Zelfportret van Norbert Goeneutte before 1894

Editor: Right now we're standing in front of Norbert Goeneutte's Self-Portrait, made sometime before 1894. It's a print – an etching – that's on display here at the Rijksmuseum. The thing that strikes me immediately is the darkness of it. The artist’s face is cast in deep shadow, except for this very intense, almost challenging gaze. What do you see in this piece? Curator: You know, it's funny, it feels like he's inviting us into his creative sanctuary, but not fully letting us see *him*. It’s a bit like those dreams where you're in a familiar place that feels slightly *off*, don't you think? He's surrounded by the tools of his trade – pencils, pens, paper – and yet there's a sort of incompleteness, a sense of the ephemeral. Perhaps that’s the beauty of the etching medium itself. It allows for nuance, but also this delicate, fading quality. Is he revealing himself, or just the *idea* of himself? Editor: That’s interesting! I hadn't thought about the incompleteness aspect, but I can see that. Like a half-finished thought captured on paper. Curator: Exactly! And isn't it fascinating how he positions himself within the context of his studio? The blurred paintings in the background, almost ghosts, and that odd object. It grounds him, while simultaneously placing him in a space of infinite possibility, that tension every artist must feel staring at the void. Editor: Yeah, it feels very intimate in a way that I hadn’t quite picked up on initially. Almost voyeuristic, like we’ve caught him at a private moment. Curator: It certainly speaks volumes about the artist's interior life. A silent story etched into existence. Editor: Thanks for that insight. I definitely see this work in a different way now.