Man trekt loten uit twee globes en reikt ze uit aan twee machtige mannen 1590 - 1633

Editor: This is "Man trekt loten uit twee globes en reikt ze uit aan twee machtige mannen," an engraving from sometime between 1590 and 1633, attributed to Boëtius Adamsz. Bolswert, here at the Rijksmuseum. I’m immediately struck by its density. It's incredibly detailed, and feels almost theatrical. What catches your eye when you look at this? Curator: You know, when I look at this flurry of lines, I feel transported back to a world grappling with, well, with *everything*. Think about it: these figures, perched precariously on globes like the world is about to buck them off. And they're being handed fates, fortunes, little scrolls of destiny plucked from the void. The expressions... vacant? Almost resigned. What's that say to you, about a world on the cusp of discovery, or perhaps disaster? Editor: It's a really cynical image! I mean, look at all the religious iconography piled up above the central figure - and then they're drawing lots! Almost like saying fate isn't divinely guided. So who's in control then? Curator: Ah, there’s the rub, isn't it? The artist is really inviting us to ask that *exact* question! Consider the setting – this could be an allegory on power, chance, the shifting sands of fortune… What do the tools around suggest, if not some critique of authority? And why put globes, a symbol of expanding knowledge, right there? Is this the Renaissance spirit – or are we pointing towards disillusionment? Editor: So, it’s more than just a snapshot of people; it's more about asking if we're truly masters of our fate? I keep looking back at the children in the engraving. They seem to be the only ones observing everything without judgement. Curator: Exactly! Maybe the artist put them there as little reminders. Art asks, you see; and this piece, etched so long ago, whispers urgent things across the centuries. What a find this has been.