Cannibal 

Editor: This unsettling oil painting, "Cannibal" by Vasily Vereshchagin, depicts a tiger and birds feasting on a human body. It's pretty gruesome. I'm curious, what's your immediate reaction when you see this? What story do you think it’s trying to tell? Curator: Well, aside from the visceral gut punch, what I find captivating is how Vereshchagin throws us into this brutal tableau. No soft edges here, no romanticising. We're right there, amidst the harsh realities of life and death, reduced to a stark cycle of consumption. I feel like it speaks volumes, doesn't it, about the vulnerability of human existence against the indifferent backdrop of nature's primal forces. It also touches on humanity's own potential for savagery, mirrored in this tiger's feast, but perhaps not. What do *you* think? Is it all just shock value? Editor: I hadn't considered the mirroring aspect, that maybe we're looking at a reflection of ourselves too, not just nature red in tooth and claw, which, yes, I thought might have been a bit sensationalist. But seeing that human/animal mirroring adds depth and definitely removes a touch of "easy spectacle." Curator: Exactly! It lingers with you precisely because it isn’t just about sensationalism. And in landscape art, like this one, which can feel so serene, there is a twist because what dominates it here isn’t really the grass but a morbid, tragic subject. Tell me, looking at it now, does it shift at all for you? Does it change your first impression? Editor: It does! Knowing the subtext takes away some of that immediate revulsion and leaves behind this… sobering acknowledgement, I guess, that we’re all part of that great big food chain, ready or not. Curator: Absolutely. A painting isn't just what you see, it's also about feeling and seeing. Vereshchagin provokes in the space between the tiger's reality, your intellect and what comes from inside. That is precisely where all its disturbing power comes from.