Man laat twee kinderen speelgoed zien op de stoep van een prenthandel c. 1875 - 1925

Curator: I'm captivated by this watercolour illustration by Pedro de Weyer, depicting a man showing toys to two children outside a print shop, dating somewhere between 1875 and 1925. Editor: There's a kind of grey melancholia that washes over everything, don’t you think? Even the children, though ostensibly interested in the toys, seem a bit subdued. Look at the subdued palette! You feel the materiality of London fog seeping into the very paper. Curator: Indeed, but let’s also look at what's happening: consumer culture in plain sight, a tableau of urban commerce. Here’s a man with trinkets—potentially factory-made—offering joy to these children. The labour behind each toy is absent, lost in the exchange. And these children look affluent; one carries a doll and the other, a dog. It's about class and access, and the staged commodification of joy, wouldn’t you say? Editor: Absolutely. And I'd also consider the street as a stage—De Weyer capturing an utterly spontaneous performance. Look how effortlessly he balances the shop's rigid structure with the figures' dynamism. I can almost hear the seller's spiel and children’s laughter muffled by the city sound! Curator: Think of the watercolor itself—pigments delicately suspended in water, laid on paper. What was available during that time? Did he grind them himself, or did he buy them pre-mixed? How did those materials—or lack thereof—affect the way people perceived art then and what messages can be conveyed to viewers today? Editor: A fair point; still, you can feel De Weyer’s sensitive approach here. Notice the figures. With just a few strokes of his brush, the face of each tells their own unique, silent story—a skill beyond mere commercialism! Curator: I can't help but feel both invited and repelled—lured in by the gentle colour, then cast back by the social complexities unfolding right before the shop's entrance. Editor: Yes. As ever, a bittersweet reminder to question what we see. What stories are sold to us, what joys do they represent, and most of all, how much did they really cost?