De Profundis 1929

Editor: So, this is "De Profundis," an etching by Georges Rouault from 1929. It's all in somber blacks and greys, which immediately makes me think of, well, a funeral. There's this strong diagonal composition leading towards what looks like a dark skyline with tombstone shapes. It’s… quite bleak. What do you see in this piece? Curator: Bleak, yes, but also luminous, in its way. Rouault, bless his soul, wasn’t afraid of the shadows. I feel this profound, guttural cry embedded within the cross-hatching. Notice how the etched lines create a vibrating effect; like grief itself is shimmering before our eyes. Think of Oscar Wilde’s letter *De Profundis*, written from prison – a lament, a reckoning. Rouault was deeply religious, wasn’t he? I always see his works through a spiritual lens, where darkness isn’t the end, but a prelude, you know? Editor: That’s interesting; I hadn’t considered a sense of… hope, maybe? It seemed definitively morbid to me. But that shimmering effect… I see it now that you mention it! Is that intentional, do you think, to create that unease? Curator: Oh, absolutely! Rouault masterfully uses that contrast to create a deeply affecting space. He wants you to *feel* the weight, the turmoil. But within that discomfort, is there not a flicker of something else, a defiance even? Like a soul refusing to be utterly extinguished. Do you sense that? Editor: I think I do now. It's not just sadness; it's… sorrow contending with something bigger. A flicker of light trying to poke through. It does change the way I see it completely. Curator: Exactly! And isn't that the magic of art? Shifting perspectives, one etching at a time. Editor: Absolutely. Thanks! That's a way different takeaway from where I began, I appreciate that insight.