Untitled [Ref. #60] 2006

Curator: Myra Greene created "Untitled [Ref. #60]" in 2006, a captivating gelatin silver print now before us. Editor: The overwhelming darkness is what hits you first. It’s visceral, almost like staring into a void. The textures feel like coarse stone, simultaneously repulsive and fascinating. Curator: Yes, it pushes the boundaries of photography. We see a deliberate manipulation of the medium—it’s about the alchemy, the process itself. The use of gelatin silver hints at a historical engagement while she actively disrupts conventional portraiture. Editor: It certainly deviates from traditional representation. I’m struck by how the ambiguous forms suggest both vulnerability and strength, mirroring the visual language of 19th century mourning photography but stripped of all context and overt symbolism. Is she alluding to personal grief, perhaps? Curator: Or, instead, to societal processes? What meanings are inherent in the base material of photography itself, and how does that relate to labor practices, image distribution, and our engagement with objects? Consider how accessible photography has become relative to older printmaking techniques. Editor: It’s more than just process for me; this abstract expressionist approach unlocks deep-seated anxieties. Those subtle tonal shifts evoke a somber and reverent feeling—perhaps about memory itself. Curator: Memory indeed becomes another malleable material here. Greene has a way of re-coding photography; it is less about capturing something specific and more about revealing its fundamental essence. The print quality seems aged, even decayed. Editor: Exactly. Its power resides in its deliberate obscurity. As an object it embodies symbolic themes such as longing or the hidden self. And in those ghostly shapes—hints of figurative form—one feels echoes of lost portraits, faces now forever unseen. Curator: A powerful convergence, where photographic process speaks both of technical specificity and broad cultural forces. Editor: A lasting image that provokes endless contemplation about shadows, representation, and the persistence of loss.