New York 1987

Rosalind Solomon made this photo, called *New York,* and its undated. It’s a study in black and white, in shades of grey. Look at the way the light falls across the scene. It's stark, unforgiving, revealing the textures of the bedsheets, the skin, the folds in the clothing. The process here is one of capture, a pure record of a moment. See how the graininess of the image adds to its emotional weight. It's not polished or slick. It's raw, like a wound. The photograph feels deeply intimate. The two figures connected, one strong, the other weaker. The younger man is caring, tender. The older man is the poet, Allen Ginsberg. The details of the hands, clasped together, say everything. This reminds me of Nan Goldin's unflinching gaze, that unflinching recording of difficult moments and that conversation, across time, about living and loss.