Ruïnes van thermen te Salona before 1878

Editor: Here we have a printed photograph from before 1878, "Ruins of the Baths in Salona," by Franz Thiard de Laforest. The image is within a bound book, so it feels very intimate, like we're peering into a private, personal record. It has this feeling of faded grandeur. What catches your eye about this piece? Curator: Well, isn't it lovely how something so monumental gets captured in this quiet, almost whispered way? To me, the allure lies in the melancholic dance between what once was and what stubbornly remains. Imagine Laforest, setting up his camera in that very spot. He's chasing something, isn't he? Trying to freeze a feeling as much as a place. Do you think he was drawn to the imposing, broken architecture, or something else entirely? Editor: That's a great question! I think it’s both, really. The ruins themselves are visually striking, of course, but I feel like the sepia tones and the way the light falls, they amplify the sense of loss and history. Curator: Exactly! The tones become like echoes. Makes you wonder about all the things a photograph *doesn’t* capture, doesn’t it? All the sounds and smells and stories held within those stones… Photography has always been such a compelling dialogue between presence and absence. I often feel like an archeologist sifting through artifacts when faced with old photos, don't you think? Editor: Absolutely. It's a window into someone else's memory of a place long gone or drastically changed. It is really interesting to consider that photography, even back then, was doing so much more than just documenting. Curator: Indeed, capturing more than mere surfaces. Laforest seems to be reminding us to ponder how everything inevitably crumbles into beauty somehow, don’t you agree?