Saint John the Baptist 

Editor: Here we have Rouault’s “Saint John the Baptist” in print form, stark black and white… there's a certain solemn quality, almost tragic. He looks so burdened, but the simplified form lends a touch of surrealism, don't you think? What grabs your attention in this piece? Curator: The beautiful unease of it. It reminds me of early modernist angst, that spiritual hunger felt amidst rapid societal change. Rouault was deeply religious; and you see that conflict visualized in the tension between the sacred subject and the distorted expressionistic form. Look how his face seems etched with sorrow – is that faith or despair? What do you see in his hands? Editor: They’re clasped so tightly; almost like he's afraid he will drop something if he doesn't hold on so tightly. Or maybe that he's afraid to lose faith? It looks really intense, his inner struggle is almost palpable... Curator: Yes, precisely! See how the woodcut printmaking lends itself to such powerful mark-making. It evokes that same tension between light and darkness, salvation and doubt, inherent to the religious experience. Makes you want to hold tight to hope, doesn't it? What did you initially feel on viewing this, without thinking too much about any potential interpretations? Editor: A profound sense of loneliness... Maybe that's part of being a prophet, the messenger no one wants to hear? Curator: Indeed. It reminds us that true understanding often comes through that solitary contemplation and even discomfort. Editor: So, perhaps Rouault’s Saint John is less a depiction of holiness, more of a reflection of our own humanity, of our capacity for both great faith and paralyzing doubt? Curator: Exactly! I think it resonates because we see our reflection there, fumbling toward truth in the dark.