Songs of the Sky D7 1923

This is Alfred Stieglitz’s ‘Songs of the Sky D7’, a photograph that, to me, looks like it was made with charcoal or silverpoint. It's all soft and dreamy, a real grayscale vibe. I can just imagine Stieglitz looking up, squinting, maybe even lying on his back in a field, trying to capture that elusive, ever-changing sky. He’s not just snapping a picture; he’s trying to catch a feeling, a mood. It makes me wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling as he watched those clouds drift by. Was he thinking of music, of art, of life itself? The way the light sort of bleeds into the shadows reminds me of Gerhard Richter's blurry paintings. And that sense of impermanence makes me think of Agnes Martin's subtle grids. It’s like they're all trying to grab hold of something that’s always slipping away. Artists are always having this conversation, across time and space, looking at each other’s work and saying, ‘Yeah, I feel that too.’ And, in the end, it’s that shared experience, that openness to uncertainty, that makes art so damn powerful.