New York 1987

Rosalind Solomon took this photograph, New York, sometime in the last century, with of course, a camera. It’s a black and white image, and I think about the lack of color as its own kind of mark making; the grey-scale almost becomes a physical thing. The grainy textures and high contrast are so crucial to the image's claustrophobic emotional atmosphere. The guy sitting on the chair by the window, he could be anyone. The details in the room – the brick wall, the TV, the magazine – they all start to feel like they're pressing in on him. There is a sadness there. The image is a time capsule, really, but it’s also something universal about being stuck in your own head. There's something Hopper-esque in the mood of this piece, that same feeling of urban isolation. I love the way artists can have these conversations across generations, riffing on similar themes. For me, art is always an opening to different ways of seeing.