Mortar Battery 1855

Editor: This is James Robertson’s "Mortar Battery," a gelatin-silver print taken in 1855. It's… well, it's quite muted. I see the remnants of what looks like some kind of military fortification, but it's almost ghost-like, faded in this hazy, sepia tone. What do you see in it? Curator: That 'ghost-like' quality is precisely where the power lies, don't you think? Forget dramatic landscapes, this is history clinging to the very fabric of the photograph. It's not just about documenting; it feels like holding a memory that’s desperately trying not to disappear. It's funny, isn't it, how something so destructive as a mortar battery could be captured with such tenderness? Almost… poetic? What is your take on that, and have you seen photos that express that kind of beauty? Editor: Tender, poetic... I hadn't considered that, but now that you mention it, there's a definite sense of melancholic beauty, yes! Maybe because it *doesn't* show the violence, just the aftermath. It feels strangely serene. I guess I initially focused on the lack of crisp detail, as opposed to that mood you picked up on. Curator: It asks us to consider the impermanence of everything, doesn’t it? I always think that this work challenges the assumed heroism often associated with military imagery. Do you feel there's a sense of heroism present, even subtly, in Robertson’s work? Or do you feel there is another interpretation of this photograph? Editor: Hmmm…not really, no. Maybe that's because I went in without preconceived notions. Now I see the image differently, in a new light. This photo is so thought-provoking. Thanks for that. Curator: My pleasure! Perhaps we should always strive to see the story *behind* the snapshot, rather than just the snapshot itself.