Mission Ridge Scene of Sherman's Attack 1864 - 1866

Editor: This is George N. Barnard's photograph, "Mission Ridge Scene of Sherman's Attack," taken sometime between 1864 and 1866. It's a print, capturing a landscape, but also so clearly a scene of war. There's a quiet stillness to it that's almost eerie considering the subject. What strikes you most about this image? Curator: The stillness gets me too. It's a strange, muted peace, isn't it? Knowing what unfolded here, that the landscape witnessed such violence... it makes the ordinary trees and distant hills seem almost complicit. I see a haunting beauty, tinged with regret, as though the land itself remembers. Do you feel like the composition emphasizes the idea of vastness and therefore anonymity for those who fought? Editor: I do, especially with that hazy distance. It makes the events feel both very present and impossibly far away. I hadn't thought of it as complicit, but now that you mention it, the unmoving, silent nature feels less peaceful. Curator: Right? And perhaps that's what Barnard intended. This isn't a heroic battle scene. It's a landscape marked by conflict. How else could he show it? There aren’t even any people. Editor: So, in a way, it's not just a picture of a place, but a memorial, or a testament. It’s thought-provoking to consider how photography in that era served purposes beyond mere documentation. Curator: Exactly! And it raises the question of how we remember and represent conflict, especially in its aftermath. This picture offers no easy answers, does it? Editor: No, it really doesn’t. This makes me appreciate the choices made in creating what I initially saw as a straightforward landscape photograph. It's so much more layered. Curator: Yes. Seeing how an image captures history through its absence can be profound, can't it? There's power in what's *not* shown, what's implied, what lingers in the silence.