Opleiding in Bocklemünd 1939

Editor: This is “Opleiding in Bocklemünd,” a gelatin silver print made in 1939, currently held in the Rijksmuseum. It’s presented as a collection of smaller images within a larger one, kind of like looking through someone's old photo album. I’m immediately struck by the fragmented narrative—there are glimpses of military life, or perhaps training… what do you make of this assembly of snapshots? Curator: Oh, that fragmented feel is precisely what pulls me in! It whispers secrets rather than shouting declarations. The anonymous photographer invites us to piece together the puzzle of this training camp, just before the eruption of World War II. Do you see the contrast between the mundane—a man working at a desk, another observing some men play volleyball—and the charged historical moment? Editor: Yes, definitely. There’s a real sense of unease, almost like the calm before a storm. It seems so ordinary, but given the context, there is an intense sense of anticipation. I am unsure what kind of ‘training’ this depicts and wonder about its broader use. Curator: Exactly. It's in that contrast, that tension between the everyday and the impending cataclysm, where the power resides. Think of these photographs as tiny time capsules, capturing not grand battles, but the quiet, nervous energy before the storm. This anonymity enhances this, placing us into the position of distant, almost voyeuristic, observers, outside but still deeply invested. Editor: I like that - the idea of time capsules. It’s made me reconsider how much a seemingly simple snapshot can hold. It’s no longer just a few old images, but it provides an open perspective for analysis, Curator: Isn't it wonderful how art does that? Transforming simple observations into something incredibly poignant. It leaves us to ask ourselves, 'what does this teach us?'. Editor: Absolutely!