Ruins of an ancient tomb in front of ruins of an ancient aqueduct; above the arches of the latter is the channel which conveyed the water to Rome... 1743

Editor: So, this is "Ruins of an ancient tomb in front of ruins of an ancient aqueduct…" Quite a mouthful! It’s by Giovanni Battista Piranesi, from 1743. It looks like an etching and engraving – so, ink on paper. Honestly, it makes me feel a bit melancholic, seeing these grand structures all broken down. What do you see in this piece? Curator: Melancholy is a good starting point, isn’t it? It makes me think about time itself, not in a linear sense but swirling, like dust devils in the Roman Forum. Piranesi wasn’t just documenting ruins; he was reimagining them, almost reliving their epic collapse, and layering in something of the sublime, you know? Have you noticed how he plays with scale, how tiny those figures are against the immensity of the crumbling aqueduct? Editor: Yes, they look almost like ants! Deliberately so, I imagine? Curator: Precisely. It accentuates the insignificance of humankind when pitted against the march of time and decay. Also, notice the obsessive detail? Each crack, each broken stone seems to hold a story. What do you think Piranesi is trying to communicate by focusing so much on architectural ruins? Editor: Maybe he’s commenting on the impermanence of power? The might of Rome eventually crumbled… It’s like a memento mori but on a grand, architectural scale. Curator: Memento mori… Yes! I think you’ve hit on something essential. He’s using the grandeur of the past to comment on the fragility of the present, maybe even hinting at the hubris of believing anything will last forever. Gives you chills, doesn’t it? Editor: Definitely! It’s way more profound than just a pretty landscape. It is a punch in the gut from history. I will never look at another landscape the same way again! Curator: My work here is done then! Just remember, all art whispers secrets; some just shout a bit louder than others.