I recently added a book published in 1809 to my collection. To be fair, the book is in rough shape. The front and rear covers are separated from the spine, the pages are aged and discoloured, but within these pages are engravings by #IsaacTaylor (1759-1829). The book is called #TheLifeofChrist. Taylor was born in London. His father was also named Isaac Taylor (1730-1807), and son followed father into the engraving trade. Taylor (the younger) married and moved to Lavenham in Suffolk. Here he became z well known itinerant preavher. Life as an engraver was not easy, and when Isaac received a call to pastor an independent church, he moved to Colchester, and finally to Ongar in Essex to pastor another nonconformist church, where he resided until his death.

I find these works fascinating and beautiful, wonderfully expressive. To me, there is just something extraordinary in these sublimely engraved black and white images. Age makes them more accessible and more expressive. Look upon the agony in the woman’s face as Christ is crucified, the anger in the body of the soldier as he drives the nail into Christ’s feet. I look at the edges of the pages themselves and see they have been touched hundreds maybe thousands of times. This book has been loved. Maybe that is why I love the imperfect. For I have seen pristine antique engravings, clean and untarnished as the day they were printed but these usually fail to move me for they in all their perfection have not been cherished, looked upon day after day, and loved. Even in some mysterious way affecting people’s lives.