William Blake was, and continues to be, a very famous poet and artist who lived in 18th century London. He was religious, but political, and stuck it to the man in a variety of ways that pissed people off. Never one to follow the crowd, he once said, “To Generalize is to be an Idiot; To Particularize is the Alone Distinction of Merit.” Amen! But perhaps not the best way to make friends.
His dad was a “hosier” as in he made hosiery, like stockings and socks, which is a hilariously old-fashioned profession.
Blake wooed his wife, Catherine Boucher, with the time-honored tradition of complaining about a bad breakup. He asked her “Do you pity me?” and when she said yes, told her he loved her. Somehow this worked and they actually had a long and happy marriage. Blake, being a sort of feminist for his time, taught her how to read, write and engrave. He even wrote an allegorical poem about women owning their own sexuality. More Blake-isms we can agree with.
Blake’s artwork is, for the lack of a better term, awesome. It’s fantastical, filled with mythical creatures, dark and mysterious, weird and beautiful. It was too much for the guy who inherited his oeuvre after Catherine’s death- Frederick Tatham burned the bits he thought were sacrilegious or too poltically extreme. Another guy even erased sexual imagery from a bunch of Blake’s drawings. Squares. Later, the beat poet generation was hep to what Blake was serving, and both Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison cited him as an influence. And if that’s not cool, I don’t know what is.
Weird, I've seen this guy's more famous stuff, but never really thought about his as a person. yunno? Kinda like how you never imagined David Attenborough as a kid....