The Absinthe Drinker c. 1890

Editor: Here we have "The Absinthe Drinker," an etching and watercolor print by Albert-Emmanuel Bertrand from around 1890, currently residing here at the Art Institute of Chicago. Looking at this, I’m struck by how… melancholy she seems, amidst what should be a bustling cityscape. What catches your eye in this piece? Curator: Oh, I see exactly what you mean. She’s perched on the edge of two worlds, isn't she? Inside this cafe, she's contained, perhaps a little lost in thought, but outside...that's where the Impressionist energy pulses. Do you notice how Bertrand uses line and color to separate her from the Parisian scene? Editor: Yes! It's like she’s behind glass, both literally and figuratively. The colours are so muted for her, but vibrant for the outdoor scene. Curator: Absolutely. The etching gives everything this nervous energy, a sense of fleeting time, yet her figure has these delicate watercolor washes, pinning her down. Is she stuck in the amber of her own experience? I imagine Bertrand himself wrestling with similar sensations – being part of but also apart from modern life. Doesn't it just drip with unspoken stories? Editor: I didn’t consider it from Bertrand's point of view, almost as if it were a self portrait projected onto her. Curator: Indeed. Perhaps it *is*. Artists often infuse their own selves into their subjects, giving their silent internal monologue a louder voice. Makes you wonder what questions he was pondering with a glass of absinthe, doesn't it? Editor: Absolutely. Now I'm not just seeing a woman in a café, but also a mirror of the artist himself! Thanks for sharing your view! Curator: My pleasure. Now *I* want a drink.