Gezicht op de Loreley in de Rijn c. 1881 - 1891

Editor: Here we have a gelatin silver print, taken sometime between 1881 and 1891. It’s called *Gezicht op de Loreley in de Rijn*, or *View of the Lorelei in the Rhine*. It’s by an anonymous artist and it looks like it comes from an album. It shows this huge, rocky cliff towering over what must be the Rhine. I’m really drawn to the stark contrast and how it captures the imposing scale of the Lorelei rock. What’s your take on this image? Curator: It whispers to me of a quest, a pilgrim's observation from along the bank, don’t you think? That stark contrast you mentioned, it's a play of light and shadow. It hints at the sublime, the romantic idea of nature's grandeur but also a potential danger. Look how the detail in the rock face fades into shadow; you can almost imagine mythical creatures lurking there, sirens calling out from the mists. The Lorelei is legendary, a cautionary tale—does the image, by leaving the artist nameless, also caution against seeking recognition? Editor: I never thought of it that way, but I can see the legend playing out. This legendary siren lured sailors to their doom! But how much of that is informed by knowing the title? If you didn’t know that, would the same mood come across? Curator: Hmm, maybe not so directly, though a sense of imposing presence is, I would argue, almost unavoidable. But perhaps without the legend coloring your perception, you might see more… geological information! You see that thin band crossing through the bottom third? Is that a small, sleepy town? Do we need to question what really made sailors crash into the rock? How a legend can blind you to reality? The piece then encourages a certain... mindfulness. Editor: That's such a good point! I'm walking away from this thinking more about the power of titles and storytelling in shaping how we see art. Curator: Exactly! And I think I might be reading old German fairy tales tonight. Thanks for a stimulating wander!