Prahan 19 1981

Editor: We're looking at John Walker's "Prahan 19," a small black and white print housed at the Tate. It feels almost like a memory fragment, a stark and hazy scene. What do you see in this piece? Curator: It's like peering through a rain-streaked window, isn't it? The textures Walker coaxes from the plate—that velvety black—evoke a feeling of being grounded yet obscured. I imagine him wrestling with the metal, trying to capture a fleeting impression. Does it whisper of any particular place to you? Editor: I can almost feel the grit and dampness. Not really a specific location, more like a feeling. What strikes you most about the composition? Curator: The tension between the solid forms and the dissolving edges. It’s a dance between presence and absence, a visual haiku that hints at something just beyond our grasp. It’s about the spaces in-between, the things we can't quite name. Editor: So interesting, I'm going to need to revisit this one, thank you. Curator: My pleasure. I am so glad it resonated with you.