Tyrrhenian Sea, Positano 1990

Editor: Hiroshi Sugimoto's "Tyrrhenian Sea, Positano" from 1990 is a gelatin silver print capturing a horizon. There's something hauntingly still about it. The monochrome palette simplifies the view, creating this sort of meditative or perhaps even melancholy atmosphere. What's your take? Curator: Melancholy resonates… for me, this image hums with primordial simplicity. Sugimoto presents the sea as a vast, indifferent entity, and perhaps that's where the chill comes from. Doesn't it make you wonder about the time elapsed for this image, those quiet photographic processes and then our long contemplation of it? Editor: Definitely! It’s almost like the image contains echoes. Considering he shot this in 1990, before digital photography completely took over, do you think that the analogue process adds another layer of meaning? Curator: Absolutely. He wasn't just capturing a scene, but a sense of timelessness. Silver gelatin prints have an archival quality and subtle tonal range… The sea exists, has always existed. His focus isn’t so much *this* specific sea, but the idea of it. Editor: It's interesting that you point out this “idea” of the sea, because the sea for me, growing up on the coast of Maine, has always been tactile and sensorial. I wonder if my reading of it as melancholy might derive from seeing this tactile experience flattened in the photo. Curator: And perhaps I am projecting something in turn. Our own experiences inescapably shape our readings of these seemingly simple compositions. I like that contrast, actually: one person finds serenity, another a looming sense of isolation. It's proof that Sugimoto succeeded in provoking a response! Editor: Thanks! Now I see this photograph as more than just melancholy! It makes you contemplate origins of place and time.