[La Comtesse in Lace Shawl] 1860s

Editor: So here we have *La Comtesse in Lace Shawl,* a gelatin silver print photograph from the 1860s by Alphonse Bernoud. I find the textures fascinating—all that delicate lace looks incredibly elaborate, but the stern face is kind of intimidating, isn’t it? What do you see when you look at this piece? Curator: Well, you know, sometimes a stern face just means… dignity, wouldn't you say? Think about what photography represented at that moment, fresh in its infancy. A photograph was such a unique opportunity to record, and maybe even elevate, oneself. To be captured wearing *that* dress...that's more than an image, isn’t it? It's a statement of status, meticulously constructed, don’t you agree? What strikes you about the way she holds herself? Editor: I guess it’s about conveying importance, but she almost looks uncomfortable, as though she doesn't know what to do with her hands. Almost a stiffness, I would say. Is it just me? Curator: Ha! Not at all! And perhaps, in a sense, she really *doesn’t* know what to do with them! I imagine she's trying to hold them perfectly still, and perhaps this is why we perceive such… "dignified discomfort." To freeze a fleeting expression in photography like that, with light itself, is a magician's trick that changes our relationship to seeing, to time… even to death. What kind of stories does it tell *you*? Editor: You know, seeing it that way changes everything. It makes me consider the limitations of early photography, which ultimately speaks to how powerful and revealing this medium can be, which speaks, ultimately, to Bernoud’s gift. Thanks for showing me that. Curator: Absolutely! It's been delightful exploring Bernoud’s portrait with you and consider its lasting significance, with our own eyes and thoughts in concert.