Eleanor, Chicago 1952

This is Harry Callahan’s ‘Eleanor, Chicago’, a photograph, small in scale and big in impact. Callahan’s magic here is in the layering, the ghosting of images, like memories fading in and out. Look closely, and you'll see the figure of Eleanor, his wife and muse, almost dissolving into the landscape. The bare branches of the trees create a delicate web, a kind of visual echo of her form. It’s not just a picture, it's a feeling – a meditation on presence and absence, permanence and change. The way Callahan uses light, it's almost painterly, softening the edges, creating this ethereal quality. You can almost feel the cold air of Chicago, the stillness of the moment. It reminds me of Gerhard Richter’s blurred paintings, that same sense of something just beyond our grasp. And just like Richter, Callahan invites us to find our own meaning, to get lost in the ambiguity. It's a reminder that art doesn't always have to be clear, sometimes it’s more powerful when it whispers.