Boston (Darrel and Barbara met a year ago when Darrel saw Barbara sitting on a wall. "We talked and decided to pool our money to buy a half-pint," he says. "We've been together ever since." On frigid weekends, especially after the sun sets and before the shelter opens, they ride the subway to keep warm. "Riding the train gives us some peace, some space away from the rest of them.") 1999

Editor: This is Betsy Karel's photograph, "Boston," taken in 1999. It's a gelatin silver print, capturing two people on what looks like a subway car. It’s strikingly stark, black and white, and… deeply sad, I think. What strikes you most when you look at it? Curator: Ah, yes, Betsy Karel has this remarkable ability to capture intimacy even in public spaces, doesn't she? For me, it's the textures. Look at the woman’s hat, or his jacket! They feel worn, *lived* in, if that makes sense. This is more than just an image, you feel like you are watching a tiny secret in real time. Why do you suppose Karel chose to shoot this in black and white, I wonder? Editor: Maybe to strip away the distractions of color, focus our attention on the subjects themselves? The story feels so much more important this way, maybe? I do also notice the… kind of brutal honesty in their faces, somehow magnified by the monochrome. It is very affecting. Curator: Absolutely. And isn't there something about the very grain of gelatin silver prints that enhances that sense of immediacy and unfiltered reality? It adds to the emotion, wouldn’t you say? We are not looking at something beautified but almost stolen right off the mundane plane of existence. Like real memories tend to be. Editor: Definitely. The image quality almost becomes part of the narrative itself, underlining the gritty reality. I'll be thinking about this one. Curator: Me too. It reminds us that art is often about looking—really *seeing*—the stories unfolding all around us, even in the unlikeliest of places. A story captured for the ages, would you agree?