Liggende vrouw met kippen by Cornelis Bloemaert

Liggende vrouw met kippen 1700 - 1800

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print, etching

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baroque

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print

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pen sketch

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etching

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pencil sketch

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landscape

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figuration

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genre-painting

Dimensions: height 108 mm, width 153 mm

Copyright: Rijks Museum: Open Domain

Editor: This etching, "Liggende vrouw met kippen," or "Reclining Woman with Chickens," from sometime between 1700 and 1800, by Cornelis Bloemaert, has such an interesting, almost casual feel to it, despite being so meticulously rendered. The woman looks rather bored, or perhaps just tired. What do you make of her? Curator: Oh, I love her! There's a languid poetry to the piece, isn't there? It's more than just a simple genre scene. To me, she embodies a certain rural sensuality. Not overtly sexual, mind you, but… earthbound, connected. The chickens, the basket brimming with *something*, perhaps newly harvested eggs...it's all suggestive of fecundity, of the rhythms of nature. And her gaze…it's knowing, almost challenging. I wonder if she represents a sort of pastoral ideal, viewed through a slightly satirical lens? What do you think of that suggestion? Editor: I like the idea of a satirical lens! I hadn’t considered that. I was stuck on the flatness, almost a dreamlike quality in contrast with her sharp glance toward us. But could it also be a comment on the lives of women during that period, confined to these domestic roles? Curator: Precisely! The brilliance of the piece, I think, is its ambiguity. It invites interpretation. Is it a celebration, a critique, or something in between? Perhaps Bloemaert himself wasn't entirely sure! The composition—the reclining pose echoed by the languid chickens—creates this wonderful visual harmony that keeps you pondering. Plus, the etching technique, those fine lines… gives a depth and a liveliness. Editor: It really does! I think seeing it described as "rural sensuality" opened up a new avenue for understanding the piece, one that balances beauty and maybe a touch of boredom, simultaneously. Curator: Indeed, and isn't that where art truly sings? In those in-between spaces?

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