Bloeiende cactus (epiphyllum) 1929

Editor: Here we have "Bloeiende cactus (epiphyllum)", or "Blooming Cactus", a 1929 woodcut by Samuel Jessurun de Mesquita, housed at the Rijksmuseum. I’m struck by the starkness, how the geometric, almost harsh lines give such an organic subject a rigid feel. What do you make of it? Curator: That tension you feel is exactly what grabs me, too! The epiphyllum, with its night-blooming habits and fleeting beauty, gets immortalized in these solid, almost unforgiving lines. Do you think the artist is celebrating this paradox, a delicate blossom rendered in such a bold medium? Editor: It could be! Or is he trying to contain something wild, domesticating nature through art? The cactus looks almost pinned, like a botanical specimen. Curator: I see your point. There's a curious formality here. Jessurun de Mesquita, a Sephardic Jew in the Netherlands, died during the Holocaust, but this was long before, you know? Does knowing that add another layer, maybe a foreshadowing of a life about to be cut off, similar to a cut flower, rendered so still in this print? Editor: Wow, I hadn't thought about that connection, but it’s very powerful. It changes how I see it – no longer just a plant study, but perhaps a meditation on mortality and resilience. Curator: Perhaps! And the beauty of art, my friend, is in those layers. We both started with what we saw, and ended up finding things unseen at first. A blossoming cactus, caught mid-bloom, hinting at life, loss, and enduring beauty.