Savannah, GA, No. 2 1866

Editor: So, this is George N. Barnard's "Savannah, GA, No. 2," taken in 1866. It’s a gelatin-silver print. What immediately strikes me is the stillness of the scene, the quiet that seems to emanate from it despite it being a cityscape of sorts. What do you see in this image? Curator: That stillness you observe is quite perceptive. Beyond the surface representation of a post-war port, I see layers of symbolism tied to trauma and transition. Notice the arrangement of ships; their masts like skeletal remains against the sky, burdened with unspoken histories. What does the lack of visible human activity suggest to you? Editor: Hmm, perhaps a city trying to rebuild, empty spaces where life once thrived. Maybe it is speaking to collective mourning? Curator: Precisely. Barnard’s choice to capture Savannah in this specific light – almost bleached – reinforces a sense of loss. Light and shadow often dictate the narrative, informing how we remember and interpret the past. Does the mirroring of the waterways and sky evoke any feelings for you? Editor: I hadn't thought of it that way. I guess it does feel like the city is holding its breath, reflecting on what it was, and almost a feeling of trepidation of what it could be in the future. Curator: Indeed. And in that breath, in that reflective quality, lies the power of the image. The stillness, therefore, becomes not just a visual element, but a powerful symbol of a nation grappling with its fractured identity and uncertain future. What is the most striking element of this image now for you, after discussing it? Editor: It would have to be the ghostly presence of what isn't there – the absence of bustling activity speaks volumes about the lingering impact of war and how the camera has captured that very accurately. Curator: A keen observation. Barnard captured more than just a scene; he froze a moment heavy with unspoken narratives that resonate even today.