Uddrivelsen af Paradiset 1915 - 1924

Editor: Here we have Gudrun Traustedt's ink drawing, "Uddrivelsen af Paradiset," or "The Expulsion from Paradise," created sometime between 1915 and 1924. There’s a definite raw energy to the sketchiness, like the whole scene is vibrating with some unspoken emotion. I wonder, what do you see when you look at this work? Curator: It vibrates for me, too! The ink, so immediate, so unforgiving, echoes the sharp pain of that severing, doesn't it? Expulsion, loss… Imagine Traustedt, dipping her pen, each stroke a heartbeat. The scene unfolds, not as a divine command booming from the heavens, but as a whisper, rustling through those strange, spindly trees. Are they comforting or threatening? I can't decide. Editor: I hadn't considered that duality. I was focused on the apparent sadness in the figures and less so in the unsettling natural shapes. Curator: Yes, look at how those figures almost dissolve into the landscape, as if their very being is now intertwined with this harsh new reality. Do you think it's a statement about the connection between humanity and nature? Were they separate, at first, do you imagine? Editor: I guess I thought the focus was on them as figures in this moment, like maybe their future as humans after the event. It's a little like, are they part of nature and we just don't see it until this moment, or has it changed because *they've* changed? Curator: Exactly! And that, I think, is where the drawing really sings, because it refuses to provide answers, only echoes, and reflections. Thank you for picking this piece and sharing this dialogue, it will stay with me all day. Editor: Me too. Thanks for the perspective, I definitely see new depths now.