Wilg 1896

Curator: Look at this wonderful print by Pieter Dupont, dating back to 1896. It’s called "Wilg" which I believe translates to "Willow" – crafted with etching and wood. Editor: Well, right away, I see a presence. A stoic energy that feels both ancient and fragile, somehow trapped on this small rectangle. Curator: Trapped, that’s interesting. What makes you say that? Considering the vastness trees represent in landscape art, what impression do you have of the frame, or format of this tree? Editor: There’s such density, you know? It feels as though this tree’s entire essence, its entire life story, has been distilled into this small scene. The textures of the bark—they're practically shouting with history, but confined within those hard edges, almost as if it’s a prisoner in plain sight. The marks and scratches give this tree a worn-out soul as if someone beat it with the weight of time. Curator: I love that observation! This was done with a very sensitive, descriptive kind of style, which in the late 19th century focused on realism and very accurate depictions, but still maintained its expressiveness through mark making. Knowing that these marks and scratches would create texture gives this landscape some character and brings forth this life force and energy that we both agree on. I'm glad we see the same thing. Editor: And perhaps what draws me to this kind of artwork is exactly that duality: a life force compressed by imposed borders. In many ways, this represents communities, like people forced to leave their homeland or to exist in predefined categories and conditions that are set forth by others, especially at the turn of the 20th century when national and social constraints were abundant. Curator: Exactly. Art does often hold those contradictions, doesn't it? A single tree containing a multitude of stories; limited in format, yet expansive in interpretation. Editor: Makes you think, doesn’t it?