New York 1987

Editor: Rosalind Solomon's gelatin-silver print, titled "New York," was created in 1987. It’s a portrait that captures a person in what looks like a small, cluttered room. The black and white tones create a very intimate, almost melancholic feeling. What symbols do you see at play in this image? Curator: I see the weight of place embedded in every object. Notice the window behind him – bricked up, suggesting enclosure, restriction. His posture, the clasped hands, hint at introspection, perhaps resignation. The clutter surrounding him—the shelves stacked high, the vintage television—these aren't just objects; they're layers of lived experience, mirroring the city's density. How do you interpret his direct gaze? Editor: It feels like he’s inviting you into his world, but also challenging you, like he’s seen a lot. It definitely doesn’t feel like a posed portrait. Curator: Precisely! That gaze carries the collective memory of the city. Consider New York in the 1980s—a crucible of social and economic change. Solomon isn’t just photographing an individual; she’s capturing the zeitgeist, using him as a vessel to convey the city’s story. His slightly askew mustache and weary look contribute. Don’t you think? Editor: Absolutely. I see how the seemingly random details build into something larger than just one person's portrait. It speaks volumes about resilience, or maybe even a kind of quiet struggle. Curator: And that's the power of visual symbols. They transcend the personal, tapping into shared cultural understanding and inviting us to reflect on our own connections to place and history. Editor: I didn't consider how much history can be embedded in an image like this. Curator: Yes, history made human. Thank you, it helped me sharpen the narrative that Rosalind was looking for in that time.