Aberglaslyn Road 1860 - 1894

Editor: Here we have Francis Bedford’s "Aberglaslyn Road," dating somewhere between 1860 and 1894, an albumen print currently residing here at the Art Institute of Chicago. I’m struck by its almost ghostly quality; the road stretching out before us, a solitary horse and carriage in the distance. It feels like a memory. What story do you think Bedford is trying to tell? Curator: Oh, I love that "ghostly" feeling, like peering into a past only half-remembered. For me, it evokes that very particular Victorian obsession with landscape – not just documenting it, but almost *possessing* it through the lens. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, what sounds filled that quiet space? Were there birds singing? The rumble of the carriage? What did Bedford leave *out* of the frame, consciously or unconsciously? And, because this is a photographic print from that era, it reminds me about light and shadows; what part do they play to affect the scene? Editor: I hadn’t considered the idea of possessing the landscape. That's fascinating! The detail in the stone walls compared to the haziness in the distance creates such a feeling of depth. It feels so deliberate, almost like the romance of industry and nature clashing slightly. Curator: Yes! You nailed it. The industrial versus the idyllic… perhaps. And that deliberate depth pulls our eye so cleverly to that little horse and carriage, almost lost in the grand scheme. Bedford wants us to ponder the scale of human presence against the agelessness of the landscape. I imagine standing where Bedford did, feeling that same humbling, perhaps even a slightly melancholy, feeling of insignificance. I wonder, though, did photography offer some sense of control over that feeling? Editor: This has completely shifted how I see this photograph. From a simple landscape to something far more complex about humanity’s place in nature and time itself! Curator: Absolutely, it’s a testament to Bedford's skill that such a seemingly straightforward scene can contain so many layers, making the work speak for itself in the most delicate whisper, or shout in absolute brilliance depending on how we perceive the whole experience.