Vis 1836 - 1912

Editor: So, here we have Isaac Weissenbruch’s “Vis,” which, if my Dutch serves me, simply means “Fish.” It's a pencil drawing, sometime between 1836 and 1912, held at the Rijksmuseum. It's…deceptively simple. Almost like a page torn from a scientist’s notebook, or maybe even a kid's first attempt at realistic drawing? What's your take? Curator: Oh, it wriggles with something more, doesn't it? A kind of quiet contemplation. Look closely at the hatching of the pencil, how he builds the form not just of the fish but an entire underwater world – albeit sketched lightly around it. The slight blurring of the pencil lines… feels like it could slip right off the page, back into the unseen depths. Editor: I hadn't thought of the blurred lines adding depth! It really does suggest movement now that you mention it. Curator: Exactly! Weissenbruch wasn't just rendering a fish; he was hinting at its element. It makes me wonder, doesn't it, about his own life, his own search for clarity amidst the flowing currents of existence? A seemingly simple study… hides profound reflections. Do you get a sense that it looks like some earlier sketch underneath that we're barely seeing? Editor: There's a faint circular impression in the top area of the fish drawing. I didn't even notice until you asked. Is that… intentional? Curator: Perhaps. It's so ghost-like, like a phantom observation haunting the present sketch, adding layers of intention – or, indeed, a happy accident in the studio. And that little block it's standing on, almost like a tiny stage? There’s such playful humor hiding in plain sight here! Editor: Wow, I completely missed that playfulness before! Curator: And that’s the beauty of art, isn't it? To see the familiar in utterly new ways. Fish suddenly feels so different now. Editor: Definitely food for thought… or perhaps, a thought about food. Ha! Thanks for that insightful dive!