Newton – Blake – Paolozzi

As today is the anniversary of the birth of Sir Isaac Newton (according to the Gregorian calendar at least, although Newton himself was actually born on Christmas Day, 1642, under the Julian calendar), this seemed an opportune moment to discuss the image that has become part of the logo for this site and has, for me, long served as a good example of zoamorphosis in action.

Blake’s iconic image of Newton, compass in hand, was first designed circa 1795 and another version printed in 1805. Although, as with so many of Blake’s designs, somewhat neglected during his lifetime, it became one of Blake’s exceptional images during the twentieth century, not least insofar as it influenced Eduardo Paolozzi, the sculptor responsible for the huge bronze outside the British Library.

This version, unveiled in 1995, was not the first time Paolozzi, who initially trained as a commercial artist at Edinburgh before being introduced to Surrealism at the Slade in the 1940s, is not the sculptor’s first treatment of Blake’s rendition of Britain’s most famous scientist. Paolozzi’s interest in Blake began during his time at the Slade when Blake was regularly displayed at the Tate under the directorship of Sir John Rothenstein, and intensified when Francis Bacon produced his studies of Blake’s life mask in the 1950s.

Paolozzi has spoken of his admiration for Blake’s idiosyncratic classicism (for example in his illustration of Laocöon) and he first began working on Newton inspired models in plaster and other materials (after the manner of Canova’s terracotta “sketches”) in the mid to late eighties. In “Master of the Universe”, produced in 1989, he began to mechanise the form of Newton, as well as adding some personalised touches such as glasses that accentuated the links Paolozzi found with Newton as well as Blake.

In an interview with Fiona Pearson not long after the British Library statue was unveiled, Paolozzi said that he enjoyed the “ironic tension between Blake’s castigation of Newton’s wish to order the universe and the accepted wisdom that one should celebrate Newton’s intellect and discoveries”. This draws attention to a double play of mutation that takes place within the image: Newton, as the classical imago of British science and rational enlightenment, is transformed by Blake into the beautiful but static (and, indeed, statuesque) image of Urizenic rationalism, almost blind to the beauties of the strange, submerged world around him in Blake’s colour print.

Paolozzi, in good, Blakean style (remember, this is the artist who insists that he must create his own system or be enslaved by another man’s) refuses to accept his Romantic forebear’s conception of the great demi-god Newton. Instead, he converts the marble-painted eyes to bronze and adds a pair of spectacles, instruments of myopia certainly, but also a focus for the task of concentration that he must perform as an artist. Blake’s Newton inspires Paolozzi again and again, but not towards any slavish copy: rather, as a true artist, his business is not to reason and compare but to create his own vision.

Blake and Physiognomy

This new display in Room 2 of the Tate Britain collections for British Art 1500-2010 brings together a selection of Blake’s works in the context of Johann Kaspar Lavater, the Swiss pastor and physiognomist most famous for his book, Essays on Physiognomy. Translated in 1789, this book caused something of a sensation in Britain (as well as the rest of Europe), and Blake was commissioned – along with Thomas Holloway – to engrave a number of designs made for the Essays by Lavater’s friend, Henry Fuseli.

The display has been brought together by Philippa Simpson with input from Sybille Erle, who has long worked on Blake’s illustrations to Lavater and whose book, Blake, Lavater and Physiognomy was recently published by Legenda. It opens with a brief account that contextualises the ideas made popular by the Swiss writer. His illustrations to Essays on Physiognomy, begun near the start of Blake’s career, are followed immediately by designs for the so-called “Visionary Heads”, the series of drawings and famous tempera painting of the Ghost of a Flea that were composed at the instigation of his friend John Varley in the final years of Blake’s life. While Blake seemed to have taken a lifelong interest in the depictions of facial types that was consonant with the philosophy of Lavater, that interest was much less literal in many respects than Varley’s who, as various asides from his contemporaries made clear, believed more or less everything he heard and everything that he read.

