Thomas Banner

Thomas Banner spent years carving tiny woodblocks in a London attic that smelled like turpentine and cold toast. He’d sneak out at dawn to sell his prints from a basket, always slipping a dog-eared copy of Hogarth’s The Rake’s Progress into the stack to remind himself what real mischief looked like. His March 1763 print, rows of grinning, powdered faces at a masquerade, catches a moment when everyone’s pretending to be someone else. Look it up; the faces alone will crack you up.