Boar, from Flaubert's "St. Julien the Hospitaller" 1957

Editor: Leonard Baskin’s 1957 etching, "Boar, from Flaubert's 'St. Julien the Hospitaller'," depicts a curled up, almost fetal-looking boar. It's stark, kind of haunting. What strikes you most when you look at this piece? Curator: Oh, Baskin. He wrestles with mortality in every line, doesn't he? I think what gets me is how utterly alone this creature seems. Like a tiny, prickly planet in a vast, empty cosmos. He's simultaneously powerful, a boar after all, and vulnerable, curled in on himself. The dark ink seems to absorb all light, making it almost otherworldly. Do you get that feeling too, that it's somehow...elsewhere? Editor: I do! It feels less like a drawing *of* a boar and more like a symbol *for* something. Maybe loneliness, like you said, or fear? Curator: Exactly! And the story it's drawn from... St. Julien accidentally kills his parents, so Baskin is channeling guilt, consequence, existential dread, perhaps? The intensity is amazing for what seems a simple print. I find his animals more human than most portraits. Don't you think? Editor: Definitely. I hadn’t thought about the narrative connection to St. Julien before, but now it clicks. Baskin really imbued it with so much depth. Curator: Depth and a little black humour too, maybe! A wink to the tragic absurdity of existence. Baskin reminds us that beauty and dread are not strangers, they're intertwined. Editor: I'll definitely be thinking about that duality the next time I see a Baskin. Curator: Good. Keep questioning and maybe even embrace that inner boar. After all, it might save you from the void and a good artist must feel it too!