Leopold Hugo (American, 1863-1933)
Untitled
Bromoil print
6 x 7.75 in.
Gift of John Waggoner
Like many people at the beginning of a new semester, I set out with ambitious plans to decorate my room. However, my enthusiasm quickly turned against me. I crowded my wall with so many things that it began to feel overwhelming, almost chaotic. Now I am so embarrassed by the result that I have decided not to include a photo of it here.
Because my wall was already so cluttered, I began looking for something small and simple, a black-and-white landscape photograph that would not compete for attention. That is when I found this work by Leopold Hugo. I was relieved to realize that, despite everything else, there was still space on my wall for this one quiet image.
The photograph hangs right beside my bed, where I rest my head each night. Because of this, I am almost forced to look at it before I fall asleep. Over time, it has made me wonder what the photograph is trying to make me feel.
The image of the lone tree immediately struck me as fragile. It stands upright, slightly left of the center, overlooking a river below. To me, the tree feels as though it is breathing, slowly and deeply, while calmly surveying the landscape beneath it. It resembles an exhausted yet curious observer, one who never grows tired of seeing the same view each morning and somehow finds comfort and quiet joy in doing so.
In this way, the photograph gives me a sense of peace. On mornings when I dread waking up early, or nights when I feel too tired to finish the reading assigned for the next day, I look up at the image and try to breathe the way the tree seems to breathe. Ending my day with that solitary tree, standing quietly on my wall, helps me settle into calm.
– Eliza Park ’28