I'd like to see a zombie Roy Orbison gig.
Zombie music
I'd like to see a zombie Roy Orbison gig.
Pioneer Park Museum now and then
An exhibition of photographs of Griffith’s Pioneer Park Museum in their current location will be shown at the Griffith Regional Theatre Art Space from 18 July to 19 August.
“2016 is a big year for birthdays in this city,” said Museum curator Jason Richardson. “I don't think it's a coincidence the centenary coincides with the 45th birthday of Pioneer Park Museum, an institution that was first recorded in Wade Shire Council's minutes soon after the 50th of Griffith.”
Viewers will see a collection of photographs from the Museum’s archives. The earliest comes from 1971 with construction of an entrance building by the Soroptimist group. In others are many faces of those who have grown and shaped the organisation.
“I’ve heard many local people share their memories of times at the Park,” said Mr Richardson. "Many recount their visits and know people who have volunteered their time to contribute to it’s development.”
“This exhibition shows in a way the hands-on relationship people have with history at Pioneer Park Museum. It’s a place where people have a physical experience of history like walking into the home of a pioneer.”
Peter Williams on the Epitome of a DO-er
Enjoyed this video of Peter Williams talking about his experience in making things happen.
2002 was a good year
Been enjoying these cabernet and shiraz wines from Taminick Cellars, who are outside Glenrowan in Northern Victoria.
I've kept them in boxes and moved them between four houses in the last 13 years or so but they've still managed to throw a crust of sediment, just look at the dark line on the left-hand side of the bottle.
Also had a box of 2004 wines, which were much sweeter and matured earlier. The wines from 2002 still seem like they could mature longer but retain a fruit flavour that's hard to resist.
I'm also appreciating how little headache I get the following day.
Also had a box of 2004 wines, which were much sweeter and matured earlier. The wines from 2002 still seem like they could mature longer but retain a fruit flavour that's hard to resist.
I'm also appreciating how little headache I get the following day.
Mountford Park spirals
Leeton is a small town, so it seems like a weird coincidence to see a spiral design on a view of Mountford Park's walkway by another local artist.
I was surprised when this painting by Mackenzie Saddler appeared in my Facebook newsfeed the other night.
The text accompanying it paints a really beaut context:
What surprised me was how much the view shared in common with this photo I took in the Park last year.
I haven't met Mackenzie, although we've exchanged messages and I recommended him to Leeton Public School for this mural on their canteen.
The text accompanying it paints a really beaut context:
I walked to the park and ran home in my head. At that moment of travel, I wished I were dead. But that all changed - when you enchanted me with your gaze. And you sent me into a rapid love haze. That bitter cold day became as warm as the sun. And this is the moment my eternity begun.
Two responses to one haiku
Naviar Records share a haiku each week for musicians to respond to.
There have been some beaut poems and beautiful music too. I've written about this last month.
This week I thought I'd record a song written on the bass guitar, then it became an orchestral piece.
Yesterday I decided I should try to record the piece as I'd originally heard it.
As it was written on my cheap Ashton bass, I went for it. That bass gets a lovely woody tone from the flatwound strings and the neck pickup, which isn't common on basses as it emphasises flabby frequencies.
This week I thought I'd record a song written on the bass guitar, then it became an orchestral piece.
Yesterday I decided I should try to record the piece as I'd originally heard it.
Poem by Aileen Palmer
On a mild, sunny morning in Canberra in December 1993, a memorial to the Australians who had served in the Spanish Civil War was unveiled at Lotus Bay on Lake Burley Griffin.
During the ceremony, a poem of Aileen Palmer’s was read:
Danger is never danger
till the blood running over the street
is the blood of your own heart’s crying:
the love you were coming to meet.
Death is not death till you
hear all planes pass in fearing:
not my own love they’ll strike!
Not my own love they’re nearing!
War is not war till you
find in the shattered stones
flesh of your own love’s flesh,
dust of your own love’s bones...
Professional coward
I like what Hunter S. Thompson says here about the process of reflection and the insights gained through writing. He doesn't sell it very well in saying it's made him a professional coward, but I think there's a lot to be gained.
Murrumbidgee Marramarra
Had a look at this exhibition of Aboriginal artists from the Western Riverina that's at the Griffith Regional Art Gallery.
The painting 'Looking through the portals' by Veronica Collins made me pause mid-step, as it reminded me of my fevered dream recently about portals cut into the massive trunks of river red gums.
