Liggende hond 1841 - 1848

Curator: Before us we have “Liggende hond,” or "Reclining Dog," a drawing executed in pencil on paper by Johannes Tavenraat between 1841 and 1848. It’s a gem from the Rijksmuseum's collection. What strikes you first about this piece? Editor: He looks utterly zonked. The kind of floppy relaxation you only see after a long walk and a sneaky nibble of forbidden snacks. There's a lovely vulnerability to it, too – all the exposed belly and limp limbs. You almost want to whisper so you don't wake him. Curator: Indeed. Tavenraat masterfully captures that state of repose. Note the economy of line, how with minimal strokes he defines form and texture. The hatching, strategically placed, delineates the musculature and contours of the dog's body, lending it a surprising sense of volume. Editor: It's funny how he's managed to suggest the dog's weight, even though it's just pencil on paper. I bet it’s one of those street dogs, or a farm dog, or at least, that's the feeling I'm getting – like he isn't some pampered lapdog. Curator: That realism is very deliberate. Tavenraat wasn’t interested in idealizing his subject. Instead, he focused on presenting an honest observation. The dog's breed isn't particularly emphasized. Its value resides in its ordinary presence, its unpretentious authenticity. There's a certain…objectivity in his gaze. Editor: Okay, okay, point taken. "Authenticity," I get it! Still, you can't help but anthropomorphize, can you? I'm imagining him dreaming of chasing squirrels. Perhaps the slight angle suggests something about Tavenraat's personal observation spot—close by, almost intimate, but also distant enough. It suggests, maybe, this animal's freedom and his quiet regard for it? Curator: A compelling proposition. And an appropriate closing observation, wouldn't you agree? Editor: Couldn't have put it better myself, fancy-pants. Thanks, pooch, for the feelings and food for thought.