业不够重视的「情绪价值」给真我提供了核心价值：
呼应年轻人情感需求的独特情感共鸣和情绪价值，是无法用参数去衡量的，但它恰恰构成了用户对品牌热爱的基石，而不是停留在使用的层面。
这种在情绪价值上的投入不是没有回报，王伟 Derek 说，当时的真我GT 大师探索版，直到现在依然有很多用户在用，甚至是收藏。是因为用户看到了特别设计背后提供的情绪价值。
一个可以称得上有意思的地方是，真我GT8 Pro 有一个透明方形塑料装饰件「透明魔方」，塑料材质已经很久没有出现在旗舰手机的 CMF 选项里了。
也是一个「敢」字。
王伟 Derek 说：
真我GT8 Pro 的设计里，有意思，好看和符合可靠性标准是第一位的，材质在评判体系里排第二，材质可以是金属，也可以是透明塑料，还可以是 3D 打印材料。
好的设计不一定要花大钱，材质也不分贵贱，工艺决定价值。即便是这个「透明魔方」，我们也采用了顶级的处理工艺，质感就像打磨过的玻璃一样温润亲肤。
我们的目标不是用材料去溢价，而是想用设计和工艺来提供价值。
透明设计也是真我惯常使用的一个标志性元素，今年真我Neo7 Turbo 透明新生设计市场反馈也不错，作为 ID 设计师，游胜博的思考方向并没有禁锢在旗舰机的定式里，他说：
如果永远都用旗舰机应该用什么去思考材料，那手机只会出现铝合金、不锈钢、陶瓷等所谓高端材料了。
透明塑料材质的「透明魔方」是给用户一个不一样的选择，苹果也是透明材料的拥护者，早期的 Mac G4 外面就用了透明元素，大家也觉得也很酷啊。
其实透明元素挖掘一下，是很有意思的，现在 Geek 玩家喜欢的透明台式主机，二次元玩家喜欢的透明「痛包」，都是用透明来彰显个性。
在旗舰机上使用可换 Deco 设计，本身也是打破定式的想法，所以在金属件之外，再提供一个透明的选择也合乎情理，这更像是真我官方展示的一种「可能性」，就目前的市场反馈来看，这个透明 Deco 很受欢迎。
这便是前面说的：通过机械拼装设计，这款手机在设计上不仅方和圆全都要，还给了更多，甚至可以给到无限多可能性。
游胜博给爱范儿展示了满满当当一袋子测试用的可换 Deco 部件，有除了常见的金属和透明或者半透明塑料材质，还有原木，锻造碳，琥珀材质，夜光塑料材质，潮玩毛绒材质等等等。
甚至还有更抽象的在螺丝位置装饰香插，可以插线香（当然，这只是还未量产的设计师脑洞作品）……
其中有的很可行，有的只能自己 DIY 但没法作为工业批量产品，有的真我正在攻克工艺难题，力求后续上市。
比如，潮玩属性最大的毛绒 Deco 因为需要处理多个孔洞收边的问题，真我正在研究如何利用镭雕等技术让它既好看又不粗糙，力争后续推出市场。
游胜博也尝试了用锻造碳、原木等材料来制作Deco，发现多数木材的密度与纹理结构非常影响强度而不具备可靠性。
这其实意味着，虽然真我GT8 Pro 的本体研发已经完成，并正式发布上市，但它的设计仍是进行时，可以说永远都在 OTA，永远都有新东西可以尝试。
不光是在真我的办公室里，这项工作仍在继续，用户自己也可以参与其中。
真我不仅开源了这个可拼装 Deco 的 3D 打印资料，也正在和 3D 打印公司拓竹科技合作举办 Deco 设计大赛，这意味着用户在有条件的情况下，可以自行设计创造，也可以参与到这场共创之中。
这种进行时的状态会持续很久，因为此前模块化手机总是昙花一现，没有后续，但王伟 Derek 告诉爱范儿：
站在用户视角上打造的设计不该是昙花一现，我们也希望将其打造为真我GT 系列乃至真我品牌的标志性符号之一。
而站在 ID 设计师的角度来看，这一次真我GT8 Pro 的机械拼装 Deco，也是一个开始，本质上它是一种形式来表现「有意思」设计，是提供「情绪价值」的载体，而非为了可替换而可替换的举动，游胜博说：
我们追求的核心价值是「有意思」，可换 Deco 是这个概念下的一种实现形式。未来我们会持续追求有意思的东西，可换 Deco 是其中一条会继续探索的路。它可能会以简化、转化的不同形式延续下去，比如磁吸、旋转、卡扣等任何符合「有约束、好看、且能给用户惊喜」原则的方式，在以后的产品中呈现。
我们也希望用户或者第三方可以去做一些有趣的配件，这也是一个可持续发展的方向。
设计关乎权衡，要久处不厌又时时觉新，持续迭代的消费电子产品更要考量承续与创新，在此之上，真我还要考量「情绪价值」的命题……
采访中有一个问题与 Deco 部分无关，但精神又是一脉相承的，问题是「别家和专业影像联名的时候，都会把影像品牌突出显示，为什么真我GT8 Pro 上的 RICOH GR 标识却如此低调？」，王伟 Derek 说：
我们和理光 GR 有很多的互动和商议，最终呈现的方案，是我们双方都认可的、在美学上更优的呈现方式。
理光 GR 街拍一个很重要的原则是「不打扰」，我们也希望这个 RICOH GR 的丝印「不打扰」机身整体设计。
而且，理光 GR 相机的 GR 标识在镜头的右下角，我们也把 RICOH GR 放在了相同位置，这也是一种复刻。
克制，比放肆更难，但也会走得更远。
在「既要又要还要」的需求里，最难的，反而是知道「不要什么」。
#欢迎关注爱范儿官方微信公众号：爱范儿（微信号：ifanr），更多精彩内容第一时间为您奉上。
Time is central to any log, and with the high performance of the Unified log it’s fundamental. It’s also one of its most confusing aspects, particularly when you add time zones, seasonal clock changes, and clock synchronisation.
