The Sheep and the Flies 1849

Curator: Look at this unsettling pastoral scene. Charles Meryon etched "The Sheep and the Flies" in 1849, using ink on paper. What's your initial take? Editor: My first impression is one of starkness and stillness, with a disquieting buzzing around it. It feels very… corporeal. That sheep looks absolutely burdened by its wool, a sort of melancholic lump in the landscape. Curator: I see it, the weight is palpable, isn't it? Meryon, known for his detailed architectural prints of Paris, rarely depicted animals, which makes this print feel deeply personal. Editor: It makes me think about the materiality of both the image and the sheep, honestly. You've got the biting, etching process mimicking the biting flies, wearing down the copper plate just like they wear down the poor beast. And the printmaking process, itself repetitive and laborious—much like the cyclical, bothersome nature of the flies around the animal. Curator: You bring up the labor...I never thought of the printing itself as an empathetic mirroring. But Meryon was, wasn't he, someone who acutely felt the world's irritations, both physical and mental. Maybe the flies buzzing around the sheep were a way for him to portray all those bothersome thoughts one might ruminate over like, like relentless, nagging worries? Editor: Possibly, or perhaps he's using the image as a sort of class commentary? The flies thrive off the sheep, who is ultimately there to provide fleece and meat to its master. Is he looking at that sort of power imbalance here? Curator: You know, I love that we can ponder over the material reality and imbue it with our own set of nagging thoughts; is the master even represented there as that small human off to the side? Or simply the fate awaiting every living being? "The Sheep and the Flies," such an unpretentious name, but it gives me more with every consideration! Editor: I think there is value in looking closely at the material nature of the work, and the physical conditions from which the artwork comes. Hopefully our dialogue sparks even further pondering about this unassuming print.