Ah! ça... ils n'ont plus l'air de s'occuper de moi 1866

Curator: Immediately, what strikes me about this lithograph by Honoré Daumier is its melancholic air, like a dethroned king watching his subjects frolic. Editor: Absolutely. “Ah! ça... ils n'ont plus l'air de s'occuper de moi,” reads the title which roughly translates to, “Ah! Well... they don't seem to care about me anymore.” This print, dating back to 1866, is teeming with symbols of lost power and societal shift. Curator: The chair labeled "Principautés," or Principalities, sits abandoned stage left, almost as a physical manifestation of lost authority. You can practically hear the echo of cheering crowds turning to jeers, as those figures, so full of spirited rebellion, storm towards an uncertain future. Editor: Daumier masterfully uses costume here. The central figure, in what appears to be outdated regalia, seems utterly alone on the stage, despite the cacophony around him. It’s a poignant reflection on the fleeting nature of power and the inevitable change in political dynamics. I'm seeing echoes of classical tragic heroes. Curator: Right? There's a pathos here, an almost sympathetic portrayal of this figure left behind by progress, rendered with such fine lines and detailed hatching—yet, at the same time, there's a sardonic wink from Daumier to us, the viewers, implicating us in this drama of change. Editor: His gaze, though we don’t see his face, is heavy with resignation, that posture stooped not so much by age but by circumstance. He's trapped between tradition and revolution, embodying that tense space where societal norms collide. Curator: It does hit this bittersweet chord. A story etched in ink, about the ephemerality of fame, fortune, and power—but, you know, somehow it's reassuring that such things have always been the currency of life. Editor: And Daumier captures that human experience in such a deceptively simple form: a print, a fleeting impression destined to become a lasting testament.