Portret van een zittende vrouw 1860 - 1890

Editor: So, this is Rovira's "Portret van een zittende vrouw," a gelatin-silver print photograph probably taken sometime between 1860 and 1890. The woman in the portrait, with her arms crossed and a rather serious expression, has a presence that feels both intimate and very distant. What's your read on this piece? Curator: It has that certain *something*, doesn't it? Those old photographs, there's a vulnerability there that digital images just can't seem to capture. You see it in her eyes, a trace of defiance, maybe even boredom. I find myself wondering about the untold stories etched into her face, the everyday drama of her life, the weight of expectation… and the clothes! A poem about being captured, not escaping. I love imagining that her dress hides the music of bones, her face hiding dreams and schemes! Does she look to you as if she's hiding things? Editor: Absolutely. There’s a hint of guardedness, almost like she’s revealing as little as possible while still agreeing to have her portrait taken. Perhaps the clothing suggests constraint of the period. Do you think the clothing also signifies her social standing? Curator: Undeniably, clothes became armour back then. That lace trim didn't buy itself! Yet, I bet underneath all that formality was a fire, a secret rebellion expressed through subtle choices. Like that almost imperceptible smirk? Or is it just gas? Ha! We give meaning through art but must keep a hold on humility, yes? I wonder: what’s the key feeling for you when looking at it? Editor: For me, it's the sense of a life lived, hints of untold stories etched onto her face by passing years. And I agree, it’s impossible to truly know. It's amazing to consider how one image can evoke so many unanswered questions. Curator: Precisely! It reminds us that we're all just passing through, leaving fragments of ourselves behind. A ghost story, captured in silver.