Kalenderblad november met een schuitbekreiger 1903

Editor: So, this is Theo van Hoytema's "Kalenderblad november met een schuitbekreiger" from 1903. It’s a drawing, print, woodcut—a mix of media on paper, held here at the Rijksmuseum. There’s a stark beauty to it, almost unsettling. It feels both ornate and incredibly simple. What do you make of this piece? Curator: Ah, Hoytema. He whispers secrets of the natural world, doesn’t he? This isn't just a calendar page; it's a mood. That boat-billed heron stares right through you, unflinching. The stylized Art Nouveau frame, all thorns and tiny stars, is exquisite, a bit menacing perhaps? It hints at the fragility and tenacity of nature as winter approaches. You know, I bet he spent hours observing birds to capture that gaze. What feelings does it conjure for you? Editor: I think…almost a solemn stillness, a sense of watching and waiting. I initially see its decorative qualities, but underneath there is a certain… unease, especially the intensity in the heron's eyes. Curator: Precisely. Hoytema's animals often possess a startling presence. And consider this: a calendar is about marking time, a very human construct, imposed upon the rhythms of nature. He intertwines these concepts so subtly and beautifully, hinting at both the harmony and discord between them. This is not the traditional cute animal print. Editor: That contrast between decoration and observation…the tension…I hadn’t thought of it that way. The calendar almost feels like a cage. Curator: It is, isn't it? Art reflecting the quiet defiance in every wild creature. Something for November, when we feel that call to withdraw, maybe? Editor: Definitely makes me look at calendars a little differently. Not just dates but miniature works of art with whole complex emotional universes going on! Curator: And isn't that wonderful? Art whispers these truths if we listen carefully.