Gemmi Pass, Valais Alps 1895

Editor: So, here we have Paul Klee's 1895 graphite and pencil drawing, "Gemmi Pass, Valais Alps." It's surprisingly delicate for a mountain landscape. The lightness of the pencil strokes almost makes the mountains feel like they're floating. What do you make of this piece? Curator: Its strength lies in its simplification of form. Note the almost diagrammatic rendering of depth. The stark lines create distinct planes, drawing a contrast between "Fern," "Nah," and "Nebel," skillfully manipulating perspective with just a few strokes. How do you read the spatial relationships established by those planes? Editor: I guess it's a flattened perspective. The labels make it clear what's near and far, but it doesn't really *feel* that way. Is that part of Klee's point? Curator: Precisely. He’s playing with conventional notions of space, disrupting expectations. The uniform tonality across the entire surface contributes to this flattening. The bare minimum in terms of light and shadow encourages one to read it as a set of lines, a system, a construction, rather than a mimetic representation of the Alps. The lines themselves have a lyrical quality. Editor: So, even in a landscape, he's interested in the language of the image itself? Curator: Precisely. Forget trying to evaluate his technique against a particular subject, consider his careful arrangement of formal elements and lines. These lines, these gradations create planes—and their arrangement and construction is of most significance here. Editor: That's really changed how I see it. I was so caught up in the subject matter. Now, the lines feel so much more deliberate. Curator: Indeed. Appreciating this work requires a focus on its structural components—the orchestration of lines, shapes, and the overall composition, and not any romantic notion of representing nature. Editor: Thanks. I now realize that it’s the image itself that creates meaning, not simply what the image represents!