Another highlight is the work of Rodney Simpson, whose large-scale woodcarvings are wonderful. The work 'Echidna' shown here is accompanied with text that explains:
The yellow tracks mark out his boundary around the scar trees and ants nest his food supply
Projection workshops
The last two nights have been spent mapping projections onto the sculptures at Pioneer Park Museum.
In the meantime, you can find a few short videos at the Griffith Pioneer Park Museum Instagram account here.
This project was supported by Arts NSW’s Country Arts Support Program, a devolved funding program administered by Regional Arts NSW and Western Riverina Arts on behalf of the NSW Government.
Nigerian ogene-udu ensemble
Watched this a few times now and thought I should blog it so I can find it easier.
Scrapheap orchestras
Tim Prebble introduced my family via his blog to this reality TV show about an orchestra performing on instruments made from scrap.
It was surprising how engrossed my kids became in the show but they don't watch much television, so maybe it was a novelty. I particularly enjoyed the instrument makers and the background information about Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture.
It would've been interesting to learn more about the musicians. I think an American version of the show could stretch to a season because it seemed like it was made with a small crew and more crews could generate a lot more content covering the participants.
Just before we got to the finale, I remembered where I'd seen a similar story and made my family watch this documentary about the Landfill Harmonic in South America.
In comparison the British reality television show seemed to be gentrified and dictated by the needs of television. The timeframe for production might've determined the need to use professional musicians and instrument makers. As a result it loses a lot of the human interest for me.
There's something about the South American 'underdog' story that makes it so much more poignant but I really enjoyed the orchestra and particularly the makers in the British show, which I think is reality television while the Landfill Harmonic piece seems more like a documentary.
There's a lot that 'reality' and documentary television share in common but I think there is a line that gets crossed by the former in terms of manipulating the narrative and/or outcomes that defines them as separate genres.
It was surprising how engrossed my kids became in the show but they don't watch much television, so maybe it was a novelty. I particularly enjoyed the instrument makers and the background information about Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture.
It would've been interesting to learn more about the musicians. I think an American version of the show could stretch to a season because it seemed like it was made with a small crew and more crews could generate a lot more content covering the participants.
Just before we got to the finale, I remembered where I'd seen a similar story and made my family watch this documentary about the Landfill Harmonic in South America.
In comparison the British reality television show seemed to be gentrified and dictated by the needs of television. The timeframe for production might've determined the need to use professional musicians and instrument makers. As a result it loses a lot of the human interest for me.
There's something about the South American 'underdog' story that makes it so much more poignant but I really enjoyed the orchestra and particularly the makers in the British show, which I think is reality television while the Landfill Harmonic piece seems more like a documentary.
There's a lot that 'reality' and documentary television share in common but I think there is a line that gets crossed by the former in terms of manipulating the narrative and/or outcomes that defines them as separate genres.
Red cedar desk from 1879
The red cedar it's made from would've been almost completely logged in NSW and had been a major export for about a century.
I believe the desk was brought to Griffith in the early 20th Century when WC&C had an office in the courthouse.
Fiona Hall's Wrong Way Time
Recently I’d been thinking about significant contemporary Australian artists and concluded that Fiona Hall is at the top of my list.
I think it was 1991 that I first saw her little sardine can sculptures at the National Gallery of Australia. That was when I went on a school excursion with my girlfriend Karen and she drew my attention to them, which led to a surprise in seeing genitals within them. It made an impression on my 17-year old self.
That visit was also the first time I heard a line often uttered at art galleries, “I could’ve done that.” It was a fellow student evaluating the colour cut-outs Matisse made late in his career and Karen was quick to rebuke, “Yeah but you didn’t.”
Karen’s line comes to mind often, as the prompt for the series of thoughts about the most significant contemporary Australian artist came via work that often leads me to think ‘I could’ve done that’ and then conclude ‘yeah but I didn’t’.
Fiona Hall’s work is always surprising and inventive and playful. A couple of years ago I walked into a room at the MCA during the Sydney Biennale and saw one of her pieces I hadn’t seen before and was comforted to find her name attached.
After that I added her name to the list in Google that trigger ‘Alerts’ so I could read about her activities. (There she joins Brian Eno, David Hockney and Alan Moore.) When the Venice Biennale came around there was a little flurry of mostly Australian media and I wondered if I could visit it but decided that wasn’t likely to happen.