I believe each log entry includes the Mach absolute time (MAT) when that entry was made, and those form the log’s internal timebase. However, Apple doesn’t document that, there are alternatives such as Mach continuous time, and times exposed in the public OSLog API are limited to opaque Date structures rather than MAT. In contrast, the log show command can return a numeric field named machTimestamp that does appear to contain the MAT of that log entry.
The first complication with time is that MAT differs between Intel and Apple silicon Macs. While each increment in MAT represents one nanosecond in Intel Macs, in Apple silicon chips MAT ticks occur three times every 125 nanoseconds, or once every 41.67 ns. These are monotonic, in that they always move forward, so every subsequent tick count is greater than (or equal to) the previous ones, unlike wallclock time.
I have looked in detail at how this is reflected in times shown in the log when accessed by different methods, including that now used by LogUI. In practice, this means that the finest resolution of time in LogUI is 1 microsecond, which should suffice for almost every purpose.
While MAT can be useful for measuring differences in time with great precision, it doesn’t tell you the time in terms of real-world clocks, or wallclock time. Conversion between those relies on data stored in opaque timesync files stored alongside log files. Those are used to provide a wallclock time for each log entry when it’s obtained either through the log show command, or the opaque Date structure in the OSLog API that LogUI relies on. It’s here we encounter all the complexities of the wallclock, such as time zones, seasonal time corrections, and corrections to synchronise with global time references.
Times shown in log entries also need to match those set in the log browser. In practice that leaves two options for times shown in log entries: express them in the local time when they were saved to the log, or in the local time when they’re extracted from the log. By default, the log show command adopts the former, as does Ulbow because it gets its log entries using that command tool, but LogUI converts all times to local time when the log extract is obtained. log show does have an option --timezone local to synchronise entries to current local time, but that’s seldom used.
The only time measure that remains unaffected by system wallclock time adjustments is MAT. No matter how a wallclock time is expressed, though, there will always be a hiatus and the risk of duplicate times being given, for example with consecutive entries of08:26:16.140474+0100
08:26:10.043353+0100 === system wallclock time adjusted
08:26:10.044335+0100
If you’re using the log to measure time, and those measurements span a wallclock adjustment, you will need to make a manual adjustment to allow for that.
When times of log entries are expressed using the local time applicable when those entries were written, changes in time zone and seasonal adjustments become confusing. For example, these entries were written when the wallclock was advanced by one hour in accordance with the start of British Summer Time:2020-03-29 01:09:22.489149+0000 361080253974026
2020-03-29 01:09:22.489160+0000 361080253985232
2020-03-29 02:09:22.522734+0100 361080253990360 === system wallclock time adjusted
2020-03-29 02:09:22.522749+0100 361080254005593
2020-03-29 02:09:22.522913+0100 361080254170158
In each case, the wallclock date and time are given first, followed by the MAT (from an Intel Mac), demonstrating that the hiatus of one hour doesn’t affect the latter.
According to convention, Summer time adjustments across Europe are made at 01:00:00 +0000 (UTC). So in the Spring, clocks are put forward from 01:00:00 regular time to 02:00:00 Summer time. In North America, changes are made at 02:00:00 local, and usually on different days. Because of the way that macOS manages time, changes to the system clock will inevitably occur shortly after the officially set time, in that case nearly ten minutes later.
To avoid this confusion, LogUI expresses wallclock and control times using local time when those entries are extracted from the log. In that case, you’d see2020-03-29 02:09:22.489149+0100
2020-03-29 02:09:22.489160+0100
2020-03-29 02:09:22.522734+0100 === system wallclock time adjusted
2020-03-29 02:09:22.522749+0100
2020-03-29 02:09:22.522913+0100
as you would obtain that log extract when British Summer Time was already in force.
Converting from Date values stored in log files to strings expressed in local time isn’t something an app would want to repeat constantly, for example on the fly when scrolling through a list of 50,000 entries. LogUI therefore converts each time into text when it fetches those log entries. If you then save the log extract in JSON format, those times remain in that local form, and aren’t converted again if you open that file in a different time zone or seasonal time correction. If you want to retain times in their original format, so they’ll be converted into a later time zone, for example, save the log as a logarchive, to ensure that each time will be converted into text using the local time applicable when the extract is fetched from that logarchive. That should affect few users, and only in unusual situations.
log show command, and apps like Ulbow that use it, give the wallclock time adjusted to local time when each log entry is written. That can result in confusing time sequences.
The greatest challenge in using the Unified log is how to navigate its many thousands of entries, to find those you want to read. Success depends on the combination of two aids: time and waypoints (or landmarks).
