Diana and Endymion 

Editor: So, here we have *Diana and Endymion*, an oil painting, probably Baroque in style, by Sebastiano Ricci. I’m immediately struck by the dreamy atmosphere and the contrast between the sleeping figure and the watchful goddess. It’s quite… intimate, wouldn’t you say? What catches your eye? Curator: Oh, absolutely intimate, in that dreamy Baroque way! For me, it’s the dogs. Those dogs are witnessing something eternal, something unfolding outside of time, like only animals can. Notice how Diana almost blends with the cloud she sits on? That lightness is also in her hand gesture - a subtle refusal, but of what? Is it immortality she withholds? Or a blessing? Editor: A blessing, perhaps disguised as refusal? That's a neat way of thinking about it. I hadn’t considered the cloud-like quality. So you’re reading a lot into her hand… Curator: The hand, the hounds… Ricci’s Baroque drama pulses beneath a seemingly placid surface. It's almost a voyeuristic vision, don’t you think? We are invited to witness something tender, secretive… Do you think Ricci meant it to feel intrusive? Or just human? Editor: Hmmm… intrusive. I hadn’t thought of that, but now I’m wondering about the cherubs hovering in the background. Are they witnesses, too? I was so focused on the human(ish) elements, I completely missed their role in the drama. Curator: Precisely! They are a painted echo - or perhaps a mirror? The questions this raises really underscores, for me, why Ricci is such a master. He gives us so much, without giving it *all* away. It leaves room for our hearts. Editor: So, the painting invites us to become another set of voyeurs, to project ourselves and feel… invited… or even *un*invited. Wow. I’m seeing it in a totally different light. Curator: Yes, and the best art always seems to hold new insights doesn't it? It waits patiently, while we catch up.