So I was really excited when I saw the ‘Wrong Way Time’ exhibition was coming to the NGA in Canberra. It took a few attempts to get there but I did and was richly rewarded with viewing one of my favourite exhibitions since 'The Big Americans' show more than a decade ago, also at the NGA.
My mum had a copy of my aunt’s notes for Hall’s show. These were a series of bullet points she prepared in her role as a volunteer guide at the NGA. I read them and could see a lot of information that had been in articles I’d already read about the show via my Google Alerts but she also had details gleaned directly from Hall and the curators.
Despite all I’d read, ‘Wrong Way Time’ surprised me with it’s morbidity. There’s a lot of death imagery balanced with a little of life. It’s a theme that becomes more pronounced when you walk into the second room that’s a retrospective of Hall’s earlier artwork.
You move from a dimly lit room with black walls into a more brightly lit one with white walls. The result is that Hall’s more recent work and its preoccupation with death, ranging from the obsolescence of consumer items through to extinction of species, becomes contrasted with her earlier themes like morality and sex.
I couldn’t help conclude that ‘Wrong Way Time’ shows Hall is thinking about her own mortality but perhaps I'm reading too much into the preoccupation with the death in the clocks, extinct animals and large number of skulls.
I'd be interested in learning more about which creative processes and motifs she's revisited because there are earlier works on display too.
The symbols of death were offset with a few inferences of life, such as the sperm added to banknotes featuring dictators. There were also works that reflect Hall's botanical interests but I think most were earlier pieces.
Another style of representation on banknotes was 'Leaf Litter' 1999-2003 with leaves painted on the currency of the country they share; as well as 'Tender' (2003-6) where US dollars were made into bird nests. The former poses a kind of comment on the line that 'money doesn't grow on trees' when it is often made from paper, which is produced from wood. The latter seems to me a kind of play on the line to 'feather your nest' when making a profit.
One corner was filled with 'Kuka Irititja (Animals From Another Time)' (2014), a collaboration with the Tjanpi Desert Weavers that I think represented extinctions. It would've been good to have more information as very little interpretive text was provided.
One wall was mounted with driftwood, which I thought I overheard a curator explain had come from a South Australian beach but my aunt says is from New Zealand. The curator shared an anecdote that Hall had joked she'd taken her favourite beach to Venice, which strikes me as being the sort of idea that would appeal to the artist -- that driftwood could float to the city famous for its water.
Another skull motif occupied the middle of the darkened room with 'All the Kings Men' (2014-15), a collection of macrame-style figures hanging and turning slowly on their wires. I really wanted to get in among these for that sense of them surrounding me but had to settle for walking around them.
There was also this painting that featured skulls. I hadn't associated painting with Hall's output prior to this exhibition.
And, as you enter, there's also this gorgeous skull.
The retrospective room was a revelation for me. I hadn’t seen a lot of Hall's early work and also benefited from overhearing a tour led by curators at the NGA.
I learned that Hall’s early art career had been in photography before she started creating scenes with tin to photograph using a large format Polaroid, long before creating sculptures like the sardine tins that had first made an impression on me as a teen.
I mentioned morality but themes in her earlier works were clearly biblical, such as the marionettes representing the seven deadly sins. Shown here is lust. (Now I think about it, this style of puppet seems a bit like those hanging in the other room.)
Hall's background in photography made a lot of sense when I saw the concertina-style peephole books she’d produced that are viewed through a little eyehole at one end. I really like this technique for directing the viewer and also creating a sense of spatial depth in an artwork.
This style of presenting a perspective was refined in the black room, where a wooden box marked ‘Fox’ flickered with flashing coloured LED lights. When you leaned in you could see a chaotic scene with wordplay like “The Whinge of Change” leading toward a noose and then an eye looking back.
I wondered if the word 'Fox' on a box like an early camera was a reference to William Henry Talbot Fox, a pioneer of photography. The title of the work is 'Hack' (2015), so maybe it was just another of the many car model name badges attached to cabinets in the darkened room.
Click the video below to have a look in the peephole.
It was one example of another kind of retrospective as artworks seemed to be mirrored in the exhibition. The two rooms, being black and white, offered interesting contrasts in their contents. The peephole-style works are one example, another is the sardine tin sculptures in each room.
