New York 1987

Rosalind Solomon took this photograph, “New York,” we don’t know exactly when, and she didn’t use paint but the act of composing the image is, for me, like arranging a painting. Look at the tender moment captured, the contrast and lighting—it's all intentional. I can imagine Solomon waiting, watching, for the right moment. It’s a beautiful study in black and white, but it's more than just technique. There's a powerful emotional landscape here, that is not always available for all viewers to understand. I can almost feel the textures - the soft skin, the wool of the sweater, the grainy quality of the film. The way they're together—it’s a dance of closeness, maybe even grief or saying goodbye. The composition draws the eye from the figures to the ground and the busy, undefinable background, which keeps the eye moving. And what does it mean to name it after a place, “New York”? What has it become, a memento of a moment in a specific location? Maybe Solomon was thinking about loss, or the power of human connection, or maybe the quiet moments that can take place in a large, bustling metropolis. It reminds us that art is always speaking to other art, and to life.