Horse c. 1939

Editor: So this drawing, "Horse," from around 1939 by Selma Sandler, it seems to be pencil and maybe watercolor, gives me the impression of something between folk art and a child’s toy. What strikes you when you look at it? Curator: Formally, I observe a fascinating interplay between the geometric and the organic. The body of the horse is rendered with flattened planes, almost sculptural in its simplicity. Note how the artist reduces anatomical details to basic shapes, prioritizing the overall form over realistic representation. The brushstrokes lend texture, countering the rigidity. Editor: So you're focusing on how she used shape and texture rather than the subject itself. Curator: Precisely. Consider also the muted palette – the greys and earth tones contribute to a certain reserve, avoiding sentimental color associations. This restricted chromatic range allows us to better appreciate the composition itself, does it not? Editor: It does. The spots almost feel like they break the form a bit; they're disruptive, even. Curator: An astute observation. One could argue that these disjunctions—the tension between flat and round, representational and abstract—contribute significantly to the drawing’s character. These interruptions force our eyes to linger, constantly reevaluating the image. How would you interpret the function of this visual device? Editor: I hadn’t considered the spots so carefully. Thinking about how it makes me look more intently has opened a whole new way of viewing this. Curator: Indeed. Attending to such formal nuances deepens one's experience of the work and art in general. It’s the structural elements that reveal the artist’s intent.