Gezicht op de kade van Menton before 1862

Editor: So, this is "Gezicht op de kade van Menton," a photograph by Louis-Alphonse Davanne from before 1862. It's an albumen print, which gives it this almost sepia, dreamy quality. Looking at this, I immediately feel like I'm stepping back in time. The cityscape almost looks like it's clinging to the hillside. What strikes you about this particular photograph? Curator: That sepia tone, as you say, it's like a memory, isn't it? Like we're peering through the gauze of years. I see a determined clinging, both of the buildings to the landscape and of humanity to a way of life. Imagine the smells, the sounds—that dock must have buzzed with activity. But it also hints at something fleeting, precarious, doesn't it? The way the light catches… almost like a stage set. Do you feel that sense of artifice too, or is it just me being theatrical? Editor: I can see that, like a film set. And because it's a photograph, there's an interesting contrast because photography feels real and staged at the same time, particularly early photography like this. How do you think the romanticism style that is often applied to landscape paintings applies here? Curator: Good question! Romanticism loved to explore the sublime, that overwhelming power of nature. Here, while we have the man-made structures, the real power, I think, lies in that feeling of gravity, the buildings nestled into that overpowering, ancient hillside. It is, as a matter of speaking, the sublime, but at an intimate, human scale. A domestic sublime, perhaps? A quiet battle against the eternal. Editor: So much more than just a snapshot of a city. I hadn't considered the 'domestic sublime,' I love that idea. It makes you think about the layers within something that seems simple on the surface. Curator: Exactly! Art, or in this case photography, it often surprises you like that. There are always treasures to discover beneath the surface.