Passagieren 1935

Editor: Right, so we’re looking at "Passagieren," made in 1935 by Tinus van Doorn. It’s a striking linocut print, currently at the Rijksmuseum. It's very geometric, almost aggressively so. There’s a sense of melancholy hanging in the air, wouldn’t you say? What's your initial read? Curator: Melancholy, yes, absolutely. But maybe there's a bit of defiant nostalgia mixed in. It feels almost like a half-remembered dream of a sailor’s life – a swirl of romance and the harsh realities of the sea. I keep thinking of that cramped sailor, dreaming of freedom, in a cabin just large enough for their pipe and memories. It’s all black and white, like life back then... Editor: A sailor's life, interesting. It feels very Expressionist, with all that angularity and bold contrast. Are those the artist's way of capturing a sense of tension or perhaps anxiety of the era? Curator: Precisely. The sharp, jagged edges and stark contrast capture something vital of that pre-war unease. This is 1935. But I also think he’s grappling with more than just the political climate. Do you notice how the figures are almost… layered? Fragmented? Editor: You mean like the woman with the cigarette sort of fading into the background? Curator: Exactly. To me, the linocut medium, itself, is very telling in revealing a certain way of living. Editor: I never thought about that... almost as if their memories and realities are pressed and etched together, rather than cleanly defined? Curator: Beautifully put. Van Doorn wasn't just showing us people; he was revealing the inner landscape of their experience and using materials in order to highlight particular moments. The way it is made, linocut. That gives it all so much strength. Editor: I love that; that adds another dimension to it entirely. Curator: Me too, which, of course, makes all of the difference, or should.