Capua. Amphitheater 1865

Editor: This is Roberto Rive's photograph, "Capua. Amphitheater," taken in 1865. The albumen print presents a bird's-eye view of the ruined amphitheater, its arches and subterranean structures exposed. There's a stillness, a solemnity almost, despite the ruinous state. What strikes you most about this image? Curator: The image speaks of layers – literal and metaphorical. Consider the arena itself; it's more than just stone and arch. The eroded arches are key: they’re Roman engineering meeting natural decomposition. Don't you see the past made literally present? This arena echoes with memory; violence and spectacle performed for the entertainment of onlookers have given way to silent contemplation. The photographer has captured the poignancy of this cultural evolution through careful arrangement of ruins as an image of collective remembrance. Editor: So you see the ruin as more than just decay, but as a signifier, then? What kind of visual vocabulary does it use to convey meaning? Curator: Exactly. Think of the circle as a primal symbol, representing totality. Here, broken and exposed, it speaks of impermanence, and history itself as something continually eroding. See the lone figure, a witness atop the ruin, contemplating? That tiny person connects the distant past and present through the continuity of gazing, echoing both horror and glory in equal measure. Editor: It's almost haunting when you frame it that way, all those performances soaked into the stones. The way Rive composed the shot definitely emphasizes that timelessness. Curator: Rive captures not only the amphitheater’s architecture but its cultural presence. Each stone whispers narratives; power, decadence, collapse, the persistent cycle of civilizations. Editor: I'll definitely remember that when I see other ancient ruins! Thanks. Curator: It’s a pleasure to share. Looking deeper reveals narratives beyond the surface – memory made material, time rendered visible.