Much of the display is comprised of selections from two series that Blake worked on: the large colour prints, including the magnificent illustrations of Nebuchadnezzar and Newton, and watercolours and engravings from the illustrations to Dante’s Divine Comedy. While Blake was immensely impressed by Lavater’s theories, having inscribed a heart around his and Lavater’s names in his own copy of the Essays, one of the most striking elements of this display is the occasional dissonance that appears to occur in Blake’s own art. Lavater suggested that through physiognomy was displayed the essential characteristics of a person’s character, and while Blake appears to have agreed with this basic tenet he also sometimes appears to turn the correspondences between psychic and physical attributes on their (so to speak) head. This is most evident in the print of Newton – in which the idealised spiritual beauty of the scientist betrays a cold, almost blind monomania rather than perfection of character – and Ciampolo the Barrator Tormented by the Devils. In this latter engraving, the malebranche, or horned devils that torture Ciampolo (whose sin is to sell political influence) have faces of refined gentlemen, offering a satirical cast on Blake’s use of physiognomy to reflect character.

As the curators make clear, if very subtly, though Lavater was considered one of the mildest of men his pseudo-scientific theories also contained disturbing aspects, most notably his anti-semitism. Lavater believed, for example, that by conversion to Christianity Jews would see their features slowly become less “jewish”, and once or twice the immensely philo-semitic Blake appears to pander to this crass prejudice, as well as – perhaps rather understandably – the straightforward Eurocentrism of the age.

While Blake’s illustrations dominate the display, there are also works on show from Sir David Wilkie and William Hogarth, whose painting of heads of six of his servants is a delightful masterpiece. While Hogarth is obviously fascinated by the features of his servants, his interest in physiognomy does not display the same fascination in abstraction, theory and types as Lavater’s and Blake’s but captures instead vivid characters rather than correspondences. Alongside this is a print of Blake’s depiction of the Canterbury Tales, vivid and brilliant in a very different way to Hogarth’s masterly painting. In his catalogue entry for the original painting, Blake had written: ”

Of Chaucer’s characters, as described in his Canterbury Tales, some of the names or titles are altered by time, but the characters themselves for ever remain unaltered, and consequently they are the physiognomies or lineaments of universal human life, beyond which Nature never steps. Names alter, things never alter.” (E532-3) Whereas Hogarth depicted individual characters, specific to the faces of the wonderfully mundane figures in his employ at that time, for Blake the illumination of types from literature was a more important consideration for the ideal artist.

The final items on display are two versions of the famous life mask of Blake made by James Deville in 1823. Deville, who created and collected phrenological casts, wished to capture the faculties of imagination which, he assumed, were displayed most clearly in the face of Blake. The versions, in plaster and bronze, have become one of the most significant and popular images produced by Blake, influential on a wide range of later artists such as Francis Bacon and Antony Gormley – and which I have long considered his most important piece of performance art. As ever, the life mask, is a fascinating piece and also offers an ironic counterpoint to many of my own assumptions regarding the pseudo-scientific gobbledegook that Lavater inspired: if physiognomy is not an index of character, particularly of the racialist strictures that it was to give rise to in the nineteenth century, it never ceases to amaze me how much of my own estimation of what type of man Blake was has been formed by looking on the somwhat stern, concentrated face preserved in Deville’s remarkable cast.

Blake and Physiognomy runs until 8 May 2011. Entrance is free.

Blake and Physiognomy

Tate Britain has just opened a new display on Blake and Physiognomy which is to run at the gallery until 8 May 2011.

Curated by Philippa Simpson, with items on loan from the National Portrait Gallery and drawing on the research of Sibylle Erle, Blake and Physiognomy explores the relationship between Blake and the fascination with aspects of physiognomy and phrenology that developed in the late eighteenth century.

Works on show in the display include some of Blake’s large colour prints, notably Nebuchadnezzar, as well as a selection of the illustrations to Dante’s Divine Comedy and other artists from the period such as William Hogarth and Sir David Wilkie who had an interest in physiognomy. The display also focuses on Blake’s interest in Johann Kaspar Lavater, the Swiss pastor and friend of Henry Fuseli whose essays on physiognomy sparked most sustained attention on the subject at the time.

Entrance to Blake and Physiognomy is free and the display is located in Room 2 at Tate Britain. It runs from 8 November 2010 to 11 May 2011.

