Rookwolken boven Rotterdam, gezien vanaf de Mathenesserlaan c. 1940 - 1945

Editor: So, this is J. Nolte's gelatin silver print, "Rookwolken boven Rotterdam, gezien vanaf de Mathenesserlaan," or "Smoke Clouds over Rotterdam, seen from Mathenesserlaan," made sometime between 1940 and 1945. It’s overwhelmingly bleak, a city consumed by smoke. What strikes you most about it? Curator: You know, that smoke, that dreadful billowing… it's almost beautiful, in a terrible, tragic way. It dominates the frame, like a perverse halo over Rotterdam. The photo feels… stolen, almost, a quick, desperate grab at a reality no one wanted to see. It's the anti-postcard. Editor: I see what you mean about the "anti-postcard" feel. What do you make of the people gathered in the foreground? Curator: Ah, the watchers. That’s where the gut punch lives. Are they grieving? Numb? A little of both, maybe. Imagine the smell, the heat… it’s a shared trauma made horrifically public. They're small figures against this monumental destruction, lending the scene a solemn grandeur, don’t you think? Editor: Grandeur is a strong word for something so destructive! But I do get the contrast you're pointing out between the individual and the event. Curator: Maybe grandeur is too…clean. It's a dirty, smoky grandeur, forged in trauma, I suppose. Photography has a certain way of rendering devastation strangely compelling. It offers us a mediated distance, safe, and yet immediate, don’t you find? Editor: Definitely, I see that now! It’s easy to forget the sheer scale of events like these and I feel this photograph provides an invitation to look closer and consider this scene in relation to the personal cost of war. Thanks! Curator: Indeed. And isn't it astonishing how a simple gelatin silver print can unlock such layered histories? These unassuming photographs serve as echoes of humanity in extremis. A sobering image, and utterly unforgettable.