Rennie Booher and Edith, Danville, Virginia 1971

Editor: Emmet Gowin's black and white photograph, "Rennie Booher and Edith, Danville, Virginia," captured in 1971 with a gelatin-silver print, is fascinating. The younger woman’s playful expression contrasts so starkly with the elder's reserved demeanor. What’s your take on this dynamic? Curator: The contrast, dear Editor, is exactly where the spark resides. It's as if Gowin has bottled the fleeting strangeness of kinship, that collision of shared blood and wildly different interior worlds. We often expect portraits to be reverent, still but Gowin dares to capture the unruly, sometimes awkward reality. You get the sense that perhaps Edith doesn't always behave this way, which lends an intimacy to the image. Don't you feel drawn into their private space? Editor: I do. The image does feel intensely personal. Almost voyeuristic. Did Gowin intentionally stage this contrast, do you think, or was it a more spontaneous capture? Curator: Ah, that’s the enigma, isn’t it? Gowin clearly orchestrates a stage. Observe the setting – intimate, simple, aged – almost a perfect diorama of memory. Yet, there's also an unmistakable air of spontaneity in Edith's impish grimace. I see Gowin not as a director, but a fellow traveler, documenting an authentic moment, like catching a butterfly in mid-air. Does that feel right to you? Editor: That helps clarify it, the "fellow traveler" aspect. It makes the women appear relaxed, so the staging isn’t overwrought. I kept wondering about the story behind the photo, which makes it feel complete to me now. Thanks. Curator: Precisely. The 'story' isn't prescribed. It's whispered.