Orchideeën 1895 - 1935

Editor: So this is *Orchideeën*, or Orchids, a woodcut print made sometime between 1895 and 1935 by Mathieu Lauweriks. I’m immediately struck by the stark contrast and the almost brutal simplicity of the shapes. It’s quite moody. What do you make of it? Curator: Well, it sings to me of quiet contemplation. Lauweriks pares the orchids down to their essence. They're not realistically rendered, of course, yet the design whispers secrets, doesn't it? Those almost harsh, geometric forms—do they not, in a way, reflect the rigid, utopian ideals bubbling in the early 20th century? What sort of feeling do *you* get from the flatness of the background? Editor: Hmmm, rigid ideals. I see what you mean. And that flatness... it’s almost like the orchids are floating, suspended in a void. Is that intentional, do you think? Or just a consequence of the woodcut technique? Curator: A little of both, perhaps? The woodcut forces simplification, but I sense intention too. This was the era of the Gesamtkunstwerk - the total work of art - where every element contributed to a unified vision, and artists were experimenting with conveying emotions and feelings in minimal, often abstract forms. Think about those little dragonfly looking forms, or at least, that's what I see, what do you see? Editor: Now that you point them out, yeah, I see little dragonflies darting around. The whole thing feels like a moment captured, but one removed from reality, somehow. I never thought about abstraction connecting with rigidity. Curator: Art can be so surprising like that. That’s the beauty of looking closely! Don't you agree? There are these secret threads we get to unravel.