Starnberger See 1922

Curator: Right now, we’re looking at Henri Braakensiek’s “Starnberger See,” a graphite drawing completed in 1922. Editor: The immediate feel is unsettled, moody, right? That sky—it looks like graphite dust barely clinging to the page, pressing down on that turbulent looking water. Curator: Absolutely. See how the horizon line is broken by the suggestion of buildings, perhaps a small village, almost swallowed by the landscape? The lake, Starnberger See, becomes a character. Water can be about cleansing and renewal, or about chaos, depending. What do you feel it means here? Editor: Well, given how turbulent the water appears to be in contrast to the stoicism of the structures behind, I would wager that the artist means to imply the insignificance of humankind, vis-a-vis the overwhelming presence and unyielding power of Nature. There are storms and turbulence we just have to navigate as best as possible, as frail vessels traversing great, perilous waters... Curator: I love how you connect that to the power of nature! But for me, seeing how delicately he renders the scene makes me ponder our connection to landscapes. Is Braakensiek attempting to demonstrate our attempt to impose upon something that ultimately belongs only to itself, a humbling of sorts? I find it poignant. Editor: And the fact it’s a graphite drawing adds another layer, doesn't it? Graphite, fundamentally, is just compressed carbon. Are we meant to also view carbon, from which comes our life-force, as equally untamed? It truly makes you think about the symbolism the artist is intentionally or unintentionally projecting in this landscape... Curator: I agree, there is so much to unpack in the emotional textures of a quick, seemingly simple sketch. It becomes quite intimate. I mean, to render that atmospheric pressure with just a pencil, it's amazing, isn't it? Editor: Definitely powerful, yes! There is much more than what meets the naked eye with Braakensiek and "Starnberger See," and the more that we analyze it, the more nuances of our natural state appear. It’s both melancholic and thrilling to discover this much, wouldn’t you say?