Brunnen aan het Vierwaldstrekenmeer te Zwitserland 1863 - 1914

Curator: Staring at this print, I am immediately drawn into the sort of silent drama it radiates. What about you? Editor: Absolutely. There's an eerie calmness, yet that man-made tunnel just jutting through the landscape hints at some unseen labor. We’re looking at Giorgio Sommer's "Brunnen aan het Vierwaldstrekenmeer te Zwitserland," taken somewhere between 1863 and 1914; it's held here at the Rijksmuseum. Curator: Sommer certainly knew how to compose a scene! That band of grey in the sky echoes and enlivens what would otherwise be a study of industrial rock and water, doesn’t it? Editor: Indeed. It speaks to the monumental task of shaping the natural world through technology; notice the layering of the mountains behind the town. All those materials had to be extracted and transported to build what looks to be just a quiet, relaxing space. Curator: I am moved by the overall stillness, only broken by the presence of those uncanny tunnel mouths on the right of the photograph, suggesting, as you note, what unseen energy or labor. It reminds me of how art often invites me to meditate on something so small that only by pausing to examine do I then begin to feel its enormousness. Editor: The print's sepia tone amplifies that sentiment of stepping back in time, almost making you forget about the grit and industry it represents. The sheer scale of intervention feels so blatant now—two dark orifices cut directly into solid bedrock, not blending at all. It provokes contemplation about that complicated intersection between technological advancement, industrial labor and environment transformation. Curator: The picture plane also invites one to meditate on the art object as itself a tunnel—or rather, a porthole. Through it, we glimpse a Switzerland long since transformed by development and modern anxieties, but the scene somehow allows me to dream nonetheless. Editor: I agree. While art like this certainly evokes dreams, my feelings return to the exploitation of labor embedded in it all. Seeing it all compressed in this little slice is oddly… humbling, and something to contemplate as we consume. Curator: It strikes me now, it makes you consider how our need for order and industry shapes even our holidays and escapism, wouldn't you say? Editor: A sobering perspective. Let’s hope future developments become gentler and more considerate.