Portret van Johann Hieronymus Schröter 1775 - 1834

Editor: So, here we have an engraving, “Portret van Johann Hieronymus Schröter,” dating from 1775 to 1834, by Konrad Westermayr, residing here at the Rijksmuseum. There's something incredibly refined and, dare I say, a little severe about this portrait. It's almost ghostly, floating there on the aged paper. What strikes you when you look at it? Curator: Ghostly, you say? I love that! Yes, it's got that ephemeral quality, hasn't it? It makes me think about time, about how images attempt to capture a moment, but ultimately, time always wins. Look at the precision of the engraving – the crisp lines trying to define this man, Schröter, within that neat oval. Almost like containing him, pinning him down, while the paper whispers of age and fading. It feels very… human, in its flawed ambition. What do you think he was like? Stuffy intellectual or secret prankster? Editor: Secret prankster, definitely! Though perhaps that's wishful thinking. I’m intrigued by how isolated the portrait is on the page; all that empty space around him creates a feeling of loneliness, almost. Curator: Yes, the negative space! It’s shouting just as loud as the image itself. Consider it a stage, darling, for a single act. Maybe Westermayr felt a kinship with Schröter? Maybe he, too, felt isolated in his craft, forever chasing shadows with lines and ink. Editor: That’s beautiful. I hadn't thought of the negative space in that way, as a stage! So, perhaps it’s not loneliness, but rather a spotlight… Curator: Precisely! Or perhaps, and here's a thought, maybe the artist left all that space for our own interpretations, our own whispers to fill the silence. After all, art, like life, is best when it’s a conversation. Editor: It certainly gave us something to talk about. I see it in a whole new light now! Thanks!