LIttle Dog 1888

Curator: Today, we're looking at Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec's "Little Dog," painted in 1888. It's an oil on canvas piece currently held in a private collection. Editor: Oh, he looks completely knackered, doesn't he? Splayed out on what looks like a rather lumpy cloud. I immediately feel a connection; that’s me most days. Curator: Yes, that’s it’s genius. You almost don't realize the painting falls into a sort of Post-Impressionist style at first. Instead it’s about capturing an honest scene using quick brushstrokes to render a sleepy pup. It's intriguing how Lautrec applies impasto, especially for what looks like the cushion, practically sculpting with paint. It really highlights the labor inherent in its creation. Editor: The texture does give the, um, cloud-cushion, this strange ethereal but tactile quality, like something out of a dream. I mean, he looks like he’s floating in apricot jam! Those blacks and that orangey ground just vibrate. It is definitely the dream of a drowsy pup! Curator: Indeed, the high-key colour contrasts push this seemingly simple piece towards the Fauvist territory that followed Post-Impressionism. Considering Lautrec’s background, what might this say about genre painting's rising appeal and artistic value during this period? Editor: Oh, good point. Here we are fussing over him while also pondering on this sleepy puppy in his time: the artistic class divisions were beginning to fade. So a 'genre-painting', if you will, wasn't seen as inherently of less importance or stature, but held equal merit by being the work and choice of subject of a contemporary painter? Curator: Precisely! It all blurs the boundary between craft and fine art as painting dogs gained appeal. Editor: He is a marvelous, comfy doggy... the economy of brush strokes makes him feel instantly familiar. I kind of just want to scratch him behind his ears! Curator: I appreciate your insights, really helping us look differently, it really lets one think through how material and value interact to create meaning here. Editor: And I, yours. I'll never look at an apricot without thinking of a snoozing, fortunate pooch.