Bomen en twee jongens c. 1930

Editor: So, this drawing, "Bomen en twee jongens," or "Trees and Two Boys," is by Carel Adolph Lion Cachet, from around 1930. It's a pencil sketch, part landscape, part figuration. I find it kind of scattered – like a page torn from a sketchbook, filled with fleeting impressions. What strikes you most about it? Curator: It *is* like catching a glimpse into the artist's mind, isn’t it? For me, the charm lies precisely in that unrefined quality. There’s a raw honesty here, almost like riffling through a treasured memory box. Forget formal poses! What feelings do the seeming incompleteness provoke? It is an artist grasping, isn't it? Trying to catch something essential before it disappears. Editor: It makes me feel like I am in motion and observing, sketching alongside the artist as they attempt to capture what they saw. There is something playful to this almost feverish capturing, and I feel included in this capturing. I'm thinking about those faces – is the figure to the left maybe a self-portrait? Curator: Mmm, now you're sparking my imagination! It absolutely could be a fleeting self-portrait. Artists often weave themselves into their work, even in subtle ways. I think you have the eye! Does knowing it could be a self portrait influence how you see this work? The notion gives us something of his inner world, perhaps his childhood...What do we make of the companion "Trees," do you think? Editor: It deepens it somehow, adds a layer of vulnerability, of him observing himself within the landscape. Thinking about the 'Trees' alongside... maybe it suggests a connection to nature, finding solace in it, capturing the beauty in the ordinary, in that very quick and immediate kind of way. The interplay is very sweet to consider. Curator: Absolutely, and it makes you consider – what can you leave on a page? We create our lives, piece by piece. Maybe this is less scattered than we assumed, initially. Thanks!