New York 1987

Editor: This gelatin silver print, titled "New York," was created by Rosalind Solomon in 1987. It’s… intense. The close-up shot, the black and white, the very direct subject matter – it all feels quite raw and confrontational. What do you see in this piece, what story does it tell you? Curator: For me, it's an exploration of vulnerability and self-expression, maybe even a battle cry disguised as stillness. Solomon had such a fearless eye, didn't she? Think about it: the gaze is unflinching, yet intimate. It captures the sitter’s self-possession. The question is, who are they performing for? Is it us, or themselves? Editor: Performing for themselves… That's interesting. I hadn't considered that. I was so focused on the, uh, directness of the image. Curator: Direct, yes, but is it exhibitionism, or is it, in a way, radical self-acceptance? Consider the time. 1987. What was happening in New York then, culturally, politically? Think about the AIDS crisis, the burgeoning queer scene. Solomon’s work often intersects with bodies that challenge social norms. Doesn't the body’s openness challenge the viewer's own assumptions and preconceptions? Editor: Definitely. Seeing it within that historical context shifts my understanding. It becomes more about claiming space and less about shock value. Curator: Exactly! It’s about taking ownership of one’s narrative. I wonder if the spirals of the tattoo speak of the sitter's cyclical journey, and the quest for wholeness, while they boldly display their identity in that moment. A journey many can relate to, wouldn’t you say? Editor: Absolutely. I initially reacted to the shock of it, but now I see layers of identity, defiance, and maybe even healing. Thanks for untangling that for me. Curator: It's a pleasure to see the layers peel away, isn't it? Each viewing offers something new, like excavating personal history.