Dorpsgezicht 1864 - 1936

Curator: Jan van Essen's "Dorpsgezicht," placing somewhere between 1864 and 1936, captures a village scene in toned paper using pencil. It resides here at the Rijksmuseum. Editor: It's funny, seeing this seemingly off-the-cuff drawing of a village immediately makes me feel a bit…claustrophobic, or maybe stifled is the right word? There’s this oppressive weight from the closely packed buildings and scratchy pencil strokes. It gives a sense of confinement. Curator: I see what you mean. Van Essen's commitment to realism through the humbleness of a pen sketch highlights the quotidian aspects of village life, stripping away the romanticized facade to reveal a somewhat stark reality. It makes me think about the lives of the working class within such a constrained setting, where social mobility and privacy were luxuries. Editor: Absolutely. And think about who gets to make such a quotidian sketch. The historical context implies a privilege of observation, right? A commentary almost passively consuming, on these closely-knit lives they may not even be a part of. The aesthetic of the "sketch book," gives me the impression it may have even been tossed off without a second thought. What narrative gets privileged when it is seen hanging on museum wall centuries after the fact. Curator: That's an excellent point about privilege. What is intriguing to me, though, is this emphasis on geometric shapes—these almost severe lines create this tension between objective observation and personal interpretation, wouldn't you say? There’s a kind of vulnerability there, I sense, that makes me wonder if maybe it *is* more personal and less distant. The artist themself caught, for better or worse, inside this moment? Editor: I find it powerful that Van Essen uses such simple tools—pencil and toned paper—to hint at deeper socio-economic and cultural narratives, especially within the landscape genre. Curator: And through such humble materials it remains so resonant and revealing of daily lives, doesn't it? It’s funny how something so unassuming can become this window into lives both familiar and distant.