Saint Nicolas du Chardonnet in Parijs 1884 - 1931

Martin Monnickendam made this etching of Saint Nicolas du Chardonnet in Paris using fine, scratchy lines. Imagine him standing there, maybe on a cold morning, bundled up, squinting at the church, then etching into the plate, line after line. The thing that strikes me is how every little scribble feels alive. The clouds aren't just clouds, they're like furry, anxious thoughts hovering above. The buildings aren't just buildings, they're stacks of layered marks. I feel for Monnickendam here, trying to get it all down, the grandeur and the grit, the way the light hits the stone. It reminds me of Piranesi's etchings of Rome; not as dramatic maybe, but with that same love for the city's jumble of shapes and textures. And I'm sure he was looking at Rembrandt too, the way he gets so much mood from so little. Artists, we're all just copying and remixing each other, trying to make something new out of something old. It’s a never-ending conversation.