New York 1987

Editor: Here we have Rosalind Solomon’s gelatin silver print, “New York” from 1987. It strikes me as incredibly intimate, the way the hands are intertwined, almost like a silent conversation. What’s your take on this piece? Curator: Ah, yes. Rosalind Solomon, a soul that could find poetry in the starkest realities. To me, this isn’t just about hands clasped; it’s about connection, vulnerability, and the unspoken language of touch. See the texture in the older hands, weathered like an ancient tree. What do they tell you about a life lived? Editor: They feel lived-in, definitely. I notice the patterns on the sleeves, how detailed they are. Curator: Exactly! It’s a contrast to the relative plainness of the other’s clothes, but even those simpler clothes hold information. Look how their arms are positioned: Are they comforting, or maybe seeking comfort? Notice that detail and feel the artist’s ability to convey so much feeling in something so, seemingly, straightforward. Editor: I hadn't thought of it that way. I see the tension in the hands now, not just affection. Curator: It’s there, isn’t it? It’s why Solomon’s work resonates. Life, even at its most beautiful, holds complexity. This photo whispers of both, and challenges us to recognize our humanity, that interwoven texture that defines our lives. Editor: It's amazing how much you can unpack from such a small part of these people, their hands. Thanks for pointing that out, this was much more meaningful than I initially thought. Curator: Anytime. Remember, art isn’t always about seeing; it’s about *feeling* seen, in all your messy, glorious existence.