I tried to go to the Jane Goodall movie at omnimax but it was sold out. I sort of went to church. It was empty, does that count? I went to the Institute of Arts instead, which is free (brilliant) and has William Blake’s etchings of the Book of Job up. Holy shit—they’re amazing. They’re as detailed as all the little lines on the dollar bill, and as tiny. And unlike drawing, you have to scratch out everything except the picture you want left when you ink it and stamp it, so you have to think kind of backwards while you’re doing it. They were so complex and totally cool (profound art review, here, I know).
Ah, Blake. I first met him in the good old 30 pound Norton Anthology in college. I had a huge crush on my professor because he could speak old English. And because he was hot. I failed an exam on The Dream of the Rood because I couldn’t understand all the freaking footnotes and had a hard time staying awake on account of my tall, willowy college freshman roommate (a ballet major) coming home totally trashed every night at 4 a.m. and banging around pots and pans to make macaroni and cheese.
I loved Blake then—and not just because the Doors named their band after one of his poem where he says something like (I’m paraphrasing from memory from 12 years ago, so…) “If only the doors of perception were cleansed, then would we see things as they truly are: eternal.” Also because he writes about tigers, he combines visual art with poetry. I realized on this museum visit that Blake isn’t as old as I thought—he died in something like 1830, which, as far as old stuff goes, wasn’t that long ago. When I read him in college I kinda lumped him together with Chaucer. Keep in mind that I was 19, when anyone over 30 still seemed geezerly, so I anyone dead before 1950 may as well have been before the dawn of time.
I busted out my pen and notebook when the museum guard wasn’t looking (you know, the scary smack-down of museum security) and scribbled this down: “…Blake’s etchings of the Book of Job are intended as a challenge to the belief that misfortunes are punishment for sin. The Book of Job was for Blake the apotheosis of lyric expression, a metaphysical commentary in the form of symbolic narrative. Job’s journey parceled his own creative struggles and spiritual awareness—it’s not to be read literally, but spiritually discerned…”
Then, there’s his commentary on the creative process, which is so RIGHT ON:
Five states of Experience:
Innocence
Experience
Revolution
The Dark Night
The New Life.
If Blake were alive today and looked anything like my college Literature professor, I think I’d have a huge crush on him too. Symbolism! Philosophy! Narration! Spiritual awareness! Dark night of the soul! Swoon. Amazing poet. Amazing artist.
Ah, Blake. I first met him in the good old 30 pound Norton Anthology in college. I had a huge crush on my professor because he could speak old English. And because he was hot. I failed an exam on The Dream of the Rood because I couldn’t understand all the freaking footnotes and had a hard time staying awake on account of my tall, willowy college freshman roommate (a ballet major) coming home totally trashed every night at 4 a.m. and banging around pots and pans to make macaroni and cheese.
I loved Blake then—and not just because the Doors named their band after one of his poem where he says something like (I’m paraphrasing from memory from 12 years ago, so…) “If only the doors of perception were cleansed, then would we see things as they truly are: eternal.” Also because he writes about tigers, he combines visual art with poetry. I realized on this museum visit that Blake isn’t as old as I thought—he died in something like 1830, which, as far as old stuff goes, wasn’t that long ago. When I read him in college I kinda lumped him together with Chaucer. Keep in mind that I was 19, when anyone over 30 still seemed geezerly, so I anyone dead before 1950 may as well have been before the dawn of time.
I busted out my pen and notebook when the museum guard wasn’t looking (you know, the scary smack-down of museum security) and scribbled this down: “…Blake’s etchings of the Book of Job are intended as a challenge to the belief that misfortunes are punishment for sin. The Book of Job was for Blake the apotheosis of lyric expression, a metaphysical commentary in the form of symbolic narrative. Job’s journey parceled his own creative struggles and spiritual awareness—it’s not to be read literally, but spiritually discerned…”
Then, there’s his commentary on the creative process, which is so RIGHT ON:
Five states of Experience:
Innocence
Experience
Revolution
The Dark Night
The New Life.
If Blake were alive today and looked anything like my college Literature professor, I think I’d have a huge crush on him too. Symbolism! Philosophy! Narration! Spiritual awareness! Dark night of the soul! Swoon. Amazing poet. Amazing artist.
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