Man in a Room, Self-portrait 1923

This is an etching by Walter Gramatté; its nervous lines suggest he was grappling with something big. I can imagine him, bent over the plate, scratching away, maybe even haunted by himself. His face looms, constructed from dark, frantic marks, like he’s trying to pin down a feeling more than a likeness. It's raw and honest, reminds me of some self-portraits by Beckmann, that same sense of unease. Gramatté’s mark-making is fascinating—see how he builds up shadows with these tiny, insistent lines? And the way the green ink of his shirt bleeds into the face, suggesting a kind of decay or vulnerability? It makes me think about how artists throughout history are always in dialogue with each other, riffing on the same themes, using the same tools to try and make sense of it all. And how making is a way of knowing, of investigating, and ultimately, of just feeling.