Cockatoo 1735 - 1745

Editor: Here we have a porcelain sculpture, a Cockatoo, made sometime between 1735 and 1745 by the Meissen Manufactory. It's currently residing at the Met. It looks so fragile, like it might shatter if you just looked at it the wrong way. I find its posture somewhat curious, tilting its head so far. What's your read on this piece? Curator: Fragile yet fierce, don't you think? To me, this isn’t just porcelain; it's captured lightning. Imagine the powdered stone, coaxed into form, blazing in a kiln’s belly. Look closer—it's Rococo distilled. A feathery eruption of playful extravagance. But why a cockatoo, of all things? Editor: Well, was it maybe some sort of exotic pet at the time? Status symbol, perhaps? Curator: Precisely! Think Dresden drawing rooms, powdered wigs, and the dawn of global trade. These birds were coveted curiosities, whispers of faraway lands transformed into ornaments. This sculpture says more about yearning and status than ornithology, doesn't it? Editor: It definitely gives a whole new context. I was focused on its form and completely missed that. So, the posture; anything to add there? It still looks so… deliberate. Curator: Ah, that elegant droop! Perhaps a subtle commentary on captivity? A wild creature forever frozen, adorning a mantelpiece. Or maybe it’s just showing off its plumage; all about dramatic flair. Which reading do you prefer? Editor: I lean toward the commentary. It makes it feel more… substantial. Both interesting points to ponder. Thanks for your insight. Curator: The pleasure was mine. It’s these whispers between object and observer, isn’t it, that keep the conversation alive.