Tombeau d'Absalon 1870s

Editor: This is Fèlix Bonfils' albumen print, "Tombeau d'Absalon," from the 1870s. It's…wistful, somehow. Like looking at something monumental but also crumbling, a story etched in stone and sunlight. What strikes you when you look at it? Curator: Wistful is a beautiful way to put it. For me, this image hums with echoes, doesn't it? Echoes of ancient ambition, of time’s relentless caress, and of the very act of witnessing it all through Bonfils’ lens. Look how he captures the light – almost reverentially. Doesn’t it make you wonder what whispers the stone might hold? What dramas has it seen played out beneath that Middle Eastern sun? Editor: Absolutely. And you can see tiny figures in the bottom, humans dwarfed by architecture and time. What's the story behind the tomb itself? Curator: Ah, now that’s where things get delightfully murky! Popular legend links it to Absalom, King David’s rebellious son, though architectural styles point to a later, Roman-era construction. It’s this fascinating blend of perceived history and actual history that I find so captivating. It invites you to question, to layer your own narratives onto what you see. Editor: So, it’s almost a visual game of telephone? History being passed down and transformed. Curator: Precisely! And Bonfils, through his photographic choices, participates in that game, framing it just so, bathing it in that golden light… He’s not just documenting; he’s adding his voice to the story, or perhaps writing his own, separate one, inspired by it. He’s immortalising a tomb of uncertain origin, built who knows when… pretty romantic when you break it down, eh? Editor: I see what you mean! The image becomes its own layer of history then. I definitely feel like I’m going to be pondering the photograph, the tomb, the stories for a while. Thanks! Curator: My pleasure. It's why I find history and images like this so damn romantic! A continual archaeological dig. Keeps life interesting, eh?