Snehové brazdy (Snow Furrows) 1968

Ladislav Cepelák made this etching of snow furrows, sometime in the 20th century. The stark contrast between the dark sky and the bright furrows really draws me in, like a scene caught in a dream. Looking at the texture, you can almost feel the crispness of the snow. The lines aren't perfectly uniform; they have this beautiful, scratchy quality that makes you wonder about the tools Cepelák used, maybe a drypoint needle to get that kind of rough, direct mark. There's something very physical about the way the image is built up, and it reminds me that printmaking is such a hands-on process. Take a look at those vertical marks, how they're clustered together. It creates this sense of depth and movement, almost like the wind is blowing across the field. This focus on landscape and the materiality of the print makes me think of other artists who were preoccupied with nature, like, say, the woodcuts of Emil Nolde, who I like. Ultimately, though, this piece stands on its own, inviting us to pause and find something new each time we look at it.