No matter how you obtain log extracts, you need to know when to look for those entries. The more precisely you can work out the time of interest, the quicker and easier it will be to locate the entries you’re interested in. While the log command offers alternatives, LogUI works throughout using the local time applicable when you access the log, allowing for your current time zone and any seasonal adjustment to it, when accessing the live log in that Mac.
However, the underlying times given in log extracts are those recorded by the Mac or device whose log you’re accessing. If its system clock was five minutes slow when those entries were written to its log, then you need to allow for that. For example, when I first started my Mac yesterday its clock might have been 1 minute slow. An event that occurred at 10:56 yesterday by the room clock would therefore appear in the log entries for 10:55.
One important time you can discover is the boot time of the Mac. Mints offers a Boot button to retrieve boot times over the last 24 hours. If the logs were written by a different Mac or device, then you’ll need to search for the time of that last boot. Fortunately the first two log entries are easily recognised:11:41:37.562774+0100 === system boot: D3CEA9B4-F045-434D-8D12-C6E794A02F14
11:41:42.758780+0100 kprintf initialized
The long gap between the first two entries is accounted for by the firmware phase of the boot process. If necessary you can search for a message containing === (three equals signs). Mints provides the time of the first of those for each boot, and its UUID.
There are two occasions when time can become confusing, when clock corrections are applied, and when clocks are moved forward or back to add or remove summer or seasonal time changes. Fortunately the latter only change twice each year, although when they do, you really don’t want to see what happened in the log, and those changes aren’t even applied at a predictable time.
Clock corrections, like kernel boot, are readily found by the === text in their message. They normally happen in pairs, with the first correction the larger, and the second often far smaller. Here’s an example seen in consecutive log entries:08:26:16.140474+0100 /usr/libexec/sandboxd[80] ==> com.apple.sandboxd
08:26:10.043353+0100 === system wallclock time adjusted
08:26:10.044335+0100 Sandbox: distnoted(72) deny(1) file-read-metadata /private
08:26:10.044601+0100 2 duplicate reports for Sandbox: distnoted(72) deny(1) file-read-metadata /private
08:26:10.044606+0100 Sandbox: distnoted(72) deny(1) file-read-metadata /Library
08:26:10.089204+0100 === system wallclock time adjusted
08:26:10.091850+0100 started normally
The first adjustment dropped the clock back by 6.1 seconds, from 08:26:16.140474 to 08:26:10.043353. This means that you’ll see times of 08:26:12 both before the correction and afterwards. The second adjustment, from 08:26:10.044606 to 08:26:10.089204, was far smaller at 0.045 seconds, and at least went in the right direction.
The most substantial clock corrections are made shortly after booting. Although macOS does make them later, the size of those should be smaller.
Even working with times resolved to the second, those can still leave you browsing thousands of log entries. To locate more precisely you need details of one or more entries that will be sufficiently distinctive to focus in on a few dozen. These are waypoints for navigation.
LogUI provides three methods for locating these waypoints:
These are best used when the time period of your extract needs to be relatively long, so would return a large number of entries. For example, if you can only narrow the time down to several minutes, and are looking for the time that a specific app was launched, you can look for that app’s job description when it’s created and written to the log by RunningBoard.*
Over a period of two minutes, RunningBoard might write thousands of entries in the log, so looking for your app’s job description among them would be time-consuming. Set the start time and period to cover the whole of the time you want to search, then set a predicate for the subsystem com.apple.runningboard.
When LogUI fetches that log extract, there might still be over 2,000 entries, so now is the time to apply search text to filter those further.
To filter those 2,000 entries and show only those containing job descriptions created by RunningBoard, enter the text constructed job in LogUI’s search box, with its menu set to Messages, and press Return. You’ll now see that list reduced to just a handful, and looking through them you can discover exactly when your waypoint occurred.
My example for this article starts with a period of just 2 minutes, in which there were more than 100,000 log entries.
Using the com.apple.runningboard predicate whittled those down to 13,443 entries.
Searching within those for constructed job left me with just 8 entries to look through.
Sometimes you can’t devise the right combination of predicate and search filter to discover what you’re looking for, which might be an error reported in a subsystem or a process that you can’t identify. One good way forward is to narrow your log extract as much as you can, then save the extract as Rich Text, open that in a suitable editor, and search through it for the word error. That will discover every log entry containing the word error anywhere, rather than confining it to the message text.
Armed with your waypoint and the exact time of its entry in the log, you can now set that as the start time, set a period of a couple of seconds, and get a full log extract containing all the detail you might need. This should give you further clues to allow you to move through time using predicates and search filters to discover what happened. This is much quicker and less frustrating than trying to scan through thousands of log entries in search of vague clues.
* Sadly, the days of being able to access freely RunningBoard’s informative job descriptions in the log are over. As of macOS Tahoe, all you’ll see is the dreaded <private> of censorship. If you want to examine these now, you’ll have to remove log privacy protection first. Thanks, Apple, for providing such useful tools then rendering them next to useless.
The Forest of Fontainebleau covers an area of about 250 square kilometres (almost 100 square miles) to the south-east of Paris. It’s mixed deciduous woodland, much of it ancient, with a royal castle at its centre. Around the edge of the forest are several small villages that have attracted painters since the early nineteenth century, and inspired two schools of painting: Barbizon, named after the village where most of its adherents gathered, and Impressionism. This weekend I show some of their paintings, starting today with examples from the Barbizon period up to the early 1860s.
The forest has been a favourite hunting ground for French kings, and for the Emperor Napoleon.
