Parachutes 1943

Editor: Here we have "Parachutes," a print made by Riva Helfond in 1943. Looking at it, the repeated forms feel both orderly and chaotic, the cool palette of blues kind of eerie and ominous. What story do you think Helfond is trying to tell with this work? Curator: What a great question. This piece, for me, speaks of controlled fear, a sort of choreographed dread. Each parachute, a tiny capsule of hope and vulnerability, dangling against the vast, indifferent blue. Doesn't the limited palette add to that stark feeling? I wonder, what does that uniformity, but also slight variation, evoke for you? Editor: Definitely, the way the blue seems to wash over everything, almost like a flood, it amplifies the isolation. There's a loneliness even within the mass of figures in the sky. Curator: Precisely! And think about the year. 1943. It's smack in the middle of World War II. Those parachutes weren’t carrying joyriders. They carried soldiers into uncertainty, into harm’s way. Helfond, with those stark blues and repeated shapes, wasn't just depicting a scene, she was channeling a collective anxiety. Makes you think, doesn't it, about the weight of expectations, the hope, and the very real risk loaded onto those anonymous figures descending from the sky. Editor: It does. It’s amazing how she could convey so much with such a seemingly simple composition. I’m seeing it with fresh eyes now. Curator: That's the magic, isn't it? Art echoing life, filtered through a personal lens. Next time you feel you’re falling from grace, think of these parachutists!