Delen van twee rechte lijnen met onderaan een ruiter te paard 1669

Curator: Sebastien Leclerc's etching from 1669, titled "Delen van twee rechte lijnen met onderaan een ruiter te paard"—"Parts of Two Straight Lines with a Horse Rider Below" if you will—presents quite the odd pairing of geometry and equestrian life. What leaps out at you first? Editor: That rider looks so pensive, almost swallowed by his own cloak. Is he heading somewhere important or lost in thought in this meticulously ruled, rational space? It feels melancholy, somehow, to see this figure placed under the rubric of logic. Curator: Yes, the composition does create that tension. Above him, these precise geometrical figures sit amongst barely legible text. The horse and rider echo the shapes—the arc of the horse’s neck mirroring the arc above. Do you think it's about man trying to tame the chaos of life through reason? Editor: Perhaps. Or maybe it is about something far more magical—attempting to map out the world around you based upon where you are. The rider is going to a destination that is somewhere, mathematically reachable within this rendering. We just don't see it. The horse almost feels like a compass, or a wayfinder of sorts, to finding an exact and precise point of intersection. Curator: That resonates, it is hard not to wonder if the text around the geometries offers clues. What a fascinating visual dialogue he's created here. Etching must have been a dream for Leclerc as an ex-engineer. Editor: It gives one the feeling that they’re just barely peeking into another dimension; with a sense of melancholy one may add! These little figures carrying secrets, each mark purposefully etching deeper, carrying the dreams and longings of those gone before. I like the sense that there is an unspoken history or future mapped across their cloaks and set to the exact specifications that is possible on a mathematically driven map.