Christi Geburt, oben musizierende Engel 

Editor: We are looking at "Christi Geburt, oben musizierende Engel" – that's "The Nativity with Music-Making Angels Above" by Giovanni Battista Gaulli. It’s a 17th-century Baroque drawing in ink. I find the sketchiness of it so compelling. The whole thing seems to float on the page, like a memory or a vision. What strikes you most when you look at it? Curator: A memory, a vision, I love that. It’s a glimpse, isn’t it? All that ink bleeding into the paper; it dissolves boundaries. To me, that reflects the mystical, almost overwhelming nature of the Nativity. Gaulli is known for his extravagant style; imagine these ethereal angels, weightless in the clouds and bathed in a heavenly glow that defies definition! See how they hover above the earthly scene. There is Saint Joseph who contemplates, seated almost in darkness, below the brilliance of the angel’s performance. The entire sheet performs with drama. Do you feel that? Editor: Absolutely, the drama is palpable! But does that emphasis on spectacle, typical of the Baroque, detract from the tenderness of the scene itself? Mary and the baby Jesus feel almost secondary to the celestial concert. Curator: Perhaps. Or maybe Gaulli is reminding us that even the most intimate moments have cosmic significance. That this humble birth is also a moment of profound glory that literally calls forth the angels. But there’s a melancholy to the ink wash, a subtle awareness of the suffering to come, mingled in with the joy. Look at Joseph – his gaze and posture feel like a silent foreshadowing, doesn't it? It's an emotional tightrope walk, Baroque at its best. Editor: That tension you pointed out – the blend of joy and foreboding – definitely adds a layer of complexity I hadn't noticed initially. It transforms a simple Nativity scene into something much deeper. Curator: Precisely. Art's so exciting when you encounter layers beneath layers, each vying for attention.