The inclusion of clocks in ‘Wrong Way Time’ really appealed to me as they would tick and occasionally chime, adding the element of sound that isn't usually a consideration. So often galleries focus on visual stimulus and I really like it when sounds but also touch and scents are included in exhibitions.
It's worth sharing a few more photos of the many clocks, so you can see the pessimistic messages they wear.
In some ways these doomsday-style clocks, like the money that grows on trees, illustrate the kinds of metaphors that Fiona Hall invokes in some of her artwork.
One of the things I like about her art is that there is wordplay in it. Sometimes it's generated between the objects and the title of the piece, other times it involves literal messages.
It really tickles the word nerd in me.
This playfulness in her work is exemplified in the sculptures made from bread, which are placed on maps to provide interesting insights -- such as the slingshot on the Middle East. It's a rich image for me, inferring David and Goliath, Palestine and the Arab Spring. That's a stack of references leaping from a fairly simple context!
These small sculpture works are called 'Crust' (2014-15), a title that links bread and the surface of the planet. It's another example of the lateral thinking you can see in Fiona Hall's artwork.
The National Gallery of Australia was a great venue for 'Wrong Way Time' as the foyer to the exhibition overlooked 'Fern Garden' (1998). This landscape is yet another demonstration of Hall's ability to move between mediums. It's also been one of my favourite parts of the Gallery and I have many memories of visiting it late at night.
I adore the gates to the garden, which are shaped like female reproductive organs.
Anyway, I won’t attempt more interpretation of the exhibition as I feel like I need to return and soak it all in again. It’s a wonderful experience and one I recommend.
That visit was also the first time I heard a line often uttered at art galleries, “I could’ve done that.” It was a fellow student evaluating the colour cut-outs Matisse made late in his career and Karen was quick to rebuke, “Yeah but you didn’t.”
Karen’s line comes to mind often, as the prompt for the series of thoughts about the most significant contemporary Australian artist came via work that often leads me to think ‘I could’ve done that’ and then conclude ‘yeah but I didn’t’.
Fiona Hall’s work is always surprising and inventive and playful. A couple of years ago I walked into a room at the MCA during the Sydney Biennale and saw one of her pieces I hadn’t seen before and was comforted to find her name attached.
After that I added her name to the list in Google that trigger ‘Alerts’ so I could read about her activities. (There she joins Brian Eno, David Hockney and Alan Moore.) When the Venice Biennale came around there was a little flurry of mostly Australian media and I wondered if I could visit it but decided that wasn’t likely to happen.
My mum had a copy of my aunt’s notes for Hall’s show. These were a series of bullet points she prepared in her role as a volunteer guide at the NGA. I read them and could see a lot of information that had been in articles I’d already read about the show via my Google Alerts but she also had details gleaned directly from Hall and the curators.
You move from a dimly lit room with black walls into a more brightly lit one with white walls. The result is that Hall’s more recent work and its preoccupation with death, ranging from the obsolescence of consumer items through to extinction of species, becomes contrasted with her earlier themes like morality and sex.
I'd be interested in learning more about which creative processes and motifs she's revisited because there are earlier works on display too.
The retrospective room was a revelation for me. I hadn’t seen a lot of Hall's early work and also benefited from overhearing a tour led by curators at the NGA.
This style of presenting a perspective was refined in the black room, where a wooden box marked ‘Fox’ flickered with flashing coloured LED lights. When you leaned in you could see a chaotic scene with wordplay like “The Whinge of Change” leading toward a noose and then an eye looking back.
I wondered if the word 'Fox' on a box like an early camera was a reference to William Henry Talbot Fox, a pioneer of photography. The title of the work is 'Hack' (2015), so maybe it was just another of the many car model name badges attached to cabinets in the darkened room.
Click the video below to have a look in the peephole.
In some ways these doomsday-style clocks, like the money that grows on trees, illustrate the kinds of metaphors that Fiona Hall invokes in some of her artwork.
One of the things I like about her art is that there is wordplay in it. Sometimes it's generated between the objects and the title of the piece, other times it involves literal messages.
It really tickles the word nerd in me.
These small sculpture works are called 'Crust' (2014-15), a title that links bread and the surface of the planet. It's another example of the lateral thinking you can see in Fiona Hall's artwork.
Anyway, I won’t attempt more interpretation of the exhibition as I feel like I need to return and soak it all in again. It’s a wonderful experience and one I recommend.
