Gezicht op een kleine houten brug over een sloot before 1901

This picture of a small wooden bridge over a ditch, by L. Schwere, it's like a memory fading into silver. The grays are so close together, it's hard to tell where one tone begins and the other ends. That makes me think of painting, where every mark is a decision, but sometimes the best decisions are the ones you almost don't make. The way the bridge just barely emerges from the water, it's like the artist is letting the image find its own way. There's a kind of humble searching going on here. It's like looking at a Walker Evans photograph, but with a softer edge. It makes me wonder what other quiet corners Schwere found beauty in. Art isn't always about shouting. Sometimes it's about whispering and hoping someone will listen.