View of Corinthian Cavedio more important than the House of the Surgeon 

Editor: So, here we have "View of Corinthian Cavedio more important than the House of the Surgeon", an etching by Giovanni Battista Piranesi. It’s quite striking. The scene feels both grand and desolate at the same time. All of these decaying architectural elements in this formerly magnificent setting. What’s your read on it? Curator: Desolate is spot-on! Piranesi wasn't just drawing ruins; he was conjuring feelings. Look at how he plays with light and shadow, making those columns almost… ghost-like. It’s as if the past is breathing down our necks, isn’t it? Editor: Definitely, it gives you a certain shiver. There is an ominous, dark feeling that emanates from it. The humans almost feel like an after thought. Curator: They're dwarfed, aren't they? See how Piranesi makes them so small compared to the architecture? It is like they are an inconsequential element in face of time. This was his way of saying something about human ambition versus the enduring power of history. The clouds add a theatrical air, too. Does it not seem as though the ruins themselves seem to be a stage? Editor: I hadn't considered that – a stage! And I suppose those small figures could almost be spectators, couldn't they? Though what sort of play are they watching? Perhaps the tragedy of vanished glory. Curator: Precisely! Perhaps, it's the beauty in decay that calls out to you? Piranesi was keen to show how something beautiful and magnificent now lays to ruin. Perhaps, it reminds him, or maybe us, that there's an evocative power even in destruction. He doesn't give us the triumphant Empire, does he? Just the ghostly remains and dramatic shadows that whisper of its fall. Editor: It's funny; before, I saw the ruin as a sad thing. Now, it's like it has agency – a story to tell. Curator: And the best art always manages to retell our stories along with its own, eh?