Among the paintings of François Flameng showing the Napoleonic period, one of the most striking is this scene of Napoleon Hunting in the Forest of Fontainebleau, where the pack is closing in on a cornered stag as the sun sets.
The royal castle, Château de Fontainebleau, was later used by Napoleon III for receptions.
Jean-Léon Gérôme articulated Napoleon III’s aspirations for empire in his elaborate formal painting of the Reception of Siamese Ambassadors by Napoleon III (1864), depicting the grand reception held at Fontainebleau on 27 June 1861. Gérôme attended in the role of semi-official court painter, made sketches of some of the key figures, and was further aided by photographs made by Nadar. He also included himself, and the older artist Ernest Meissonier (1815-1891), in the painting: I believe that they are both at the back, at the far left.
Achille Etna Michallon was one of the first great landscape artists to paint en plein air in the forest. His study of The Fallen Branch, Fontainebleau from about 1816 anticipates the Barbizon School in its motif, style and location. This large branch looks more like a dying animal.
A decade later, the British artist Richard Parkes Bonington visited briefly and both sketched and painted In the Forest at Fontainebleau (c 1825). The rocks here are particularly painterly, suggesting that this may have been started, if not completed, in front of the motif.
Towards 1830, inspired by the paintings of John Constable, several young French landscape painters started visiting the forest. The first was probably Camille Corot, who first painted there in 1822, and returned in earnest in the Spring of 1829, after his long stay in Italy to learn plein air painting technique in the Roman campagna.
In Corot’s Fontainebleau Forest (The Oak) from about 1830, the twisted limbs of the oak have taken time and care, sufficient to give texture and shadows to the trunks and branches. Where the canopy is more broken he painted the leaves in considerable detail.
Corot was joined by Théodore Rousseau, Constant Troyon, Jean-François Millet, Paul Huet, and later Charles-François Daubigny and Henri Harpignies. Although many of their paintings were made in the forest, few have been located with certainty.
When Harpignies was on the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau, he painted largely en plein air, including this fine view of Fir Trees in Les Trembleaux, near Marlotte from 1854.
The great animalière Rosa Bonheur lived on the edge of the forest, where she painted some fine watercolours, including her Deer in the Forest of Fontainebleau (1862). By that time, the next generation was getting ready to take over from the Barbizon School.
The humble domestic chicken is probably the most common and widely distributed farm animal. It originated in about 8,000 BCE in south-east Asia and spread its way steadily across every continent except Antarctica. It probably reached Europe before the Roman Empire, and since then has been commonplace. Perhaps because of its small size and frequent presence, it features in relatively few paintings.
The cruel sport of cockfighting accompanied its spread, and is depicted in Jean-Léon Gérôme’s first successful painting in 1846.
This motif had started from a relief showing two adolescent boys facing off against one another. Gérôme felt he needed to improve his figurative painting, and after Delaroche’s advice decided to develop that image by replacing one of the boys with a girl. In both Greek and English (but not French) the word cock is used for both the male genitals and a male chicken, and the youthful Gérôme must have found this combined visual and verbal pun witty and very Neo-Greek.
There’s a curious ambivalence in its reading too: two cocks are fighting in front of the young couple. Is one of the birds owned by the girl, and if so, is it the dark one on the left, which appears to be getting the better of the bird being held by the boy? Either way, it’s a lightly entertaining reflection on courtship and gender roles, and a promising debut. The Cock Fight earned Gérôme a third-class medal, and he sold the painting for a thousand francs. With the benefit of favourable reviews from critics, the following year brought him lucrative commissions, and a growing reputation.
A dead chicken plays a significant role in one of Rembrandt’s most famous group portraits.
His vast group portrait of The Night Watch (1642) is the most famous of all those of militia in the Dutch Republic. It features the commander and seventeen members of his civic guard company in Amsterdam. Captain Frans Banninck Cocq (in black with a red sash), followed by his lieutenant Willem van Ruytenburch (in yellow with a white sash) are leading out this militia company, their colours borne by the ensign Jan Visscher Cornelissen. The small girl to the left of them is carrying a dead chicken, a curious symbol of arquebusiers, the type of weapon several are carrying.
For a young child, cockerels can appear large and threatening, as used by Gaetano Chierici in a delightful visual joke.
His undated painting of A Scary State of Affairs calls on our experience of the behaviour of cockerels and geese. An infant has been left with a bowl on their lap, and their room is invaded first by cockerels, then by those even larger and more aggressive geese. The child’s eyes are wide open, their mouth at full stretch in a scream, their arms raised, and their legs are trying to fend the birds away.
Being among the most humble and everyday domestic species, chickens seldom make the limelight in religious narratives.
Murillo’s Adoration of the Shepherds from about 1650 is an exception featuring unusual additional details including the old woman carrying a basketful of eggs, and chickens in front of the kneeling shepherd.
In most paintings including chickens, though, they are just extras in the farmyard.
Paulus Potter’s Figures with Horses by a Stable (1647) includes finely painted horses, chickens, a dog, and distant cattle, with a magnificent tree in the centre and a sky containing several birds.
In Chickenfeed from 1867, Hans Thoma tackles this genre scene in a traditional and detailed realist style.
Alberto Pasini’s Market Scene from 1884 has an eclectic mixture of produce, ranging from live chickens to pots and the artist’s signature melons.
