Stoomschip Statendam beschadigd in de haven van Rotterdam c. 1940 - 1945

Editor: So, this photograph, taken by J. Nolte sometime between 1940 and 1945, is called "Stoomschip Statendam beschadigd in de haven van Rotterdam" which roughly translates to 'Steamship Statendam damaged in the port of Rotterdam'. It’s a gelatin silver print, and honestly, it feels overwhelmingly melancholic. What strikes you most about this piece? Curator: Well, it certainly hums with a certain… spectral quality, doesn't it? The damaged ship, the muted tones… It’s almost as if we’re peering into a memory, faded but persistent. I wonder, did Nolte intend to capture a moment of despair, or perhaps a testament to resilience amidst destruction? Notice how the smoke, though a sign of potential ruin, also rises—an almost defiant gesture. What does that rising smoke evoke in you? Editor: That's a good question. It makes me think of hope, perhaps against the odds. Like, even in devastation, there's still… something? It's faint, but present. But then, is the medium itself, this gelatin silver print, contributing to this sense of fading memory? Curator: Precisely! The photographic process here becomes inextricably linked to the photograph's message, wouldn't you agree? It’s not just a record; it’s an *experience* of history, filtered through the lens of time and trauma. Makes you wonder about the stories etched, not just on the ship, but also within the very paper itself. Editor: It does. I came in thinking 'damaged ship, sad photo', but now it feels a lot more layered, a bit more poetic even. Curator: That’s the joy of art, isn’t it? Revealing the hidden poems within seemingly straightforward realities. Hopefully, you'll keep looking below the surface to reveal the unseen in plain sight.