#bascinet
⚜️ Oriental Bascinet with Hounskull visor, second half of the 14th century - early 15th century.
Made by our Creative Workshop “Steel Legacy”
“Hounskull” Bascinet (from the German “Hundsgugel” – “hound’s hood” or “pig-faced”) is a type of popular medieval helmet that was in wide use among European knights of all military branches in the XIV-XV centuries. Helm basinet itself could have various shapes of dome and design of visor. However, visor “Hounskull” was the most demanded. Its shape not only provided with great vision and breathing, but also reflected direct nobs.
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⚜️ “Шатровый” Бацинет с забралом “Собачья морда”, вторая половина XIV в. - начало XV века.
Изготовлен в нашей Художественной мастерской “Стальное Наследие”
“Hounskull” Bascinet (от нем. Hundsgugel - “собачья морда”) - бацинет с длинным коническим забралом. Слово hounskull, искаженный вариант оригинального немецкого названия, считается одним из самых ранних примеров английского солдатского сленга; С середины XIV века бацинеты ради облегчения дыхания стали снабжаться остроконечными вытянутыми вперед забралами, напоминавшими морду собаки. Забрало имело гротескный вид заостренного конуса. Такая форма преследовала вполне практичные цели: большая площадь поверхности позволяла проделать множество отверстий для вентиляции и облегчала дыхание, а по конической поверхности забрала проскальзывал наконечник вражеского копья.
How is Pennsic already over? I remember last year it dragged on for what felt like forever - I never had enough sleep, or enough time, or enough patience. I loved the experience, I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but the whole thing felt like a struggle because I never knew what to expect. To be honest, I was happy to go home.
When this Pennsic started, it felt like last Pennsic never ended. It’s as if my life was put on pause last August and everything this year has just been a part of one big intermission, filling in the gaps, pushing time along. When Pennsic started, life resumed.
Same lake, same good company, same walk up the hill to work. Same shops, same food, same customers. Just like last year, the sun would set and the smoke would rise like an old friend and linger until the morning light.
Weirdly enough, when I’m home I almost miss the drumming. To be honest, after a few days of Pennsic you stop hearing the drums - they just fade into the atmosphere, become a part of your heartbeat, lull you to sleep. As I sit in my bedroom writing this I feel a certain sense of loss, as if the quiet night isn’t quite as peaceful when it’s not marred by that steady rhythm.
Last year I couldn’t wait to go home, I basically ran to the airport. This year, I was grasping at the moments, watching tents collapse and the dust rise as people filed away down the dirt roads around us. I didn’t want it to leave, I had so much more to do and so many people to hug. I had poetry to write and walks to go on and carp to feed. By the time we left, it wasn’t Pennsic anymore, it was just Cooper’s Lake Campground.
I suppose I’m now existing in the twilight zone between Pennsics, and next July my life will resume.
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