Évariste Carpentier’s undated Eating in the Farmyard, an example of the rural deprivation which sparked Naturalist art, shows two kids surrounded by animals and birds in this much-used space.
Here, Carpentier’s old woman is busy Feeding the Chickens.
Friedrich Eckenfelder’s Zollernschloss, Balingen from about 1884-5 shows a small yard just below the back of this castellated farm in Germany, with its lively flock of chickens.
Gustav Klimt had probably painted his first small landscapes between 1881-87, and returned to the genre more seriously in about 1896. This work, variously known as After the Rain, Garden with Chickens in St. Agatha, or similar, is thought to have been painted when Klimt stayed in the Goiserer Valley with the Flöge family in the summer of 1898.
Very occasionally, a chicken may come as something of a surprise.
Hieronymus Bosch’s Ship of Fools, a fragment from a larger Wayfarer triptych painted in 1500-10, is actually a small boat, into which six men and two women are packed tight. Its mast is unrealistically high, bears no sail, and has a large branch lashed to the top of it, in which is Bosch’s signature owl. Its occupants are engaged in drinking, eating what appear to be cherries from a small rectangular tabletop, and singing to the accompaniment of a lute being played by one of the women. A man has climbed a tree on the bank to try to cut down the carcass of a chicken from high up the mast.
In yesterday’s article, I looked at how William Blake’s late painted etching of The Ancient of Days isn’t what it seems, and tells a story unique to Blake’s personal mythology. This article looks an earlier work that until relatively recently was misidentified as a painting of Hecate.
According to Blake’s mythology, Enitharmon is partner, twin, and inspiration to Los, and mother of Orc. She is spiritual beauty, and her image here was most probably modelled on the artist’s wife Catherine. In The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy (c 1795), she establishes her Woman’s World, with a false religion of chastity and vengeance, which is Blake’s view of the 1800 year history of the ‘official’ Christian church.
As the moon to the sun of Los, she is accompanied by symbols of night, such as the owl and bat. She also plays the role of Eve, which may explain the head of a snake peering out towards her. The donkey eating thistles underlines Blake’s rejection of the ‘official’ church, and the two figures behind Enitharmon face in and bow their heads in guilt. The book on which Enitharmon’s left hand rests is Urizen’s ‘Book of brass’, in which his repressive laws are laid down.
If you didn’t know Blake’s mythology, identifying her as Hecate seems reasonable.
Stéphane Mallarmé’s drawing of a classical sculpture of Hecate, Greek Goddess of the Crossroads was engraved for his illustrated account of classical mythology published in 1880. This is her most conventional representation: fully triple-bodied, holding a key at the left, and torches to the left and right, with a symbol of the moon on her forehead.
Hecate has also been depicted more like Eve with a serpent, as seen in Francesco de’ Rossi’s fresco of her from 1543-45. He hints at her triple body with the heads on which she is standing, and she wears a coronet of the moon, her association with night, hence with the owl in Blake’s painting.
William-Adolphe Bouguereau flies his owls in support of a personification of the mythical Night (1883), as do others painting similar motifs. But the owl is also famously associated with Minerva.
Hendrik Goltzius shows a classical and fairly complete set of her attributes in his Minerva (as the Personification of Wisdom) from 1611: the owl, her distinctive helmet, here decorated with olive leaves, a spear, books, and great beauty.
Blake’s mythology has an elaborate and sometimes opaque genealogy. Los and his emanation Enitharmon have children, the first of whom is Orc. As Los is spiritual revolution, so Orc is revolution in the material world. Orc hates his father Los in an Oedipus complex of love for his mother Enitharmon. As shown in Los and Orc (c 1792–3) above, Los is driven to bind Orc to a rock on the top of Mount Atlas, using the chain of jealousy. Orc’s limbs then become rooted in the rock, pinning him there. This cannot prevent Orc’s imagination from raging, though, and permeating everything.
One of the fundamental concepts in Blake’s mythology is that of pairings: there are many elements with both male and female counterparts, the latter being termed emanations. These might take the generation of Eve from Adam as their prototype. Nowhere does Blake envisage a pantheon of gods, but stretches the Jewish and Christian concepts of a single God, going far beyond the Christian Trinity. These include expressions of God associated with particular eras, such as the vengeful God of the Old Testament, and those of particular interpretations that Blake deprecates.
William Blake wasn’t the only artist in Britain at the time who painted new stories. Henry Fuseli did too.
Fuseli’s painting of Percival Delivering Belisane from the Enchantment of Urma (1783) shows a narrative that the artist had invented for this painting. It appears to be one of a series, although only one other work has been identified as part of that, and that is only known from a print of 1782. He also preceded this series with a single painting of Ezzelin and Meduna (1779), referring to another unique narrative, which doesn’t appear to have any associated works.
Fuseli provides the viewer with a rich array of ‘Gothic’ narrative elements to form their own account of the story. There are visions of faces in the distance on the left, chains leading to an unseen figure apparently manacled into a bed at the right, Percival swinging a sword above his head, to strike the cloaked figure of Urma in the left foreground, and a beautiful young woman, presumably Belisane, embraced by Percival’s left arm, kneeling on the floor.
References
Blunt, A (1959) The Art of William Blake, Oxford UP.
Butlin, M (1981) The Paintings and Drawings of William Blake, 2 vols, Yale UP. ISBN 978 0 300 02550 7.
