Esther
Over the past few years I’ve tried my hand at writing a short play. It’s called ‘Esther’ and is a monologue that features the Renaissance Scottish calligrapher, Esther Inglis (1571-1624).
‘Esther Inglis, 1569 - 1624. Calligrapher and miniaturist’. Image source: National Galleries of Scotland.
Inglis is credited with being the first Scottish artist to make a self-portrait and you can go to see it in the National Portrait Gallery in Edinburgh. During her life-time, however, she was most famous as a calligrapher and quite a number of her hand-stitched and illustrated booklets have come down to us. Some are curated in the National Library of Scotland and some in the British Library and elsewhere. She became expert in many different kinds of calligraphic ‘hands’ or scripts and used these to produce exquisite and colourful excerpts from the Psalms and other devotional works which she would send to wealthy aristocrats in the hope of patronage.
Of French Huguenot descent, Esther was from an immigrant family which fled persecution and her father is recorded as having become Master of the French School in Edinburgh after spending some time in London. At some point, Esther married a man called Bartholomew Kello. He also seems to have had writing skills but biographical sources note that he may also have served as a spy for James VI.
I wrote a poem about Esther some years ago and have remained interested in her. She is not particularly well known but her life combines and expresses a number of interests and tensions that find resonance in today’s world. At a time when women were not expected to be authors, Esther makes a clear attempt via her self-portraits and the prefaces of her little booklets to articulate a strong individual voice. These prefaces often show Esther wearing a variety of tall, striking hats and sometimes they contain poems in her praise written by her contemporaries.
The booklets themselves are fascinating hybrids. While they belong to a long tradition of unique handmade manuscripts, they are often presented to look like printed books. It is as if they inhabit a transitional moment in publishing history. Perhaps they offered aristocrats a nostalgic memory of luxury products that marked their highborn status. But they also speak of Guttenberg’s new world, a future where mastery of print techniques will also offer mastery of other types. In this respect they reminded me of our current debates about the future of the book in the world of the internet.
Esther’s political moment was also a transitional one. I have set my play in 1599. Elizabeth 1st of England’s long reign is coming to an end. Her throne is coveted by James VI of Scotland who still cannot be sure he will succeed. In my play I imagine that Esther’s booklets are being used by her husband and James as a means of delivering coded messages to Lord Cecil, Elizabeth’s chief minister. Esther is pulled between concern and fidelity to her husband and anguish at the thought that her art is being hijacked for political purposes. Needless to say, some of the tensions around Brexit lurk behind this aspect.
The play is now as finished as I can currently make it and awaits production in some form or other. It could be done as a monologue to camera as in the excerpts presented here. Or it could be staged. I have written a version which also features parts for seven non-speaking actors and some technical wizardry. Anyone who fancies putting it on please get in touch!
The two scenes featured here were recorded during lockdown by the wonderfully talented actor, Karen Bartke. I am tremendously grateful to her for agreeing to take this project on and for the ingenuity of her interpretation. It was very exciting for me to witness Esther gradually coming to life again thanks to Karen. I’m also grateful to Sean at Matchbox Cineclub for the subtitling.
‘Esther ‘, Scene 3. Written by David Kinloch. Performed by Karen Bartke. Subtitles by Sean at Matchbox Cineclub
‘Esther’, Scene 5. Written by David Kinloch. Performed by Karen Bartke. Subtitles by Sean at Matchbox Cineclub.