The Song of Deeds: David Jones and William Blake

Today is the anniversary of the birth of David Jones (1895-1974), a poet and artist born in London to a father from a Welsh-speaking family, whose Welsh heritage and Catholicism – as well as the work of William Blake – did a great deal to shape his art.

Jones entered Camberwell Art School in 1909, but his experiences during the First World War, where he served on the Western Front as one of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, led him to explore the catastrophic events leading up to this collapse of a civilisation. As he wrote in his long poem, The Anathemata, the growth of industrialisation and a global imperium that divided communities from their social, cultural and mythological histories – what Jones referred to as ‘The Break’ – had brought material benefits but dislocated those communities from their essential spiritual and moral compass.

Jones’s interest in Catholicism brought him into contact with Eric Gill, and he joined Gill’s Guild of St Joseph and St Dominic and later the artistic community at Capel-y-ffin. He worked as an illustrator on numerous books, including Gulliver’s Travels and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and produced two notable literary works, In Parenthesis (1937) and The Anathemata (published by Faber and Faber in 1952, although Jones continued to work on it for the rest of his life).

As with In Parenthesis, The Anathemata was an attempt to recuperate what he saw as a humanity sacrificed by science, technology and politics in pursuit of military victory, the effects of which had been to create a historically- and culturally-impoverished society. The Anathemata (meaning precious or sacred gifts) was Jones’s attempt to regenerate a republic of art and help create a British counter-culture.

Part of his project, and one reason why the text was never satisfactorily completed for Jones, was not simply to illustrate the past but literally illuminate his text and history. In this task Jones was greatly influenced by Blake, not merely to bring together the heterogeneous elements of his Anglo-Welsh cultural heritage (with roots in Latin and biblical culture), but also formally through imitation of Blake’s acts of repetition. Jones had been an early admirer of Blake, and his return to the mythographical accounts of the origins of Britain out of Geoffrey and Monmouth shared great similarities with the Romantic poet’s desire to locate the beginning and end of all things “in Albions Ancient Druid Rocky Shore”.

Blake, particularly in his prophetic works Jerusalem The Emanation of the Giant Albion and Milton a Poem, is not the only influence on Jones’s poem, for he also drew upon a long line of English poetry from The Dream of the Rood to Hopkins via Shakespeare, Milton and many others. In addition, he privileged the position of classical civilisation and chthonic mother religions in a way that marks out his ethos as very distinct to that of Blake’s. Nonetheless, his mythic map-making and delineation of space is often closer to that of Blake’s than any other poet, as when he writes:

Did Albion put down his screen of brume at:
forty-nine fifty-seven thirty-four north five twelve four west
to white-out the sea-margin east of northwards to confluent
Fal, and west over Mark’s main towards where Trystan’s
sands run out to land’s last end? (Jones 98)

This shares considerable similarities to Blake’s idiosyncratic description of Albion in his later books, for example in Milton:

There are Two Gates thro which all Souls descend. One Southward
From Dover Cliff to Lizard Point. The other toward the North
Caithness & rocky Durness, Pentland & John Groats House. (E123)

Yet while British (specifically Celtic) history is essential to Jones’s salvation history as it was, with a more particular English twist, to Blake’s, both poets emphasise the importance of the story of the gospels to that national story. If Blake’s radical Protestantism may have caused him to baulk at what he would have seen as Jones’s priestcraft, at the same time the profound similarities between their prophetic visions lay in their self-conscious sense of being Christian poets in Albion.

The Romantics and The Sleeping Congregation

Having finally had an opportunity to visit the Romantics exhibition at Tate Britain this weekend, here are some of my own thoughts on this show as well as Richard Wright’s small curated display, The Sleeping Congregation.

One of the aims of The Romantics is to place three of the most important artists of the period – JMW Turner, John Constable and, of course, William Blake – in a wider context. A related ambition is to emphasise the potential links between the three artists, not so much in terms of their historical relations (though those certainly existed between Constable and Turner, though they were much less evident between these two and Blake) as in their current configuration as three figures who have come to define what is meant by British Romantic art, especially for Tate Britain.

