Untitled 1960

Here's a black and white photograph by Ralph Gibson, and well, it kind of just hits you. Look at the hands clasped behind the back, holding a single rose. There's a tenderness, right? But also a kind of hiddenness, or maybe vulnerability. The light is so contrast-y, it makes me think about the choices Gibson made in the darkroom. What was he thinking about when he snapped the picture? What kind of story was he trying to tell? It’s a mystery to me. The rose itself is so delicate against the rough fabric of the jacket. I see the kind of thing that someone like Robert Mapplethorpe was doing with the same flower. There's a lineage, and a conversation happening across time, which makes me think about the way one artist riffs off another.