Fabel van de wolf, de moeder en het kind 1758

Editor: So, here we have "Fable of the Wolf, the Mother, and the Child," an engraving by Johann Heinrich Meil the Elder, dating back to 1758. The frantic energy just leaps out, doesn't it? All those bodies flailing as they attack this wolf… what's your take? Curator: You know, I see that frenzy too, that Baroque zest for drama. It reminds me of a theatrical performance frozen in ink. But what gets me is the stillness in the mother’s face. Look at her. She’s got that stoic gaze, clutching her child. What's *her* story? I wonder. Maybe she understands that survival isn’t always about thrashing wildly. Editor: That's interesting! I was so focused on the action, I completely missed the mother’s expression. Maybe she’s seen it all before? A cynical reading, I know. Curator: Perhaps. Or maybe it's the fable itself imposing order. The wolf, that stand-in for danger and desire, disrupts her simple world, that modest building behind them, and demands she choose action, choose a way. Survival changes people. Editor: So, she represents resilience, almost? Versus just chaos and violence? I didn't even consider a resilience angle here... Curator: Exactly! This isn’t just a brawl. Meil has captured a nuanced narrative here, with her right at its centre. A reminder of the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of our animal selves. Editor: Wow, okay, I'm seeing this in a whole new light. What began as a frantic mess now feels way more layered. Thank you for opening my eyes to her calm amid all the chaos. Curator: My pleasure. Sometimes it’s about finding those little pockets of stillness, those quiet voices that whisper the true story. The unexpected really can unlock so much when we let it.