Man, Tenancingo Possibly 1933 - 1967

Paul Strand made this silver print, *Man, Tenancingo*, sometime in the first half of the twentieth century. What I see is a guy who looks a little bit like my uncle—proud, a little weary, and definitely present. Looking at the tones in this photograph, I think about the darkroom, the smell of the chemicals, the way the image slowly emerges. It’s like a painting, really, a kind of alchemy. Strand coaxes this image out of light and shadow. I can imagine him adjusting the aperture, waiting for the right moment, trying to capture something essential about this man. The texture of his shirt, the lines on his face—they tell a story. And his eyes, they’re looking right at you, making you wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s seen. Strand is part of a long conversation among artists about how we see each other, how we document each other, and what it means to really look.