Chicago 1950

Harry Callahan made this black and white photograph, simply titled "Chicago", sometime in the middle of the 20th Century. The tones are so rich, like a charcoal drawing, with soft greys that blend into deep blacks. It's kind of amazing how, even without color, the picture feels so full of life. There’s something incredibly intimate about this picture. It’s a close-up, maybe a wife or partner, but slightly obscured – it’s just a fragment. You can see just her mouth, slightly open, and her hands clasped in front of her, almost defensively. It's like a private moment caught in public. The dark areas feel heavy, like a weight. Yet, the light on her hands creates a sense of release. I keep thinking about how Callahan lets the image hover between clarity and blur, which gives it a ghostly and mysterious quality. I feel like Callahan and someone like Robert Frank were having a conversation about what photography could be. I think of their work as a reminder to slow down, look closely, and find beauty in the everyday. Art’s not about answers, it’s about questions.