Plate c. 1936

Editor: Here we have a plate, dating from around 1936, by Helmut Hiatt. It seems to be some kind of print. What immediately strikes me is how formal and almost austere the central building is, softened somewhat by the floral decoration around the rim. What's your take on it? Curator: Austere is a good word. It evokes a sense of… contained grandeur. Funny, isn't it, how a humble plate can hold such a monument! It’s a little stage, really. The architectural rendering feels almost like a theatrical backdrop, with those tiny figures adding a touch of human scale and story. And those flowers - they're not just decoration, they're framing a moment in time, turning this object into a souvenir. Editor: A souvenir of what, though? It feels more like a public building than a home. A very official souvenir, I guess! Curator: Perhaps a memory of a cherished place? Think about the 1930s – a time of shifting landscapes, economic anxieties. Maybe Hiatt was drawn to the permanence and stability symbolized by architecture, contrasted with the fleeting nature of memory? Those neoclassical columns, the unwavering façade… they whisper of enduring values in a world in flux. Plus, there’s something intrinsically pleasing in placing a perfectly rendered piece of architecture onto an object of domesticity – something grounding, if you like! Editor: So, like a tiny, portable piece of certainty? Curator: Exactly! Now, doesn't that make you want to pick it up, spin it, and dream a little? Almost like a snow globe of stately remembrance, sans snow, of course. Editor: Definitely. I never would have considered all that just by looking at a plate. Curator: Art always surprises if you give it half a chance! Editor: Indeed! I see this humble plate with fresh eyes now! Thanks so much.