Berlin 1982

John Gossage made this photograph, called Berlin, sometime in the late twentieth century. It’s a landscape, but one defined by a brutal, grey wall that dominates the left side of the frame. This isn't a picturesque view; it's a document of division. The wall is textured with streaks and stains, like a dirty canvas marked by time and weather. On the other side, nature persists – trees and foliage stubbornly growing, blurring the line between the artificial barrier and the organic world. Look at the upper-left corner, where the wall meets the sky. The contrast is stark, almost violent, yet the trees soften the harshness, their leaves like a whispered promise of renewal. It reminds me of Robert Adams' work – that same quiet observation of how human structures and nature coexist, often uneasily. Art doesn't give us easy answers, but it asks us to look, to feel, and to question what we see.