A November Day c. 1900

Editor: Here we have William Dassonville’s “A November Day,” a gelatin-silver print taken around 1900. There's such a bleakness to it – the landscape almost disappears into the fog. What do you make of a scene like this? Curator: It feels like a poem, doesn’t it? I see beyond the monochrome, I imagine the artist inhaling the damp air, perhaps a light mist kissing their face as they focused on the path ahead. Do you see how the muted tones push the eye deeper into the composition? It's not just fog; it's a kind of emotional weather. Editor: It definitely pulls you in, almost like you’re meant to be walking down that muddy path. There's something very isolating about it, too. Was Dassonville known for these kinds of somber scenes? Curator: Well, pictorialism, the style he was going for, aimed to elevate photography to art by imitating painting techniques, blurring the lines between the real and the imagined. Consider how the impressionistic aesthetic here makes a statement, reflecting the cultural attitude toward nature in early America, a period increasingly affected by the throes of industrialism. The camera acts almost like a memory. Have you felt a similar melancholic stillness in other photographs from that time? Editor: Not quite like this. The haziness feels…intentional, like a softened memory. And yes, you're right – there's an element of romanticizing something perhaps less picturesque, an interesting dialogue there. Curator: Precisely! Dassonville transformed the mundane into something evocative. That's where art reveals itself: in the moments where we find beauty and solace in even the bleakest of landscapes, like remembering childhood places while at once idealizing their reality. Editor: I agree. Looking at it this way, it's a lot more poignant than I initially thought. The image itself has transformed, from gloomy to full of possibility. Curator: Art changes us, doesn't it? Or, at least, encourages us to embrace change!