Spur c. 1941

Editor: Here we have Cornelius Christoffels’ "Spur," a watercolor and drawing from around 1941. There's something kind of austere and functional about it. It's so clearly just *a thing*, meticulously rendered. What leaps out at you when you look at this? Curator: Funny you say "thing"—it's all *about* things, isn't it? The cold, hard, often strangely beautiful things humans create, then imbue with purpose and… energy, somehow. You know, I often think of spurs less as riding equipment, and more like little personal galaxies – each spike a path of power, a suggestion of forceful direction. What kind of stories do you think this particular spur holds, locked in its metal? Editor: A galaxy, huh? I like that. Stories… Well, judging from the age, I'd guess it was used in a working context, not a decorative one. It’s not shiny or showy, but utilitarian. Makes me think of some cowboy pushing cattle. Curator: Utilitarian for sure! But I always think the simplest things carry the deepest stories. Think about it – the sweat, the sun, the feel of a horse beneath you, the decisions being made at every moment to guide, protect, and sometimes...command. Imagine the weight of choices pressing down on that little spur with every rotation. Now, who wore this spur? Was it someone who cared deeply about the animal? Editor: Ooh, that adds another layer. You know, I came in seeing it as just an object, but thinking about who used it, and *how* they used it... completely shifts the tone. Thanks! Curator: Exactly! These objects are so quiet. But look close enough, and the spurs sing their histories back to us. It can become a haunting song of human intentions and consequences.