Portret van een onbekende vrouw bij een stoel 1881 - 1892

Editor: This is an albumen print from somewhere between 1881 and 1892, titled “Portrait of an Unknown Woman by a Chair,” made by Coenraad Cornelis Roskam. The faded sepia tones lend the image such a wistful, almost haunted air, don’t you think? What feelings does this photograph evoke for you? Curator: Haunted is a lovely word. It resonates with how photography in this era captured not just a likeness but a palpable presence, a holding of time. She's gazing right at us, but where is *she*, really? This chair… It's almost like a prop, isn’t it? Roskam places her in this almost staged tableau. What do you make of her stance and the gaze? Editor: There's a formality, definitely. Maybe it's meant to project status, the way she's posed so rigidly, but I also get this… sadness? It's in her eyes, I think. Almost a reluctance to be looked at. Curator: Exactly. The "status" reading feels expected; she performs it almost ironically, don’t you think? This wasn't instantaneous as with phone snaps. Hours went into one session. Perhaps that reluctance stems from being asked to hold that mask of "status" for what must have seemed an eternity! Did she feel that Roskam managed to get past that mask to see *her*, do you think? Editor: I hadn’t thought of that before. The idea of performance… So, seeing beyond that rigid posture isn’t necessarily *our* job, but something Roskam was perhaps trying, and perhaps failing, to achieve himself? Curator: Yes. What if it's Roskam’s internal struggles that make it so… arresting? These artists are holding up a mirror to themselves as well, are they not? So, we are looking at Roskam, just as much as at this unnamed lady! What do you take away now? Editor: That I need to be looking at the photographer just as much as I’m looking *at* the subject. Curator: Precisely! A portrait unveils so much more than just a face.