Haus im Abend c. 1925

Curator: Karl Wiener's "Haus im Abend," dating from around 1925, rendered with colored pencils, greets us with a peculiar blend of rustic charm and melancholic disquiet. Editor: Well, "disquiet" certainly resonates! I see a structure weighted down by a thick, imposing tree, the windows like watchful, weary eyes. The scale is just so strange—both intimate and vaguely menacing. Curator: The beauty is in the texture. Look how the colored pencil strokes build a rich, tactile surface. It’s almost a topographical map of a soul… slightly crumbling, but bathed in the warm hues of sunset—hope fighting against decay. Editor: Fighting is right. It is all surface. We are so far away that one wonders, What kind of labor built that place? Look how those strokes struggle to maintain integrity. Is this edifice supported or crumbling before our eyes? Is it a sanctuary or just shelter from capital? Curator: I read its history differently. Wiener invites us to consider how personal memories, when colored with the passage of time, alter one's perception of home. That slightly off-kilter perspective feels so...real. Editor: True, colored pencils lend this scene that child-like touch of nostalgia you often see in outsider art, or “naive art” as it’s been termed. It feels untaught, more from memory than architectural knowledge—yet the marks suggest otherwise to my eyes, the anxiety of industrial alienation perhaps? Curator: Perhaps. Ultimately, this piece transcends its physical materials. It pulls me towards some half-forgotten dream of safety, filtered through an expressionist lens. A poignant reflection on life and longing, no? Editor: Agreed. Whether a commentary on capital or a dream of safety, the rough, honest character of Wiener’s craft here cannot be ignored, that struggle with materials and with his subject matter, speaks volumes today. It's a home, certainly. Just not necessarily a comforting one.