Fairytales never seem to obey the laws of reality, and the tales depicted in James Christensen‘s ‘Fairytales’ jigsaw are no exception. In real life, the three bears wouldn’t have had long to wait to find out who’d been eating their porridge and who’d been sleeping in their beds: the bears’ house in Christensen’s picture is only a stone’s — or, if you prefer, a breadcrumb’s — throw from the candy cottage where Hansel and Gretel have just arrived. Surely the two children must have witnessed the dastardly intruder, Goldilocks? Failing that, maybe Rapunzel saw something from her high tower. I can only assume that the fairytale blondes are sticking together on this one and that Rapunzel is refusing to give evidence against the flaxen-haired burglaress.
Talking of sticking together, what about that conga line behind the man with the golden goose? Do you think that, if this were all real, none of them would have raised the alarm about that nasty looking wolf who’s pestering Little Red Riding Hood? The seven vertically challenged persons aren’t far away either; could they not have overpowered Wolfy? Of course they could!
That’s the problem with fairy tales, you see. They all have quite similar plots, with lots of spinning wheels, brooms and princesses in them; but none of the characters ever breaks out of one story and into another. We need to mix them up a bit and see the consequences.
We already know the consequences of careless handling, though: pieces go missing! The down side of Fairytales was that one piece had gone astray before the puzzle reached us; down the back of someone’s sofa, I’ll wager. The upside, however, is that we think the missing bit — exactly where the door to the candy cottage would have been — might actually indicate a secret entrance into Fairyland. All we need to do is find something to drink that will shrink us to the right size and we can go and find out.
Ah. Snag! Guess who dismantled and reboxed the puzzle shortly before lunchtime.
(Oops!)
Having trouble with a jigsaw puzzle? Finding some of the pieces a bit confusing? Strangely, this could be a good sign. The human brain, it seems, is wired to detect patterns. In prehistoric times, this helped us to survive, by enabling us to spot both prey and predator. It’s what helps us to recognize both people and places. And it’s why we can look at the moon and connect all those lunar craters up to make a face: the man in the moon.
Unfortunately, it also means we sometimes see faces when they aren’t really there. This tendency is called pareidolia.
Jigsaw pareidolia is a problem we puzzlers often encounter. It happened to me this morning. I picked up this piece and was convinced it was a face. A long face with arched eyebrows, a thin nose, a weak chin and a long neck; rather a haughty expression, I thought. Here’s a photo of the piece next to my sketch of it.
This time I was lucky. I quickly discovered what the ‘face’ really was. It was part of this picture of Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf, from James Christensen‘s ‘Fairytales’ puzzle.
Sometimes, though, you can’t figure out such a piece quite so fast. It’s like telling someone not to think of the colour blue; once they have heard the word ‘blue’, they can do nothing but think of it. With jigsaw pieces, once you’re convinced something is a face, it can lead you astray for ages.
To save you from turning your head (gosh, aren’t we thoughtful) here’s that picture of the wolf rotated. I’ve put a circle round the bit I originally thought was a face. Just shows what a paw judge I was, doesn’t it?
The French have a saying: plus ça change. It’s short for plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. It means, ‘the more things change, the more they seem to stay the same’. Translated into jigsaw-speak, it means that, no matter what puzzle you’re doing, if it has a lot of sky it’s going to be a right old nuisance to finish.
Carol Dyer’s ‘Market days on Fulton Street’ (a 1500-piece epic) had a lot of sky; not as much as some puzzles but more than we were comfortable with — which is why it took us (or rather, Shana, who has a keen eye for shades of blue) the best part of a week to finish the last few inches.
Never again!
This picture of Fulton Street, part of Brooklyn’s seafront area, is set in the late 19th century, and unlike the sky, certainly hasn’t stayed the same. In fact, parts of it are almost unrecognizable these days. Fulton Street mall is much more commercialised, with no sign of a horse and cart anywhere; parts of Fulton Street have been renamed; some areas of Fulton Street, have, apparently, ‘looked like a ghost town for years’; and Schermerhorn Row (on the right hand side of the picture) has been restored.
Here, thanks to Google maps, is how the Fulton Street area looks today. It’s almost like being there, isn’t it? Take care crossing the road, won’t you?
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Gale Pitt’s ‘The Tornado’ is essentially a montage of everyday objects and animals (food, furniture, frogs and so on) on a background of peaceful countryside. Only when you see the cows and sheep panicking, running for their lives, and the people who have been spared from the tornado’s greedy mouth, do you realise that it may not be merely an exercise in painting pretty pictures: what is shown here has really happened to real people and real animals. The contrast between art and reality merely adds to the horror.
Fortunately, no jigsaw pieces had disappeared — either due to human or to tornado influence — from this excellent secondhand bargain.
