Untitled [plate LXVII] 1958

Curator: Welcome. Before us hangs Joan Miró’s “Untitled [plate LXVII]”, a 1958 print that exemplifies his engagement with abstraction and surrealism. Editor: Right away, it strikes me as oddly gentle, even though it's just this bizarre face staring out. It feels like a friendly monster. Curator: Note how Miró simplifies form to near-geometric shapes: the circular eyes, the line for a mouth, all contained within this somewhat crude outline. There is a powerful reduction at play here. Editor: Absolutely. It's primitive, almost childlike. You can practically feel the artist's hand, the roughness of the printmaking process itself. It reminds me of Picasso but with a sweeter soul. Curator: The use of color also cannot be ignored. The interplay between the green and pink-rimmed eyes provides visual dynamism, offset by the somber black and earth-toned base. Do you perceive a tension, a formal juxtaposition? Editor: For sure, a weird balance. The color gives the face life but at the same time, they kinda flatten each other out in the same field. Like a dream where you can’t tell if you are laughing or crying. Curator: Precisely! Miró’s command over line, his orchestration of color, invites contemplation about representation, being and non-being, as he straddles the divide of formal rigor and free form abstraction. Editor: You know, for such a simple composition, it really sticks with you. This crazy face kinda lives in your head a little after you've seen it. Like an afterimage! Curator: It embodies Miró's singular way to invite viewers into his abstract visual language—always fresh, even across decades. Editor: It really makes you feel like anything is possible, doesn’t it? A reminder that you can find beauty and playfulness in the strangest of forms.