Zuma #3 1978

Curator: John Divola's photograph, "Zuma #3" from 1978. It's one of a series taken in abandoned beach houses near Los Angeles. Editor: Well, it certainly evokes a mood. Desolation mixed with the vastness of the sea. It’s like looking through a broken lens at a melancholic dream. Curator: The broken window is striking, isn’t it? Disrupts the romantic idea of the seascape. The makeshift wooden supports and that strange white rod… it almost feels like an amateur theatrical set. Editor: Precisely. Windows are about framing and transition—looking from one place to the other, inside and outside. So a broken one tells stories of transgression, neglect, even entropy. The sea continues, of course, regardless of that, in its predictable, ancient cycle. The ocean has many archetypes in the world's stories, a potent symbol of power, mystery, and our own subconscious depths. Curator: I’m drawn to how Divola plays with layers. The tattered curtains, the splintered glass, and then the limitless ocean... it collapses space and time somehow. Editor: Mmm, it makes one consider absence and presence. You see the ocean, but it's separated from you. And where are the occupants? Are these the bones of their dreams? We are looking through a threshold of decay, really. That kind of scene appears in art and literature a lot – in myth, fairytales, religious art, the window can represent sight or prophecy, knowledge or access, a portal. This ruined window might hint that clarity of vision can often be broken by a painful or unpleasant reality. Curator: And perhaps, there's an echo of hope out there, amidst that decay. Maybe that's too romantic an interpretation. Editor: No, I think it's essential to remember the resilience inherent in things, in life. What better metaphor to show a space, scarred by time and neglect, open still to infinite possibilities. Curator: A potent intersection of vulnerability and strength then. The picture sticks with you. Editor: Indeed. Now when I think about images of ocean views, I think about those structures around the frame. We always observe a filtered picture of the real.