Cupids at the grape picking 

Editor: We're looking at "Cupids at the grape picking", an ink drawing by Bertel Thorvaldsen housed at the Städel Museum. It depicts cherubic figures in a circular frame. There’s a sense of classical whimsy in the scene, and the use of ink gives it an airy, sketched quality. What's your take? Curator: It whispers of rediscovered frescos, doesn't it? Think Pompeii unearthed and reimagined by a Nordic soul. The delicate ink lines almost float, mirroring the lightness of the cupids themselves. But there’s also a melancholy, wouldn't you agree? It’s as if Thorvaldsen is yearning for an idealized past, a golden age he knows he can never fully grasp. Editor: Melancholy, yes! It’s there in the soft lines and the almost tentative touch. It isn't the vigorous sort of neo-classicism I know. Curator: Indeed, this isn't David's revolutionary zeal; it's something quieter, more intimate. Do you see how the circular composition cradles the scene? It's like a hidden treasure, a secret glimpse into a world of innocent play. And those vines... they're not just about grapes, they're about abundance, fertility, and the intoxicating allure of love. Are those wings allowing the Cupid to levitate or reach for another bunch? Editor: They seem almost too small to work as functional wings, so, they emphasize an ideal. And the composition reminds me of cameos, of carved gems… small precious and personal things. I initially missed how neat the circular composition is. I will look at Thorvaldsen with new eyes now. Curator: Excellent observation! Art invites continuous discovery, doesn’t it? This small sketch is full of it, a portal to endless thought.