Lint, geel, aan beide zijden blauw afgebiesd c. 1890 - 1935

Editor: So here we have "Ribbon, yellow, bordered on both sides with blue" a photograph, sometime between 1890 and 1935, by Gustav Schnitzler. There's something so unassuming about it, this very ordinary object captured with such deliberate care. What captures your attention when you look at it? Curator: You know, it's funny, it feels like a miniature monument to… well, to just existing, doesn't it? I can almost smell that old paper, hear the rustle of the ribbons. I wonder about its survival; about its prior life in a sewing kit. Maybe this photographer was compelled by its everyday charm. And the "10 meters garantis"... it suggests a now-obsolete transaction of value. I suppose that there may have been, and still is, some hidden message. It provokes curiosity! How do you experience those different shades of ribbons? Editor: I feel a nostalgia for a craft or time I never knew. Each band looks as if it were from distinct spools, each with individual personalities, ready to accessorize hats or adorn corsets. Do you think Schnitzler might have thought of fashion or other possible contexts for these when snapping the photograph? Curator: It is possible, sure. Though, let me throw this back at you. I am curious as to if he were using fashion as some lens. Or something deeper. In any case, that old shopkeeper's promise reminds me we often find beauty in the mundane. Editor: Yes, like a historical marker made timeless through photography. It also calls into question: how long before anything transforms into something...else? Curator: A perfect way of summarising it. Art helps to change something normal into something great. That said, what do you think now? Editor: Now I want to go home and look for objects I've been overlooking. Thanks, Schnitzler, and thanks to you for this great exchange.