Solitude c. 1950

Juliette Steele made this print, Solitude, with etching, and aquatint, sometime in the mid-20th century. Look at the stark contrast, the sharp lines, and the geometric shapes dominating the composition. I can imagine Steele standing over a metal plate, carefully layering acid to create those deep blacks and subtle grays. The process is slow, methodical, but there’s a certain magic in watching the image emerge from the corrosive bath. Maybe she felt a connection to other printmakers, like Käthe Kollwitz, who used similar techniques to convey powerful emotions. I wonder if Steele was thinking about the architecture around her, or if the space was a metaphor for an emotional state, an internal world. The solitary figure on the steps, the bare tree, the closed doors—they all speak to a sense of isolation and introspection. But there’s also a strange beauty in the stillness, a quiet invitation to contemplate our own moments of solitude. Artists are always talking to each other, through time, through images. Each mark, each choice, is a continuation of a conversation that never ends.