Schetsblad met knotwilg bij een hek 1832 - 1897

Curator: Ah, I love the intimacy of this small pencil sketch, “Schetsblad met knotwilg bij een hek,” or "Sketch sheet with pollard willow by a gate", by Willem Roelofs. Probably done sometime between 1832 and 1897, held here at the Rijksmuseum. Editor: My first thought? It's wonderfully melancholic. That stark gate leaning slightly, the willow like a wizened old figure... feels very solitary. Curator: That's precisely it! The gate almost reads as a symbol of obstructed access. Are we allowed in? Or are we being kept out? And the willow, yes, I feel that aged energy too. The pollard willow, cut back like that, is actually an emblem of resilience – cut down only to grow again. Editor: Right, they come back stronger. But isn't there also something poignant in that perpetual cycle of cutting and regrowth? It almost symbolizes constant, repetitive labor, doesn’t it? And those seemingly arbitrary cuts! Curator: A valid point, considering the social context of landscape art then. But there's also something about the gate – its imperfection, the way the lines aren't precise – that makes it more inviting than if it were a grand, imposing entrance. Roelofs isn't interested in grand vistas, but small details. Editor: True. And in choosing pencil as his medium, the softness gives a very dreamlike, transient feel, emphasizing the fragility and impermanence, doesn't it? I almost feel like the gate might just dissolve if I stare at it too long. Curator: Exactly! The light, fleeting quality of the medium, almost mirroring a moment caught and immediately lost. Like a half-remembered memory. It's more about suggestion than statement, and I feel invited into that world. Editor: It's curious how much feeling can be packed into what is ostensibly a simple sketch. Thanks to symbols like the persistent pollard and imperfect fence, what we see is the depth and mystery inherent in a humble landscape. Curator: Beautifully said! A little slice of stillness and rumination from a Dutch master. It's these intimate observations that I find so quietly powerful.