Damon, S Foster (2013) A Blake Dictionary, the Ideas and Symbols of William Blake, updated edn., Dartmouth College Press. ISBN 978 1 61168 443 8.
Vaughan, William (1999) William Blake, British Artists, Tate Publishing. ISBN 978 1 84976 190 1.
In the first article of this pair looking at paintings of windmills, I covered traditional views up to the first of the pre-Impressionists. This article takes this account from around 1850 up to the period between the two World Wars. Although the development of steam power during the nineteenth century brought great changes to many industries, windmills continued to flourish until the middle of the century, and even then they only declined gradually until the Second World War.
Samuel Palmer’s Summer Storm near Pulborough, Sussex from about 1851 refers to Dutch landscape painting, in a very Kentish context. A storm is seen approaching the rolling countryside near Pulborough, now in West Sussex. On the left, in the middle distance, a small bridge leads across to a hamlet set around a prominent windmill, whose blades are blurred as they are being driven by the rising wind.
Windmill styles differ outside northern Europe. When Jean-Léon Gérôme travelled down the River Danube in about 1855, he claimed to have witnessed this moving scene of Recreation in a Russian Camp, Remembering Moldavia (1855). A group of Russian soldiers in low spirits is being uplifted by making music, under the direction of their superior. Gérôme has captured an atmosphere which few of his other paintings achieved: the marvellous light of the sky, the skein of geese on the wing, and the parade of windmills in the distance, all draw together with the soldiers in their sombre greatcoats.
The following year, JC Dahl’s Burning Windmill at Stege is an unusual fire-painting following a traditional sub-genre of the Dutch Golden Age. Although painted well before Impressionism, Dahl echoes the red of the flames in the field and trees to the left of the windmill, and even in his signature.
During the winter of 1864, Johan Jongkind returned to the Netherlands, where he painted this Winter View with Skaters, which is more overtly pre-Impressionist.
Jongkind’s watercolour sketch of a Windmill at Antwerp of 1866 is even more painterly.
Claude Monet’s second visit to the Netherlands in 1874 ensured that The Windmill on the Onbekende Gracht, Amsterdam (1874) became a part of the history of Impressionism. This shows a windmill known as Het Land van Beloften, De Eendracht or De Binnen Tuchthuismolen, which was built in the late seventeenth century, and was moved from there to Utrecht just a couple of years after Monet painted it on the banks of the River Amstel.
Frits Thaulow’s painstakingly detailed View of Amerikavej in Copenhagen (1881) shows a windmill in the background, where it’s being used to provide power to the adjacent industrial site.
Volodymyr Orlovsky’s Ukrainian Landscape from 1882 shows one of the distinctive windmills on the elevated bank alongside a major river and its more populated floodplain to the right.
It may not have been Monet who first made the visual association between Dutch windmills and fields of tulips in flower, but his 1886 painting of Tulip Field in Holland must be its best-known depiction.
When Vincent van Gogh moved to Paris in 1886, he stayed with his brother Theo in Montmartre. He painted a series of marvellous views of the remaining windmills there, including the most famous of them all, Le Moulin de la Galette (1887), in whose gardens Renoir had painted his Bal du moulin de la Galette a decade earlier.
Paul Signac’s Rotterdam. The Windmill. The Canal. Morning (1906) is a Divisionist view of a windmill in the centre of this major port.
It was a Dutch painter who took windmills from Impressionism to the modernist styles of the twentieth century: Piet Mondrian.
Piet Mondrian’s gentle nocturne of Oostzijdse Mill on the River Gein by Moonlight from about 1903 is one of several views of windmills that he painted in Impressionist and post-Impressionist style.
When he started experimenting with vibrant colour and patterned brushstrokes in about 1908, this painting of a Mill in Sunlight marks his point of departure.
The Red Mill (1911) continues Mondrian’s move towards areas of flat colour. That year he left the windmills of Amsterdam and moved to Paris. To mark his move into the avant garde of that city, he dropped the second ‘a’ from his surname, going from Mondriaan to Mondrian. He became increasingly influenced by Georges Bracque and the Cubist works of Pablo Picasso, and the purely abstract paintings for which he remains well-known today.
Serhii Svitoslavskyi’s Ukrainian Landscape with Windmills, probably from about 1911, shows a small cluster of windmills with grazing livestock.
By the end of the First World War, milling grain had become more centralised, and the hundreds of thousands of small windmills across northern Europe lost their business. A few have been preserved, and some are still used for specialist products such as stoneground flour. But the unmistakable sight of a windmill on the skyline had been lost from much of the land.
During the 1930s, the Raviliouses started spending time in Sussex, where they became close friends with Peggy Angus, whose house The Furlongs at Beddingham, East Sussex, became a second home. Eric Ravilious became particularly fond of painting the chalk downs there, as in his Windmill (1934). This isn’t a windmill in the traditional sense, but a smaller wind-driven pump to extract water from the chalk, mainly for irrigation.
Gates as a means of access through the walls of fortified cities have ancient origins, but it wasn’t until the Etruscans and the Romans that they acquired their own deity, notably in the Roman god Janus with his two faces. His association with gates, and the start and end of war, gave rise to an interesting tradition in classical Rome: the gates at each end of an open enclosure associated with the god were kept open in times of war, and closed when the city and empire was at peace. Opening the gates of the temple of Janus was therefore a mark of starting a war.
In Rubens’ Temple of Janus from 1634, those gates, here imagined to be those of a temple, are being opened to let a warrior through to battle. Above that doorway is a statue of Janus with his two faces.
