Tabernakel door Mino da Fiesole in de Santa Maria in Trastevere te Rome c. 1857 - 1875

Editor: We're looking at "Tabernakel door Mino da Fiesole in de Santa Maria in Trastevere te Rome," a photograph taken by James Anderson sometime between 1857 and 1875. It's a gelatin-silver print, sepia-toned and, honestly, makes me feel like I've stepped back in time. What's your take? What catches your eye here? Curator: The beauty of time captured, right? A photograph OF a sculpture. Anderson seems less interested in the crisp documentation and more about… whispering secrets. It is a document but with so much poetry layered into it! How the light kisses the carved details. This particular tabernacle—it probably held holy oils—becomes less about the religious function, and more about humanity's reach for something eternal. Tell me, what feelings arise as you see this work, disconnected from its original sacred space? Editor: That makes sense, seeing it divorced from the church… It feels almost archaeological, like we're uncovering something precious from a bygone era. It almost feels melancholy. Curator: Melancholy. I think that's a beautiful, appropriate word. It’s a gentle reminder of our fleeting presence. Anderson lets the sculpture itself carry the weight of history, but does not shy away from including all the visual cues of his own place and time – the aging of the print, the toning that gives everything a dreamlike haze. This photo, isn’t it a meditation on faith, on time, on art itself? Editor: Definitely. I'll never look at an old photo the same way again. Thank you! Curator: My pleasure. And perhaps next time, we go searching for light on our own.