Jachthond, genaamd Calypso before 1879

Curator: My first impression? An uneasy stillness. Is that the right word? Like the image holds its breath. Editor: And what might that be about? Here, we’re looking at “Jachthond, genaamd Calypso,” which translates to “Hunting Dog, named Calypso,” a gelatin-silver print by Léon Crémière from before 1879. It’s striking because of how the dog is posed, almost suspended, against what looks like a plain backdrop. Curator: Exactly! Suspended animation is spot-on. It’s elegant and strange—almost taxidermied, but not quite. A melancholic dog, it seems. Editor: There is certainly a complicated and unsettling sense about it. The title is important to consider: Calypso is presented as an object of the hunt. How does the camera’s portrayal challenge traditional gendered representations, in both domestic settings and their artistic echoes? Are we perhaps witness to an unusual take on power? Curator: Wow, I hadn't even considered the question of gender. The starkness of the image definitely lends itself to these considerations about visibility and objectification. It’s interesting how photography can, despite its presumed realism, abstract and stylize its subject. Editor: Crémière was working in a time when photography was just starting to be recognized as art. By naming the dog—a distinct individual instead of a faceless hunting machine—and staging the animal in this specific, posed way, the artist complicates traditional genre. The use of light also softens it with tender beauty and respect, and a certain quiet. What would you say to its historical value as a genre scene, knowing what we do now? Curator: It throws a wrench in the whole system, doesn't it? Posed yet poignant. Beautiful but challenging to view. This is something more complex than what one would guess with "a hunting dog photo". Almost daring me to consider my own assumptions. Editor: Indeed. Hopefully we all come away contemplating those uncomfortable but crucial spaces that art creates.