The exhibition makes it clear that this is not to be a simple chronological arrangement of what constitutes Romantic art but is, rather, arranged thematically. This is rather sensible for this particular exhibition (significantly, the large Gaugin exhibition at Tate Modern, while making the same claims, cannot help but slip into very straightforward chronologies in the contextual rooms detailing Gaugin’s career – after all, one individual’s life cannot but help follow time’s arrow at some point). Thematic arrangements for The Romantics, by contrast, avoid this most simplistic – and frequently misleading – of metanarratives, and instead makes a series of choices based on other organisational principles. Some of these may be as equally misleading as the simple history of Romantic art, but at least one – Pictures for an Exhibition – struck me as an effective intervention on the spectacular nature of Romantic art (another, British Landscape: Photography after the Picturesque, seemed a rather perverse attempt at counterpoint that did not work for me, unfortunately).

For this particular review, of the various thematic arrangements (Introducing Romanticism, Late and Early Turner, Pictures for an Exhibition, Constable and Contemporaries: Sketching from Nature, Neo-Romantics, British Landscape, and Colour and Line: Tutner’s Experiments), that on Blake and the Romantic Imagination is the most pertinent. However, it is worth making some general observations about the rest of the exhibition, not only because how it does (and sometimes does not) help to contextualise Blake’s own practice, but because Blake is also frequently invoked throughout the rest of the exhibition. The first thing that greets the visitor as they enter the Clore gallery is a line from Jerusalem – “I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s”, demonstrating just how important Blake has become since his death as a rather minor figure on the fringe of the pre-Victorian art scene. Certainly Blake’s role in The Romantics is partly to frame the significance of such art as part of the national collection for the twenty-first century, in many respects he being one of the few British artists who exemplifies what could be considered a romantic attitude in the visual, as opposed to literary, arts.

It is very clear that this is the British Romantics, with little that could illustrate the burgeoning art of Europe, with only the occasional contribution by continental artists such as Delacroix, as is the impossibility to provide a few other contextual aspects from the period, such as the overlap with neoclassical art or new developments in portraiture (evident in another exhibition currently in London at the National Portrait Gallery, with Thomas Lawrence as its focus) – though this, of course, is to demand the impossible, an exhibition with unlimited space and funds to show every work from every possibly related genre. Instead, there are opportunities to view some of the best examples of what could be defined as British Romantic art, such as Joseph Wright of Derby’s Sir Brook Boothby or Henry Wallis’s famous and fantastical portrait of Chatterton, as well as witness some clever interrogations of commonly understood conventions, as with John Crome’s early nineteenth century paintings of a slate quarry.

It is, however, the late Turner who, as ever, continues to astound: while, of course, paintings such as Sunrise with Sea Monsters and Norham Castle are unfinished, Turner’s vivid, brilliant expositions of light demonstrate just how important he would be to later generations of artists (much more so than the dutiful history painter of the early period who, for me, always disappoints when one moves from the grandiose landscape in the style of Lorraine or Poussin to the rather lumpen smudges of figures scattered around the foreground).

Which brings us finally to Blake. Presented with one room, the focus of this exhibition is the new series of prints acquired by Tate in January 2010, which is both an opportunity and a product of necessity, many of the other great Blake images owned by Tate Britain currently being prepared for a large exhibition at the State Pushkin Fine Arts Museum next year. Accompanying the new prints are two other works by Blake, the marvellous Blasphemer, one of the biblical scenes painted for Thomas Butts around 1800, and the dark and poorly preserved tempera of the Bard after Thomas Gray, which had started to deteriorate during Blake’s lifetime. In addition, there are works by Samuel Palmer, Henry Fuseli (with his Titania and Bottom dominating one wall), Richard Dadd and Theodore Von Holst. The Fuseli connection is apt, though from this the curators appear to have moved to Dadd and Holst as emblematic of Romantic imagination in a way that may be true generally, but immediately loses its originality by the apposition with Blake’s small prints.

Fuseli is an artist whose star has fallen as Blake’s has risen and, looking at his slightly bombastic canvas it is not hard to see why: Fuseli captures a particular aspect of his audience’s imagination and presents it back to them, slightly modified, slightly repackaged, without ever really pushing them (and, I’m afraid, that I was much less impressed by his student, Holst). By contrast, I have always been fascinated by some of Richard Dadd’s art, especially The Fairy Fellow’s Master Stroke, displayed here. Nonetheless, its hyper-real, rather kitsch and Dali-esque style means that this particular painting often appears to me to be locked into an obsession that, while it may fascinate more than Fuseli’s suitably risque but slightly passé fantasies, also bars out the viewer from exercising his or her imagination while Blake’s work appears much more stimulating.

