When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew!
And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair;
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!
I liked that poem, Curt, thanks!
I love it! And, actually, I don't think something like that is an impossible scenario to imagine! More surprising things have happened, especially in art. Maybe it will be located in Bentonville, Arkansas.
Originally Posted by Erik Petersson
Oh, that won't be for a while yet. What I'm doing is to strip them apart, one process at a time (right now, it's Salt Printing)... collate, translate, and rediscover these things from the 1860s and before. Nineteenth century science writing is dense, verbose (it takes a full page for them to describe coating by floating) and sometimes wrong (Cyanide is called an element... and the terms "atom" and "molecule" are thrown around interchangeably).
Originally Posted by dwross
I'm hoping to parlay this into a Master's Thesis though.
Very exciting! Best of luck. It will be a significant contribution.
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