Silver Mug c. 1938

Editor: This is Nicholas Zupa's "Silver Mug," a drawing from around 1938. I'm struck by how delicate it looks, like a memory fading on aged paper. What details really stand out to you? Curator: Well, it certainly feels like holding a whisper, doesn't it? For me, it's the empty rectangle in the upper left that hums. It makes me wonder, what image was supposed to live there? Is this a fragment of something larger, or a self-contained poem? The artist leaves that space unresolved for the viewer to consider the composition, and potentially themselves in relationship to it. Editor: I hadn't noticed the rectangle that much. So it's not just about the mug itself? Curator: Oh, the mug sings too, of course! The graceful handle, that quiet suggestion of light dancing on its surface…It evokes a time, a ritual. I bet it’s reflecting light from somewhere else in the room that wasn't included, right? That delicate dance is what pencil can do, but there’s also a technical rendering and craft. Do you think that's what attracts you to it? Editor: Yes! It's the blend of the everyday object and a sense of skilled observation. What was daily life for Zupa around that time? I am very drawn to this tension in craft object depictions. Curator: Precisely! This isn’t just any mug, it’s *his* mug. Or one he saw, had some fleeting connection to, then made an effort to keep around for longer. And his skill freezes it in a time and a place that it isn't *quite* connected to now, except for us here considering it, generations later. What about it will stick with you when you leave here? Editor: The feeling of incompleteness. I'll be pondering that empty rectangle. And how something so simple can hold so much quiet power. Curator: Nicely put! The quiet is a powerful tool to get people considering artwork deeply. Perhaps a quiet walk reflecting upon our lives is the final effect from the artist.