Winter
(Hohe Warte in Wien)
circa 1903
We are leaving this
scene, or at least it is leaving us. The figures' backs are facing our
direction, implying that we are unwelcome, and the snow-pillowed bench has been
untouched for some time, lacking any kind of warm-blooded contact. The skies
are heavy with greyness, possibly foreboding sadness, and though the trees
stand in a neat queue they remain singular and distant from one another. Their
nakedness is not only a sign of hibernation, but of a lack of security.
There seems to be a
set of footprints just visible in the immediate foreground: slightly distanced
apart they lead to our right, but there are none on either side of them. Could
they be another sign blocking our path? Or do they deceive our eye, being
merely the sunken crevices between the cobblestones?
This interpretation
of the colour woodcut is perhaps a bit depressing, but it is necessary to
think of in order to understand another take, that which is probably more
realistic. Despite the apparent bareness of the cobbled drive and of the skies
and branches there is something beautiful that ties this all together;
something that is simple. It is the moment in a large seasonal cycle, like a
page in a thick book, that shows everything at rest, taking its time; as the
viewers we are at least meant to pause and take in the stillness of what we see,
but to not enter into it. We are meant to look past the thoughts of lonliness,
and to see with ignorant eyes an honest portrayal of a winter's day.
