Triton en sirene naast zeemonster met snavel c. 1625

Editor: This is “Triton en sirene naast zeemonster met snavel,” an etching made around 1625 by Odoardo Fialetti. It’s held here at the Rijksmuseum. I’m struck by the almost unsettling fantasy of it – all these mythological figures intertwined with the swirling Baroque ornamentation. What leaps out at you when you look at it? Curator: It feels like a waking dream, doesn’t it? Fialetti had such command of line, transforming this rather small plate into a cosmos of unleashed creativity. I get a sense that he saw these mythical creatures not as distant figures of lore, but as beings wrestling with very human passions, maybe even their anxieties. I mean, just look at that sea monster! Does it look more fierce, or, strangely, a bit melancholy to you? Editor: Melancholy, definitely! The eyes, maybe? And now that you point it out, I’m noticing this playful dynamic between these characters. The figures don't look fearful, just simply *aware* of each other’s presence. Was this a common theme during the Baroque period? Curator: Awareness is spot on. I always think of the Baroque era as a conversation between grandeur and uncertainty. It's not just decoration for decoration's sake; every curl and flourish carries weight. To me, Fialetti is illustrating that blurred border, and using familiar characters to invite viewers to accept the beautiful monster as well as the conventional god. What will the viewers think of that duality? Editor: This makes me want to go explore other mythological prints from the period, to see if this push-and-pull of human and “monster” continues. It’s like Fialetti's not just showing us a scene, but inviting us to reimagine it. Curator: Precisely. He wants us to play within his imaginative landscape and hopefully think about how we classify 'monster' and how they may not be so bad after all. And maybe, in the process, come to a slightly new understanding about ourselves. A lovely thought, really.