Medal commemorating Henry Wadsworth Longfellow c. 1882

Curator: This handsome bronze relief, now held at The Art Institute of Chicago, is a commemorative medal created around 1882 by Bela Lyon Pratt to honor Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Editor: My first thought is... wow, that bronze gives him a noble glow, almost as if Longfellow's words themselves have been burnished into metal. There's such a tangible presence in the depth of the relief. Curator: Absolutely. Medals like this were important forms of public art, offering a way to celebrate and circulate the image of significant figures, especially in the late 19th century, when Longfellow was basically America's poet laureate. This was just a few years after his death. Editor: It's lovely how the laurel wreath, partially framing him, subtly underscores that legacy. The texture around the face is so expressive, a wonderful interplay of light and shadow defining his thoughtful gaze and substantial beard. It feels more intimate than, say, a large public statue might. Curator: Definitely. It also touches upon the debate around public monuments: whether they represent all the people they aim to honor. In this case, a more modest scale seems more suited to commemorating the more subtle art of poetry. Medals like these also made art accessible. Editor: Yes. The way it captures the poet's wisdom—you almost feel he might start reciting "The Song of Hiawatha" if you stood here long enough. Curator: Perhaps, but think about what such celebratory portraits omit: What social and cultural conditions enable great writers like Longfellow? It's crucial to keep these questions in mind, even with pieces like these. Editor: Good point. Despite my swooning, history can be complicated, as we all know. It's the shadow play around his brow that gets me every time, though, like the weight of thoughts perfectly cast in bronze. Curator: Indeed, and now the medal itself becomes a cultural artifact, reminding us not only of Longfellow's verses but of how we chose to remember him at a specific point in time. Editor: So true, making it, itself, a kind of poetry etched in history. Curator: Precisely.