Of course, during his lifetime, “mad” Blake’s paintings attracted even less interest than Dadd’s in Bedlam, but the new series of prints was proving extremely popular (and was constantly surrounded during the time I was at the exhibition). This, in part, is almost certainly due to the narrative surrounding their discovery, and plenty has been written on that subject and the prints themselves. One thing that struck me very clearly upon viewing these prints is the new style of conservation and preservation, which offers a marked contrast to previous forms of presenting art works. The prints have not had an easy life, and while some of the worst damage has been removed not all traces of that material history have been erased. Thus, for example, stab marks where the prints were bound together, as well as some of the grime accumulated throughout their existence, remain very much in evidence. However, it is the colours of those small images which most strongly stand out. Many of Blake’s contemporaries and immediate followers were extremely dismissive about his use of colour, but the clear, vivid reds and blues of his images of Los, Thel and Urizen blaze brightly, so that the fluid, elegant forms – lacking the monomaniacal introversion of Dadd or the arch, slightly too-knowing grotesquery or titillation of Fuseli – rightly inscribe themselves in the viewer’s mind. Eventually, these prints will sink to a lower place in the public imagination, almost certainly supplanted by the more famous large colour prints of Newton and Nebuchadnezzar, but for the moment it is entirely appropriate that they have this moment of close inspection: Blake’s imagination is more bizarre than Dadd’s, far less conventional than Fuseli’s, but it also offers a portal to later generations that is as important philosophically as Turner’s art is formally: it is the insistence that any artist – indeed, any viewer, must create their own system or be enslaved by another’s.

While the new prints may eventually attract less attention than other works by Blake, some of my particular favourites – Blake’s woodcuts for Dr Thornton’s edition of Virgil’s pastoral poetry – are scattered throughout the exhibition. These very minor illustrations, which diverted Blake but for a little time, were in many ways the most formally significant of Blake’s works, inspiring artists as diverse as Samuel Palmer, Edward Calvert, Paul Nash and Graham Sutherland, such influence being especially evident in many of the works that fill the Neo-Romantics room. Apparent insignificance and ephemerality is a theme of the room curated by Richard Wright and demonstrating the importance of the Contemporary Art Society, which has donated, or caused to be donated, many important works to the nation.

Entitled The Sleeping Congregation, Wright’s room takes its title from a print by Hogarth satirising a pompous sermon. Wright’s own collection is very low-key – so low-key that we walked past it twice, somewhat distracted by Fiona Banner’s Harrier and Jaguar aircraft in the Duveen Gallery. Wright, winner of the Turner Prize for 2009, provides a more liminal space that, as well as a fragment of a title page from Blake’s Europe and small prints by Blake, Palmer and Calvert includes curios such as one of Christo’s wrapped magazines. Wright offers a critique of post-sixties art’s obsession with using the techniques of manipulation and control drawn from the advertising industry, and which offers a very understated contrast with the Duveen exhibition in the gallery next door (though Banner’s work is the most fun I’ve seen in a long time). There is also, it must be said, a certain irony in visiting this curated collection after the Romantics, for if contemporary art is sometimes seduced by the media-manipulation techniques of the advertising industry, it is also quite clear that those techniques owe much to the revelling in spectacle that has been one of fine art’s own enduring contributions to the growth of mind-forg’d manacles, and was clearly sometimes as much the intended effect of Romantic art in the early nineteenth century as any liberation of the senses.

Print as Social Media: The William Blake Birthday Book

I was recently sent a copy of this delightful book by Felicity Bowers. Rather than provide a straightforward review I have decided to write about it in a slightly different format – partly because of the date of publication (2007) but also because, while reading it, several other thoughts on a broader theme became apparent to me.

