Twee afbeeldingen van Korinthische kapitelen van de San Marco in Venetië before 1885

Editor: So, this print by Carl Heinrich Jacobi, titled 'Two Images of Corinthian Capitals from San Marco in Venice,' pre-dates 1885, showcasing detailed architectural photography. The somber greyscale and sharp focus give them a really majestic feel, like frozen moments from a bygone era. What captures your attention when you look at these capitals? Curator: It's more than just the architecture, isn't it? It’s about light frozen in time, and the dance between human creation and nature reclaiming what was once hers. See how the delicate acanthus leaves seem to be both supporting the structure and reaching out to absorb the Venetian sunlight? Jacobi has this marvelous ability to find a narrative even in stone. Editor: Absolutely, the details are just phenomenal. But photographing architecture like this feels… different from, say, a portrait. Was Jacobi trying to say something more with these photographs than just “look at this cool column”? Curator: Oh, without a doubt. Think about Venice at that time – a city steeped in history, slowly succumbing to the sea. Perhaps Jacobi wanted to preserve its beauty, these capitals symbolizing both grandeur and the inevitability of decay. These columns weren’t just supporting roofs, my dear, but centuries of Venetian history, whispers and secrets embedded in every crevice, almost on the verge of being swept away. Do you see what I mean? Editor: That's beautifully put! It reframes the photos – they're not just documenting; they're elegies, in a way. I never thought a picture of old stone could be so evocative. Curator: Exactly! Jacobi gifts us with a poem composed of stone and shadow. It’s less about capturing a likeness, more about evoking a feeling. Isn't it marvelous what stillness can convey? Editor: It is. I’ll never look at architectural photography the same way again! Thanks for that perspective.