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On a quiet Alpine morning, where old stones remember more than they reveal, a young girl walks beneath the crumbling arch of a forgotten gateway. The air is cool, the light pale and tender, and behind her, the silhouettes of snow-covered peaks rise like ancient guardians above sun-warmed rooftops. Gateway in South Tyrol—so this painting by Jan Bogaerts, dated 1930, might be named: a moment suspended in oil and silence, offering a glimpse into a lesser-known strand of the painter’s work.
Bogaerts, often celebrated for his serene still lifes, here reveals a more contemplative vision of landscape and memory. The ruined gate, its texture rough and weathered, opens onto a second arch, drawing the eye into depth and shadow. A single figure in traditional dress walks toward us—not as a protagonist, but as a presence woven into the rhythm of space and time.
The composition is poised and poetic. Soft greys, faded whites, earth tones and muted greens form a restrained palette, lending the work a quiet majesty. Nothing in the scene is dramatic, yet everything speaks: of time, solitude, and the enduring quiet of ancient places.
Painted in 1930, between two world wars, this work feels like a personal meditation on the passage of time. The girl who walks beneath the arch becomes a symbol—not of narrative, but of stillness. Through this image, Jan Bogaerts bridges his early romantic-symbolist period with the more minimalist stillness of his mature work. This painting, like the gateway it depicts, is a threshold—between light and shadow, past and present, seen and remembered.