The Birthday Book was published to commemorate the 250th anniversary of Blake’s birth and launched with an exhibition, “All that we See is Vision”, in November of that year at the House of William Blake in South Molton Street, where Blake lived in the early nineteenth century. The book also grew out of a long-established group, the William Blake Congregation, which was set up in 1986 by Simon Miles and which meets every year at Tate Britain to celebrate Blake’s birth. As such, the editors sent out invitations to artists and poets influenced by Blake who in turn spread the word to others, submissions then being brought together to produce the final book.

The result is a collection of 61 poems and illustrations printed in colour and taking Blake, directly or obliquely, as a source of inspiration. By and large images and poems alternate throughout the book, with plenty of pages combining both in a manner befitting Blake’s own method of production (and demonstrating just how much easier his task would have been had he lived and worked in the age of digital reproduction). Contributors include several famous figures, such as Adrian Mitchell, Michael Horovitz and Chris Orr, as well as plenty of others who may or may not be enthusiastic amateurs (or, at least, unknown to me). This is by no means a criticism of the project, as opening up Blake to the widest possible audience is of especial interest to me.

With regard to the images and poems themselves, the quality of such a collection is variable – as one would expect of a medley such as this – and the same is true of style, media and presentation. Some particularly attracted my attention: Jan Martin’s elegant, minimalist linocut, “Heaven in a Wild Flower”, is graceful and delicate, inviting the viewer to consider Blake’s imaginative infinity in the spaces bounded by a firm line; Roger Wagner’s untitled woodcut is reminiscent of Blake’s designs for Thornton’s Virgil and his watercolour “Albion Rose”, as well as alluding to elements of the fourfold vision in The Four Zoas and Jerusalem; Partou Zia’s painting, also untitled, depicting a woman painting in a book beneath a tree, was especially poignant for me, as I had met Partou – an Iranian born artist who had lived in Newlyn since 1993 – several times before her early death in 2008.

The contributions tend to be divided between those that reinterpret a particular text or motif from Blake – such as Brian Catling’s “Blake – The Flea”, Karen Camp’s “from Songs of Innocence – Night”, and Michael Chaitow’s “Energy is Eternal Delight” – and those that use Blake as a starting point for original compositions that echo Blakean themes and styles, or aspects of his biography, rather than specific minute particulars, such as Horovitz’s “Footnotes to Blake” or interFerence’s “To Whom It May Concern.”

The thoughts roused in me when reading through The William Blake Birthday Book were most intriguing in dealing with the social feeling that runs throughout the book. Social media may be a buzzword when dealing with online and digital platforms, but everything about this printed book – from its conception to the delicious jumble decoherent responses – points to how other formats may be social media. In particular, considering the conversations inspired throughout the pages of this little book, the editor’s acknowledgement of thanks to “all the artists and poets who responded with enthusiasm at short notice and accommodated our strange request to use handwriting in the age of email and to work at the same size as the printed image in the age of photography and digital scanning” is a tribute to the aspirations of this (itself delightfully strange) work inspired by one who described himself as “very much delighted with being in good Company.”

The William Blake Birthday Book is available from For more information on the Blake Congregation, including its next meeting at Tate Britain, visit

Richard Wright: The Sleeping Congregation

Richard Wright, winner of last year’s Turner Prize, is the third and final artist to curate the Contemporary Art Society series at Tate Britain from 13 September to 5 December 2010.

Wright, who lives and works in Glasgow, is an artist very much influenced by Blake’s visionary works in his own art, though the title of this exhibition takes its title from a 1763 Hogarth engraving, which mocks a tedious sermoniser and his bored audience.

Also included in the exhibition are pieces by William Blake (a posthumously produced fragment from Europe) and Kurt Schwitters. Wright’s aim with the exhibition is to address the need for more inspirational and exhortative forms of art that will rouse the sleeping congregation to renewed energy.

Founded in 1910, the Contemporary Art Society exists to support and develop public collections of contemporary art in the UK. It does so by raising the funds to purchase and commission new works of contemporary art for a national network of public collections, and by soliciting gifts of works to these collections for public benefit.

More information on the exhibition can be found on the Tate web site, and to learn more about the Contemporary Art Society visit

Blakespotting: Philip Ringler’s Nocturnal Sunrise

I recently came across a series of stunningly beautiful photographs by Philip Ringler. Entitled Nocturnal Sunrise, this series of 21 images can be viewed on his web site at, as well as other work.

