Here we have a sketch of a landscape with a building by Cornelis Vreedenburgh. It's all delicate pencil lines on paper; nothing is emphatic or overworked. The building itself seems to emerge from a tangle of lines, almost like it’s being overgrown or consumed by the landscape. It's just a faint suggestion of form with scribbled lines for the mass of foliage, or whatever’s growing there. I love that uncertainty; it’s less about the thing itself and more about the act of seeing, of trying to capture something fleeting. Take a look at the lower right – those vertical lines hanging down. Maybe they are tree trunks or branches. They’re so tentative, but they hold the whole composition together. It reminds me that art is always a conversation, a back-and-forth between intention and accident. There’s no right or wrong way to interpret it, just different ways of seeing.