Mort Noire - second page

     I am adding this second entry to my post from yesterday, because my post became
so long-winded with my thoughts about irresponsible people spreading the pandemic,
that I failed to say anything about the woodblock print in the title.   But at least, in the
hours since I posted my views, I am glad to see that the governors of some states are
now closing down some of the bars and clubs where the most thoughtless individuals
have been congregating. ( That's not to say that my words have any influence anywhere
or on anything. )

     The woodblock print is an old one: it dates back to a time when I still had some
living grandparents, and before the horrors of Vietnam, and more decades ago than
I like to calculate.  I ran across the print in storage recently, and since the image of
the dark, mask-hidden figure, seemed to fit in with my observations about all the troubles
our nation is having now, I decided to include the print in yesterday's, blog posting.

      Artists have always used the death figure as subject matter in their work.
The traditional image is a usually a skeletal, shrouded figure, carrying a scythe
and an hourglass, to symbolize lives being cut off, as our time on earth runs out.
Sometimes the artist's used such simple reminders as skulls, placed somewhere
in their compositions, perhaps labeled vanitas, or perhaps  Thanatos, for the Greek
god of death.
       It is those imponderable questions of life and death, which always occupy the
minds of our philosophers, poets, composers, playwrights and artists.  It is not
just how long we live which is their major question, but how well we use the time
we are given to be on this earth, and then how well we face our deaths, when our
time comes to go.  We see the results of their thoughts about those questions,
when we see their creative work, on stage, or on canvasses, or in great books,
or when we listen to their music.  Those great questions may not always be overtly
visible in the work, but they are always there, at least in subtext, or else the work
will seem fairly shallow.

     The woodblock was never really completed.  In my youthful enjoyment of all
things dark and macabre, I hadn't considered the idea that most art collectors
might not find death to be an appealing theme, no matter how abstract and
strong the artist's composition might be.  At the time that I was cutting the design,
I was planning to add other elements, including a skeletal hand emerging from
the robe, to hold the mask, and a skeletal foot below the robe's bottom hem.
Later on, as I was beginning  to have second thoughts, I decided that perhaps
I should change those particular elements to be a gloved hand and a fancy,
dress shoe.  But then, before I could continue, as so often happens, there were
interruptions of some kind, and the block was stored away, to be finished at a
later time, and then it was eventually forgotten.
       After I discovered the print, I went digging to see if I could find the
woodblock, and to my surprise, I found that I do still have it.  So now comes
the question of whether or not it has been worth keeping it all these years.
Is it likely that I will ever pick up the block and work on it again, after all this time?
Who knows? ........But I'm not dead yet.
                                                                  Eugene P. McNerney