Ringler, who has an MFA from John F. Kennedy University, comes from the San Francisco Bay Area and has worked as a professional photographer since 1995. His exhibitions include Declassified (2006) and The Shadow Side of New Orleans (2004) as well as Nocturnal Sunrise (2009).

What attracted my attention to Ringler’s work was an interview with Dean Brierly for the blog The Photographer Speaks, in which the photographer outlines some of his literary influences. As well as J. G. Ballard and Edgar Allen Poe, Ringler has the following to say about Blake:

William Blake’s poetry and etchings also move me deeply and have infused their influence into this series. In Blake’s poem “Auguries of Innocence,” there is the line “some are born to the endless night.” That idea always sends chills down my spine.

The images in Nocturnal Sunrise themselves more clearly demonstrate gothic and melancholy elements than other aspects of Blake’s work, and – in reference to the line from Blake’s Auguries – it is hard for me not to make a connection between Ringler’s art and Jim Jarmusch’s film Dead Man. Although very different in terms of subject matter, the aesthetic of decay that infuses many of the pictures, with beautiful, corroded textures as in “The Great Destroyer” and “The Great Depression”, also call to mind some of Joel Peter-Witkin’s photographs in Songs of Innocence and Experience. Of his images, Ringler describes them as neither pessimistic or optimistic, but paradoxical: “The images may be read as light emerging from darkness, darkness overtaking light, light infiltrating darkness, etc., but ultimately all of these ideas can coexist together.” Blake himself was no fan of chiaroscuro (somewhat ironic, considering how many photographers working in monochrome appeal to him), but as a master of contraries he would certainly have approved of an artist seeking to paint with paradoxes.

New exhibition: The Romantics

Tate Britain is to hold a major new exhibition that will open on 9 August and run until 31 December 2012.

The Romantics will explore the origins and legacies of Romantic art in Britain as part of a major, nine-room display in the Clore Gallery, with works drawn from the Tate’s collection. As well as works by Henry Fuseli, J. M. W. Turner, John Constable and Samuel Palmer, the recently acquired Blake prints will also be on display. (For information about the prints, click here.) Two rooms will also be devoted to the legacy of the Romantics on Graham Sutherland and other later artists.

Admission to the exhibition is free, and you can find more details including opening times on the Tate web site.

Blakean Summer Shows

With continuing interest in the art of William Blake, Summer 2010 promises to be a lively time to see either his work or art inspired by his paintings.

June began with the unveiling of a new painting that will almost certainly be recognised as a major contribution to Blake’s reception. William Daniels presented his William Blake II, created from rubbish and detritus, at the Newspeak: British Art Now, part one of which opened at the Saatchi Gallery on May 30 and runs there until October 17. Including work by Steve Bishop, Anthea Hamilton and Henrijs Preiss as well as Daniels, it has been attracting very favourable reviews in the press, with Blake II – based on the Thomas Phillips portrait of 1807 which can be seen in the National Portrait Gallery – receiving particular praise.

Another exhibition that opened this month and include Blake’s works or installations inspired by him is The Alchemy of Things Unknown at the Khastoo Gallery in Los Angeles. Drawing together art, writing and other media by figures such as Kenneth Anger, Austin Osman Spare and Marilyn Manson as well as Blake, the exhibition aims to explore mystic traditions and creativity, drawing particularly on Carl Gustav Jung’s theories of the creative unconscious as espoused in The Red Book. It runs from June 10 to July 31.

Elsewhere, you can see examples of Allen Ginsberg’s photography at the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC in Beat Memories: The Photographs of Allen Ginsberg until September 16, as well as examples of Blake’s art as part of the Watercolour in Britain: Tradition and Beyond show at Sheffield Museums, running from June 17 to September 5, while the Larkhill Gallery in Bath has Blake’s illustrations to The Book of Job and other prints until July 10. Finally, Blake’s work is also included in the Drama & Desire: Artists and the Theatre exhibition which includes his art alongside that of Edgar Dégas and Aubrey Beardsley at the Art Gallery of Ontario, and which will open to the public until September 26.