L'aube c. 1975

Curator: Oh, what a whisper of a piece. This linocut print, entitled "L'aube," which translates to "dawn" by André Beaudin, completed around 1975, feels so delicately balanced. Editor: Delicate is a good word. At first glance, it feels fragile, like a secret only just being revealed. That cracked semi-circle hovering above almost threatens to shatter, doesn't it? It puts me in mind of a damaged halo, about to bestow life. Curator: Precisely! It’s remarkable how Beaudin creates such a sense of hopeful burgeoning with these simple geometric shapes. I’m particularly drawn to the implied narrative within the symbol choices. Look at the green geometric stem or perhaps seedling rising to reach for the damaged halo. The linocut method has granted it almost ethereal softness. Editor: The lines do dance between defined and diffused. It looks primitive but highly sophisticated all at the same time, and like a strange alchemical symbol. And the use of color... That mossy green is just perfect against the speckled tan of the broken arc, which itself feels very ancient. Do you get the feeling that something profound happened before our story even began here? That there’s something we've walked in on and are witnessing only a piece of its process? Curator: Absolutely. "L'aube" captures the potential of dawn rather than a literal sunrise. The choice of colors are intentional: green symbolizing new growth and gold, a symbol for renewal. Beaudin’s artistic style often explored pure abstraction. It invited viewers to interpret deeper meaning and embrace the symbolism. His earlier surrealist influences become incredibly important here when interpreting how our seedling interacts with the symbolic representation of rebirth. It’s a fascinating relationship to explore! Editor: It really makes you consider our relationship with rebirth and even our attempts to heal, even in a destructive system. I’ll look at new days differently now, haunted by broken halos. Curator: Indeed, what begins shattered can lead to a promising beginning. This really allows one to dwell in the poetics of simple forms, no? Editor: Yes, this small piece whispers of immense beginnings.