In Biblical narratives, the prominent account involving gates, other than those of heaven or hell, occurs at the start of the Passion of Jesus, in his triumphal entry into Jerusalem riding a donkey, since celebrated by Palm Sunday. This has been depicted in two significant works in the late nineteenth century.
Gustave Doré painted several versions of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem including this preparatory sketch, in preparation for his final huge version exhibited at the Salon in 1876, measuring 6 by 10 metres.
In 1897 Jean-Léon Gérôme painted his account of The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem. According to all four gospels, Jesus descended from the Mount of Olives, and as he proceeded towards Jerusalem, crowds laid their clothes on the ground to welcome his triumphal entry into the city. Aside from being one of the major events in the Passion to be shown in paintings, for Gérôme this may have had another reading. Just a few years earlier, his paintings were being welcomed by throngs at the Salon, and commanded huge sums when sold. A short time later, his work was largely ignored, and he may have seen himself as being prepared for crucifixion in public.
The gate of hell is featured in two of the major Christian literary works of the early modern period: Dante’s Divine Comedy (c 1308-1321) and John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667).
At the start of Dante’s Inferno, the ghost of Virgil leads the author to the gate of Hell. Inscribed above it is a forbidding series of lines leaving the traveller in no doubt that they’re going to a place of everlasting pain and tortured souls. This culminates in the most famous line of the whole of the Divine Comedy:
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate
traditionally translated as Abandon hope all ye who enter here, but perhaps more faithfully as Leave behind all hope, you who enter, and is seen written in William Blake’s own hand below.
It’s also William Blake who depicts Satan at the gates of hell in his paintings to accompany the second book of Milton’s epic.
Two versions, that from the Thomas set above, and below that from the Butts set, show Satan at the gate of hell, on his way out and heading for heaven.
Although the phrase pearly gates, derived from a description of the gate to heaven in the book of Revelation, has been in common use, few if any paintings have depicted them literally. However, in paintings of secular life they can have symbolic significance.
James Tissot painted The Farewells soon after his flight to London in the summer of 1871. This couple, separated by the iron rails of a closed gate, are in late eighteenth century dress. The man stares intently at the woman, his gloved left hand resting on the spikes along the top of the gate, and his ungloved right hand grasps her left. She plays idly with her clothing with her other hand, and looks down, towards their hands.
Reading her clothing, she is plainly dressed, implying she was a governess, perhaps. A pair of scissors suspended by string on her left side would fit with that, and they’re also symbols of the parting taking place. This is reinforced by the autumn season, and dead leaves at the lower edge of the canvas. However, there is some hope if the floral symbols are accurate: ivy in the lower left is indicative of fidelity and marriage, while holly at the right invokes hope and passion.
Edmund Blair Leighton’s Regency scene of The Elopement from 1893, shows a woman leaving home to run away with her lover, the oarsman in the boat. She closes the gate on her old life as she looks back and reflects, before boarding the boat in which she will start the journey of her new life.
Once the ripe grain had been cut, the crop had to be gathered into sheaves, then those were assembled into stooks for transport by cart to await threshing, mechanical separation of the precious grain from straw. The latter was an important building material, and was used as thatch for the roof of most country buildings across Europe.
Anna Ancher, wife of Danish painter Michael Ancher, caught this procession of Harvesters on their way to their work in 1905, near her home in Skagen on the north tip of Jylland (Jutland). The leader carries his scythe high as they pass through a field of ripe wheat.
Léon Augustin Lhermitte’s famous Harvesters’ Pay from 1882 shows four harvesters bearing their heavy-duty scythes, at the end of the day. They are awaiting payment by the farmer’s factor, who holds a bag of coins for the purpose. In the right foreground are two tied sheaves of cut wheat, with a lightweight sickle resting on them.
Adrian Stokes had further to travel for this golden view of Harvest Time in Transylvania (c 1909), one of many paintings that he and his wife made of their protracted visits to Eastern Europe.
By tradition on Norwegian farms, cut cereal wasn’t left to dry in low stooks, as in most of Europe and America, but built onto poles. In a series of paintings and prints, Nikolai Astrup developed these Corn Stooks (1920) into ghostly armies standing on parade in the fields, the rugged hills behind enhancing their strangeness.
John Linnell’s Harvest Home, Sunset: The Last Load (1853) shows the final wagonload of cut grain leaving the fields at dusk, as the harvest is completed.
Félix Vallotton’s The Sheaves from 1915 is one of his moving and symbolic images of the Great War. It’s late summer in 1914, harvest time, and the ripe corn is being cut and stacked in sheaves. But where are all those farmworkers, whose rakes rest against the sheaves, and whose lunch-basket sits on the ground ready to be eaten? Where is the wagon collecting the harvest, and why is the white gate in the distance closed?
In PS Krøyer’s Threshing in the Abruzzi from 1890, teams of oxen are trampling the crop to thresh it.
Jean-Léon Gérôme’s The Grain Threshers, Egypt (1859) also shows this as one of the more traditional employments for animals, here drawing a threshing sledge.
By the end of the nineteenth century, animals were being used as a source of power, as shown in Albert Rigolot’s painting of The Threshing Machine, Loiret from 1893. One of the early uses for steam engines was to power similar machines before they were made mobile under their own power, as traction engines.
