Pentedattio, Calabria (October 1930) 1930

Curator: Looking at Escher’s "Pentedattio, Calabria (October 1930)," done as a print in 1930, I’m struck by how it teeters between stark realism and utter fantasy. The town clings to the rock as if defying gravity. Editor: My first impression is "melancholy fortress." It’s black and white, dramatically geometric, but also… precariously placed. The scale is imposing; the buildings look like they might crumble. Curator: Exactly. It's a testament to Escher's fascination with impossible architecture, even in what seems like a simple landscape. The rigid geometry of the houses plays off against the natural, almost violently jutting rocks. There's a tension there. Editor: It almost looks like a brain clinging to its bone structure! The way he’s created shadows makes those craggy rocks ominous, like faces glaring out. It's less about celebrating the beauty of the location, more about an uncanny valley. Curator: And consider how meticulously he’s rendered the foliage. Each individual leaf is a testament to his almost obsessive attention to detail. The light source seems ambiguous. Does it come from above, suggesting hope? Or does it seep from within, implying the surreal? Editor: Ambiguous is right. It creates a certain disorientation. There's an "old engraving style" which gives the work a historic, slightly sinister atmosphere. As if this village has always been perched here, teetering on the brink. Curator: I’m seeing the way geometric abstraction can reveal the bones of reality beneath the surface of perception, an x-ray of a location’s true being. Escher reveals a truth perhaps truer than mere surface beauty. Editor: True. Escher makes us ask what holds this place together. The rock? The buildings? Or the strange energy conjured between the two. I won't easily forget the strange sense of solitude. Curator: A silent sentinel overlooking its history, beautifully—if eerily—observed by Escher. Editor: A stark vision that, surprisingly, gets under your skin.