Gezicht op de Kostel svatého Mikuláše of Sint-Nicolaaskerk, Malá Strana, Praag 1868

Editor: Here we have Charles Gaudin’s "Gezicht op de Kostel svatého Mikuláše of Sint-Nicolaaskerk, Malá Strana, Praag" from 1868. It's a vintage photograph, probably a print from a daguerreotype. I’m really struck by how incredibly clear and detailed it is for such an old image. It's also presented as a stereoscopic image. The cityscape just feels so still, so serene, but also incredibly… vast. What draws your eye in this piece? Curator: You know, looking at it, I almost feel like I'm peering through time. It's more than just a cityscape; it’s a captured moment, a breath held from a bygone era. And that church… doesn't it feel almost… sentient? Like a grand dame watching over her city? Notice how Gaudin positions it, almost as if he’s placing Prague under its protection. But it's that almost hazy, dreamlike quality that gets me, particularly how the sharp rooftops soften into the background. Do you find the uniformity pleasing, or does it hint at something else for you? Editor: I suppose it's both, a kind of pleasing repetition that then suggests… anonymity. The houses are very similar; so in that way, it’s peaceful but alienating. Curator: Exactly. Think about the historical context too. This image was made at a time when photography was rapidly evolving, yet still holding a certain magic. It was both documentation and art, reality and interpretation, if you will. Seeing it like this also makes me wonder how Prague citizens may have felt back then: they saw how they lived reduced into an art piece, which should feel very new, and maybe exciting? Editor: It makes the scene somehow monumental, doesn’t it? Almost dreamlike. Curator: It does. Makes you wish you could walk right in there, doesn't it? Makes you want to sit at a cafe on a dusty corner. I will surely keep Gaudin and old pictures of Prague in my head.