Lovis Corinth wasn’t the only artist to have his own suit of armour. Rembrandt apparently bought at least one, while Jean-Léon Gérôme seems to have kept a suit hanging in his studio.
The End of the Pose (1886) is the first of Gérôme’s series of unusual compound paintings, which are at once self-portraits of him as a sculptor, studies in the relationship between a model and their sculpted double, and further forays into issues of what is seen, visual revelation, and truth.
Here, while Gérôme cleans up, his model is seen covering up her sculpted double with sheets, as she remains naked. Hanging against the wall behind is a complete suit of armour, and there is a single red rose on the wooden platform on which the model and statue stand.
Armour has occasionally been purely symbolic, most famously in the collaborative painting of Touch by Jan Brueghel the Elder and Peter Paul Rubens in their series The Five Senses from 1618.
Touch extends beyond its title to encompass other tactile sensory modalities. Heat is associated with a brazier, fine touch with brushes nearby. Much of the panel is devoted to a collection of armour, weapons, and their manufacture by gunsmiths and armourers. The many suits on display, seen in the detail below, appear to be equipment that isolates rather than stimulates the sense of touch.
During the nineteenth century, many painters looked back at the age of knights and chivalry, which inspired German Romantics, Pre-Raphaelites, and some of the last academic artists of the century.
The crusades presented Carl Friedrich Lessing with an ideal combination of mediaeval history, romance, and chivalry. In The Return of the Crusader from 1835, he shows a lone knight in full armour dozing as his horse plods its way up a path from the coast. Although his armour is still shiny, a tattered battle pennant hangs limply from his lance. This is based on a Romantic poem by the writer Karl Leberecht Immermann (1796-1840).
Edmund Blair Leighton’s Conquest from 1884 shows a stereotype knight in shining armour walking through an arch with its portcullis raised, a fair maiden walking behind him, as this victor enters the castle he has just conquered. The knight appears to be an idealised self-portrait.
Leighton’s The Accolade (1901) apparently shows Henry VI the Good – of Poland, not the British Henry VI – being dubbed a knight. Every link in his chain mail has been crafted individually.
Manuel García Hispaleto’s Don Quixote’s Speech of Arms and Letters (1884) shows the hero, his squire Sancho Panza behind, delivering one of his many orations after dinner, in a full suit of armour, as you would.
Eugène Delacroix visited tales of chivalry in his Combat Between Two Horsemen in Armour, painted at some time between 1825-30.
Plate armour continued to be worn by soldiers well into the twentieth century, and appears in some paintings of contemporary history.
Paul-Émile Boutigny’s undated Scene from the Franco-Prussian War shows soldiers from both sides of this short war in 1870-71. The soldier on the left is French, and holds a French Chassepot musketon with a long yataghan bayonet, while his colleague on the right appears to be Prussian, with his pickelhaube spiked helmet and a heavy cavalry cuirass that’s essentially modernised armour. (I’m grateful to Boris for his expert interpretation of this motif.)
François Flameng’s undated scene of Germans from the First World War shows the odd combination of archaic plate armour with modern gas masks.
Finally, as everyone knows, a knight goes to their grave in their armour.
Briton Rivière’s Requiescat from 1888 epitomises the faithful relationship between a dog and its master. As the knight’s body is laid out clad in armour, so his dog sits pining by the side of his body.
在 Pixel 设备上打开 Google app 的新闻链接，或在 Windows 设备上通过开始菜单访问网络搜索结果，这两种情况都存在一个共同点：系统会忽略你的默认浏览器设置，强行使用自家的浏览器（Chrome 或 Edge）进行访问。
对此，似乎大家并没有太大反应，正如人们对欧盟地区用户在数字生活中享有选择而感到无奈似的。
今天我们就来探讨一个问题：如何成为一名数字意义上的欧盟地区 Windows 用户。
受《数字市场法案》影响，微软在欧盟地区针对用户做出了很多让步，包括：
关于 Windows 的地区设置，你可以在「系统设置 > 时间和语言 > 语言和区域」中找到几个选项：
不过，今天的重点是一个新加入的、不可更改的选项——设备设置区域。将其更改为欧盟地区是个不错的切入点。
我最初想到的是去年推出的 Edge 重定向工具 MSEdgeRedirect，但不久后发现该模式在 2024 年 3 月后将失效，原因是微软的 UCPD 驱动3。
UCPD（用户选择守护驱动）利用内置的黑白名单机制，屏蔽非微软签名的进程，阻止第三方工具对系统的修改。这不仅影响到一些文件协议的处理，而且更难被禁用。微软还设置了一个名为 UCPD velocity 的自动化任务，每次用户登录时都会恢复被禁用的系统文件和设置。
因此，想要使用 MSEdgeRedirect 开启「欧盟模式」的用户，首先可以按照 SetUserFTA 开发者的思路摆脱微软的干预。
彻底解决方案：直接删除 UCPD 驱动。以管理员权限运行 CMD，执行命令 sc.exe delete UCPD，然后重启。需要注意的是，该驱动可能会在系统更新后复活。
温和解决方案：禁用 UCPD 驱动，以管理员权限在 CMD 下执行：
完成后，便可以正常使用 MSEdgeRedirect 修改地区设置。
成功更改设备设置区域后，不仅能享受之前提到的「权益」，更能在各类设置中拥有更多自由，成为一个选择上的欧洲人、商店里的美国人、文本习惯上的中国人——这份灵活，值得我们珍惜。
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