A Jewish giant at home with his parents in the Bronx 1970

Editor: This is Diane Arbus's "A Jewish giant at home with his parents in the Bronx" from 1970, a gelatin silver print. There’s something almost theatrical about it. The composition emphasizes the son's height, making his parents appear even smaller. It strikes me as a pretty poignant exploration of family dynamics. What's your interpretation of Arbus’s intent with this photograph? Curator: Ah, Arbus. She had this incredible knack for capturing the humanity, the oddity, the exquisite vulnerability of folks who existed on the fringes. For me, it’s not about "othering" – as some critics might suggest – but more like gently peeling back the layers. Look at their faces, really look. There’s love, exasperation, pride, a whole symphony of emotions playing out. And isn't that what family is all about, after all? Do you feel the intimacy in that crowded little living room, the worn-out drapes, the very air seeming to vibrate with shared history? Editor: Definitely. It feels incredibly personal, almost intrusive. I'm struck by the lack of pretense; there’s nothing glamorous or staged. But I wonder if there’s an element of… exploitation? Curator: It's a valid point. But Arbus wasn't just pointing a camera and snapping. She built relationships, however brief. She let her subjects reveal themselves. It's more collaborative than exploitative, wouldn't you agree? This image feels like a dance, a quiet understanding between artist and subject. That's the tightrope she walked, and I find the tension of it truly captivating, unsettling, but always deeply human. Editor: I see what you mean. It's about allowing the subjects to be themselves, however imperfect. Curator: Exactly! It’s in the imperfection, the cracks, that we find the beauty and truth. The Jewish giant is more than his height. The parents are more than "small." Editor: It makes me appreciate Arbus’s commitment to showing us the world, unfiltered. I see so much more nuance than I initially did. Thank you.