Aix-en-Provence 1957

Editor: We’re looking at Harry Callahan's "Aix-en-Provence," a black and white photograph from 1957. It's a woodland scene, almost eerie in its starkness. What's your take on it? Curator: Eerie's a good word! It evokes that feeling you get when nature isn't necessarily inviting, more indifferent. I think Callahan is showing us that silence within the grove of trees. The way the light catches the tips of the grasses, almost vibrating against the dark density of the woods behind. He uses shadow almost as another form. Makes me think about the layers of perception. Do you see it playing with depth? Editor: Absolutely. It's like the trees in the foreground are almost reaching out, while the rest of the woods kind of fade. How much of that do you think is the landscape itself, and how much is Callahan's framing? Curator: Ah, there’s the rub! With Callahan, I often feel he's revealing a pre-existing drama already playing out in nature, amplifying something inherently present, you know? Think of how a playwright uses shadow and stage position. He is using that same sensibility. Is he constructing it or merely reflecting what was present? It makes you wonder! Editor: That makes a lot of sense. I didn’t realize photography could be so performative. Curator: Everything's performative, darling, even reality itself! Callahan just helps us see the performance already in progress. Perhaps what I have learned today is there are no observers.