Alfred Stieglitz 1932

Dorothy Norman made this photograph of Alfred Stieglitz sometime in the twentieth century. It's small, intimate, and intense. I imagine Dorothy and Alfred in the dark room together, developing images. It's tender and moving to witness one artist capturing another. The light seems to gently wrap around Stieglitz’s face, softly accentuating his eyes, the lines around his mouth, the silvery wisp of his hair. The dark background makes him seem present, as if he’s about to speak. Alfred seems to look right through you, doesn't he? I wonder what he was thinking at that very moment? There’s a kind of knowing in his gaze, a sense of quiet contemplation and a lifetime of experience. Maybe he was thinking about what makes an image great? Artists leave traces for us, breadcrumbs across time, and that’s how we find one another, isn’t it?