Homerus met papierrol 1742

Editor: Here we have "Homerus met papierrol," an engraving dating back to 1742, residing here at the Rijksmuseum. It’s attributed to an anonymous artist. I find the figure of Homer captivating. His placement in the landscape and that gathering of figures above—it has a surreal, dreamlike quality to me. What do you see in this piece? Curator: It’s curious, isn’t it? This image, for me, vibrates with the echoes of antiquity, seen through an 18th-century lens. The print feels both grand and intimate; a classical hero standing upon a proscenium overlooking… what, exactly? An army? Or just the theater of the world? What do you make of those celestial figures? A council of muses, perhaps? Or divine patrons blessing the scene? Editor: They feel… lofty, a bit removed from the earthly scene. Like they're observing rather than actively participating. Is that distance intentional, do you think? Curator: Perhaps it’s a commentary on the role of the poet. Elevated, inspired – laurel-wreathed, no less! – yet tasked with capturing the messy, glorious, often brutal reality unfolding beneath him. He’s literally got the story rolled up in his hands, doesn't he? The engraver's craft gives us a tactile, graphic window into a mind wrestling with gods and mortals, myth and history. Editor: So, it's about storytelling and its burdens? Curator: In a way, yes. The landscape with soldiers contrasts with the divine realm above, almost suggesting the weight of history, perhaps. Editor: That tension makes the print far more complex than I initially thought. I'll look at engravings with a fresh perspective now! Curator: Precisely! Sometimes, it's in these seemingly simple works, so full of the breath of another age, that we find the most profound whispers of enduring themes. It makes you wonder what stories *we're* engraving, doesn't it?