Gezicht op Portus 1639 - 1701

Editor: This is "Gezicht op Portus," a print, likely an engraving, created sometime between 1639 and 1701 by Cornelis Meijer. It feels almost dreamlike, a fantastical cityscape mixing ancient Roman ruins and figures. What strikes you when you look at it? Curator: Ah, yes. It whispers of grandeur and decay, doesn't it? See how Meijer juxtaposes the colossal, crumbling amphitheater with these rather theatrical figures? It’s like peering into a memory, fragmented and reassembled. He invites us to contemplate not just Roman power, but the transient nature of it all, like empires built on sandcastles, ready to crumble with the tide. I wonder, does it evoke any personal reflections for you? A sense of longing, perhaps, for lost ages? Editor: I think it does. The scale is so off, it feels like a stage set. Like the statue of Neptune looms over everyone. Curator: Precisely! That’s where the dreamlike quality kicks in. It’s not just a literal depiction of a port; it's a meditation on the past, a personal imagining. Think about it – this isn't reportage; it’s closer to historical fiction. Editor: So, he's not trying to accurately document Portus. He is making more of an artistic or maybe even political statement? Curator: Indeed. It prompts us to consider what we choose to remember, and how those memories shape our present. Is it glorifying the Roman era, or is there a cautionary undertone? Perhaps it is both? It’s this delicious ambiguity that I find so engaging. What's your take? Editor: That's a fascinating thought; it really makes you wonder about the stories we tell ourselves about history and who gets to tell them. Thanks for opening my eyes. Curator: The pleasure is all mine. Isn’t it marvelous how a single print can unlock so many worlds? Art constantly questions who we think we are and who we want to be.