Two Grasshoppers c. 1685

Editor: This is Herman Henstenburgh's "Two Grasshoppers," a colored pencil and graphite drawing on paper, made around 1685. I'm struck by how simply these two insects are presented, floating against an unadorned background. What do you see in this piece that grabs your attention? Curator: Formally, I'm immediately drawn to the stark contrast between the detailed rendering of the insects themselves and the void of the background. It throws the intrinsic characteristics into sharp relief. Note, for instance, the exquisite linearity defining the wings' venation and the tactile suggestion within the layered application of pigment. Editor: I hadn't considered how much the emptiness of the background emphasizes the detail of the grasshoppers. Do you think the artist chose to focus only on the grasshoppers for a particular reason? Curator: Undoubtedly. It's an exercise in pure observation and skillful transcription. The composition subtly guides your gaze. Notice how the placement of the two insects, facing slightly inward, creates a dynamic tension and balance across the pictorial plane. This arrangement avoids symmetry and imparts a sense of naturalism, almost as if we've caught them in a fleeting moment. Editor: So, you're saying the way they are placed creates movement even though it's a still drawing? Curator: Precisely. The tilted orientation of each grasshopper introduces an implicit diagonal vector, energizing the composition. The artist, I believe, encourages the eye to consider and reconsider relationships of proximity and attitude. Editor: That’s fascinating. I always thought of these types of drawings as just pretty pictures. Now, I realize there is an intense awareness of pictorial space that lends the insects a sculptural presence. Curator: Indeed. And by divesting itself from atmospheric nuance or contextual narrative, we may discern an assertion of the inherent worth and visual interest that animates these figures.