Honderd gezichten op de berg Fuji - deel twee 1835

Editor: So, here we have "Honderd gezichten op de berg Fuji - deel twee," a woodblock print on paper by Katsushika Hokusai, dating back to 1835. At first glance, it has an understated and faded quality. It’s more like a whisper than a shout, what do you make of it? Curator: You know, whispers often carry the most potent secrets, right? And Hokusai, sneaky genius, etched this landscape subtly into our subconscious. For me, it's not just about representing Mount Fuji; it's about evoking a sense of enduring presence. Think about it—the mountain becomes almost dreamlike, veiled under the layers of print and time. It becomes less a depiction, more a suggestion, don’t you think? Editor: That's a lovely way to put it, a suggestion! I hadn’t really thought about it in terms of the passage of time before. Is that why he chose to depict it in so many slightly different ways? Curator: Exactly. It’s a little like life isn't it, where the same thing never seems quite the same the second time around. Each impression captures a different emotional resonance of the same landscape, each a fleeting impression of what persists through time. He's urging us to slow down, contemplate, and, most importantly, _feel_ the essence of this place. It almost makes me want to write a poem! Editor: Oh, that’s brilliant, the different impressions being slightly off but basically the same like different versions of our lives, each one changing as we go, I hadn't considered it from that point of view before. Thanks. Curator: My pleasure! Seeing art with fresh eyes is why I get out of bed in the morning.