Konijnen 1896

Curator: We’re looking at "Konijnen," a pencil drawing of rabbits from 1896 by Carel Adolph Lion Cachet. It resides here in the Rijksmuseum. Editor: Immediately, I sense a whimsical tenderness, despite the roughness of the sketch. They look almost weightless, like fluffy thoughts barely tethered to the page. Curator: I agree. It really captures that fleeting moment, doesn’t it? You can practically feel the artist’s hand, lightly and quickly capturing these rabbits as they move about. This reminds me of sketches of animals I have seen in Leonardo's notebooks; this one evokes a similar air of curiosity, and, let's face it, some serious skill. Editor: Indeed, it’s a glimpse into the artist's process. I wonder what type of pencil he was using. Notice the pressure, and how it’s not uniform at all—perhaps a softer lead? And look at the paper itself, the slightly uneven texture influencing the way the graphite adheres. These material elements are not neutral; they collaborate in the image-making. Curator: Absolutely. Thinking about that material collaboration—there’s something beautifully raw about seeing the artist work through the forms, like he's coaxing the rabbits into being right before our eyes. One almost expects the rabbits to hop away from the page. I can relate; creating can sometimes feel like that: half discovery, half conjuring. Editor: Precisely. The supposed "preciousness" of the final art object gets destabilized here, made humble through the rough lines and visible labor. It reveals the human act of making, of studying and representing. Even rabbit-catching, if only on paper! Curator: Yes, that human connection to nature that Cachet explores still has resonance, particularly in today’s climate. I leave here thinking how can one ever improve upon the image of a rabbit! Editor: Ultimately, it reminds us that even in what appears simple or unfinished, the materials and means of making are intrinsically valuable, capable of holding deep significance.