Across the park
When I was a boy I took Tae Kwon Do lessons at Woden Library on Tuesday nights.
As my mother was also looking after my sister and my baby brother, she'd ask me to walk home after the lessons. The Library wasn't far from the apartment we were living in at the time, however as the days shortened it became a scary walk in the dark for this boy.
One spot in particular used to frighten me and that was the Melrose Drive underpass. I was thinking about it recently when I walked through it and took these photos, which don't convey much menace during the day.
Back in the day, or night as it were, there was a lot of graffiti that led me to think there were gangs that would hang out in the underpass.
As well as being devoted to martial arts, I was obsessed with hiphop and the craze of breakdancing. So I had seen a bit about the gangs that inhabited urban spaces like the inner-south of suburban Canberra.
Anyway, my mum had a more balanced perspective on the likelihood of me being assaulted while walking home in the dark wearing a martial arts uniform. She was of the view that all I needed was something to take my mind off the idea of being attacked.
So I came to memorise Hist! by C J Dennis after being offered $5. I can still recite a large part of the poem.
These days parents would probably give their kid a mobile phone to carry in case of emergency but this poem really did assist in alleviating my fears. I'd walk alone through the dark reciting rhymes and when I got to the end, I'd start again.
More recently I recorded a version of C J Dennis' classic as part of my 2013 video presentation to conclude the centenary of Leeton. I offered my eldest son a financial incentive to learn the poem and we recorded him reciting it.
Hist! was then added to a soundtrack composed from sounds recorded at a nearby playground, click hear to see it.
As my mother was also looking after my sister and my baby brother, she'd ask me to walk home after the lessons. The Library wasn't far from the apartment we were living in at the time, however as the days shortened it became a scary walk in the dark for this boy.
As well as being devoted to martial arts, I was obsessed with hiphop and the craze of breakdancing. So I had seen a bit about the gangs that inhabited urban spaces like the inner-south of suburban Canberra.
Anyway, my mum had a more balanced perspective on the likelihood of me being assaulted while walking home in the dark wearing a martial arts uniform. She was of the view that all I needed was something to take my mind off the idea of being attacked.
So I came to memorise Hist! by C J Dennis after being offered $5. I can still recite a large part of the poem.
Hist! . . . . . . Hark!
The night is very dark,
And we've to go a mile or so
Across the Possum Park.
Step . . . . . . light,
Keeping to the right;
If we delay, and lose our way,
We'll be out half the night.
The clouds are low and gloomy. Oh!
It's just begun to mist!
We haven't any overcoats
And - Hist! . . . . . . Hist!
(Mo . . . . . . poke!)
Who was that that spoke?
This is not a fitting spot
To make a silly joke.
Dear . . . . . . me!
A mopoke in a tree!
It jarred me so, I didn't know
Whatever it could be.
But come along; creep along;
Soon we shall be missed.
They'll get a scare and wonder where
We - Hush! . . . . . . Hist!
Ssh! . . . . . . Soft!
I've told you oft and oft
We should not stray so far away
Without a moon aloft.
Oo! . . . . . . Scat!
Goodness! What was that?
Upon my word, it's quite absurd,
It's only just a cat.
But come along; haste along;
Soon we'll have to rush,
Or we'll be late and find the gate
Is - Hist! . . . . . . Hush!
(Kok!. . . . . . Korrock!)
Oh! I've had a shock!
I hope and trust it's only just
A frog behind a rock.
Shoo! . . . . . . Shoo!
We've had enough of you;
Scaring folk just for a joke
Is not the thing to do.
But come along, slip along -
Isn't it a lark
Just to roam so far from home
On - Hist! . . . . . . Hark!
Look! . . . . . . See!
Shining through the tree,
The window-light is glowing bright
To welcome you and me.
Shout! . . . . . . Shout!
There's someone round about,
And through the door I see some more
And supper all laid out.
Now, Run! Run! Run!
Oh, we've had such splendid fun -
Through the park in the dark,
As brave as anyone.
Laughed, we did, and chaffed, we did,
And whistled all the way,
And we're home again! Home again!
Hip . . . . . . Hooray!
These days parents would probably give their kid a mobile phone to carry in case of emergency but this poem really did assist in alleviating my fears. I'd walk alone through the dark reciting rhymes and when I got to the end, I'd start again.
