The Sportsman Mounting His Horse 1856

Editor: We're looking at Edgar Degas' "The Sportsman Mounting His Horse," an etching from 1856, currently residing at the Met. It’s small, almost like a postage stamp of frenzied lines depicting a horse and rider. I’m immediately drawn to the contrast between the dense foreground and the hazy background. What's your interpretation of this print? Curator: It's a glimpse into Degas' early fascination with horses, a theme that gallops through his entire oeuvre! For me, the seemingly chaotic lines aren't a flaw, but the point. Degas is capturing movement, the very act of mounting a horse, with an almost photographic immediacy – before photography had quite mastered the art of capturing such fleeting moments itself. Doesn't it feel a little like catching a secret, a private moment? Do you think the landscape plays a role in this? Editor: It does feel secretive. The landscape seems more of a backdrop than an equal partner in the scene. It's like the event is everything, the details incidental. It almost feels rushed. Curator: Exactly! Rushed, immediate, alive! Perhaps Degas wasn't aiming for pastoral perfection, but to immortalize a momentary action, and the nervous energy around it, and the very fact that he chose etching – with its capacity for line and shading—instead of a full rendering lends to that feeling, no? It feels less staged, more stolen. Like a forbidden look over someone's shoulder! Editor: It's interesting how focusing on the "stolen moment" changes everything. I came in seeing it as unfinished or simplistic, but I now view it as capturing pure energy and raw, natural movement! Curator: Ah, the magic of art! It whispers secrets, waiting for the right ears to listen!