More recently I recorded a version of C J Dennis' classic as part of my 2013 video presentation to conclude the centenary of Leeton. I offered my eldest son a financial incentive to learn the poem and we recorded him reciting it.
Hist! was then added to a soundtrack composed from sounds recorded at a nearby playground, click hear to see it.
Framing in peeking
Peeking as a cultural instrument, must have come into its own with invention of lacework balcony. This not only affords the aforementioned screen for the observer, but allows him such a variety of metal frames for the object of observation as to keep the game fresh. A fat woman in a mustard-colored dress viewed through any one of the four right angles of an iron cross, appears symbolic, dignity in every scallop of powdered flesh, a champion of all fat women who own mustard-colored dresses. But the same women in the same dress, viewed through a series of interlocking circles of iron…appears ludicrous and entangled, drowning in iron ripples.From Black Wings Has My Angel by Elliott Chaze.
Dreaming to survive
In recent years the role of dreams has started to become a theme on my blog.
It mightn't be as common as talking about music or media releases, but I thought I'd comment on how satisfying I found it to read an essay by Sue Llewellyn on the role of dreams.
Particularly this bit:
Click on the hypertext quote above to read the full essay at Aeon.co.
It mightn't be as common as talking about music or media releases, but I thought I'd comment on how satisfying I found it to read an essay by Sue Llewellyn on the role of dreams.
Particularly this bit:
During REM dreaming, our brains are better at identifying the probabilistic patterns that underlie the behaviour of living creatures. These patterns are portrayed in unconscious images, which are retained for the awake state. Whenever fast, instinctive action is required, archetypically in dangerous situations, unconscious images associate past experience to predict the probable significance of, for example, an ambiguous flash of yellow. This gives rise to a somewhat surprising conclusion. In our evolutionary past, we dreamed to survive.
Click on the hypertext quote above to read the full essay at Aeon.co.
A career in nursing
Catherine Lane came to Griffith in 1961 to work as a nurse in the District Hospital's operating theatre, bringing this copy of Pye's Surgical Handicraft.
The text was in its 16th edition in 1952 and it seems incredible to see it was first published in 1884. Nurse Lane's own career saw her move to the Griffith Base Hospital's surgical ward before she retired in 1994. Just like the editions of Pye's manual, she would have seen many changes to operating procedures in her time.
Catherine Lane (nee Tweddle) started her nursing career on 1st January 1956 at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital in Sydney. It was a four-year course and students could not marry until after graduation. Nurse Lane became a midwife at Royal North Shore Hospital in April 1960 and at that time the Hospital was one that dealt in adoptions.
After arriving in the Riverina in 1961 to work in the Operating Theatre at Griffith District Hospital, she soon progressed to the role of Sister-in-Charge by October as no one else wanted the role. “I did not have a choice,” wrote Lane when donating these items to Pioneer Park Museum, as Matron Fox ruled the Hospital in those days “and she was the law!!!”
In 1985 Catherine Lane worked in the Surgical Ward at Griffith Base Hospital and she retired in 1994.
Catherine Lane’s sphygmomanometer was used to measure blood pressure. The inflatable cuff inflates to restrict and then release the flow of blood in an artery in a controlled manner.
The word comes from the Greek sphygmos (pulse) plus the scientific term manometer (pressure meter). The device was invented by Samuel Siegfried Karl Ritter von Basch in 1881.
Scipione Riva-Rocci introduced a more easily used version in 1896, and then, in 1901, Harvey Cushing modernised the device and popularised use within the medical community as means of identifying tension and other ailments.
After arriving in the Riverina in 1961 to work in the Operating Theatre at Griffith District Hospital, she soon progressed to the role of Sister-in-Charge by October as no one else wanted the role. “I did not have a choice,” wrote Lane when donating these items to Pioneer Park Museum, as Matron Fox ruled the Hospital in those days “and she was the law!!!”
In 1985 Catherine Lane worked in the Surgical Ward at Griffith Base Hospital and she retired in 1994.
The word comes from the Greek sphygmos (pulse) plus the scientific term manometer (pressure meter). The device was invented by Samuel Siegfried Karl Ritter von Basch in 1881.
Scipione Riva-Rocci introduced a more easily used version in 1896, and then, in 1901, Harvey Cushing modernised the device and popularised use within the medical community as means of identifying tension and other ailments.
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