We strongly suggest viewing this show in “Full Screen” mode.


Rosalind Solomon may be one of the most interesting photographers you’ve never heard of.

Hers is a bold, humanistic and highly personal view of the world, deftly executed in square format using black-and-white film. Through images like “Catalín Valentine’s Lamb, Ancash, Peru, 1981,” Ms. Solomon confronts our pre-existing ideas. She challenges us with a subversion of the Madonna archetype that is simultaneously nurturing and for some, macabre. We glean much about ourselves through our interpretation of the spectacle.

I first discovered her work on the blog Too Much Chocolate. One comment said: “Genius. How is it possible she’s so unknown? Or have I been in a hole somewhere?” This is exactly how I felt after looking at the images culled from Ms. Solomon’s monograph, “Chapalingas” (Steidl, 2003), which was published in conjunction with her retrospective at Photographische Sammlung in Cologne, Germany. It represents 30 years of work and three years of preparation in its conception, formatting and sequencing.

Born in 1930 in Highland Park, Ill., to prosperous but distant parents, Ms. Solomon married a Chattanooga businessman at 24. She volunteered in various roles for the Experiment in International Living, an exchange program, and ultimately traveled to Japan, where she began taking photographs that first showed her the potential of the medium.

The ensuing decades marked a personal photographic odyssey — exploring and discarding the person she had been while discovering who she truly was. This was accomplished through the making of photographs, recordings and connections with other people along the way.

Rosalind SolomonRosalind Solomon (Courtesy Bruce Silverstein) Her Boyfriend and Her Son, Miami Beach. 1994.

“Early on, I had a hard time with people’s responses to my photographs,” she said, recalling an encounter in 1972. “I was in the audience when Alice Walker read her poems at the University of the South. She was a part-time editor at Ms. Magazine then and I asked if I could show her some of my work. She looked at a box of my doll pictures and did not consider publishing a one. Instead she gasped and said, ‘These pictures remind me of the murders of civil rights workers in Mississippi.’

“It took me a while to realize that Alice Walker’s gasp acknowledged the power of the pictures.”

Curatorial response was mixed. John Szarkowski, the director of photography at the Museum of Modern Art, found her work intriguing. But he encouraged her not to show her work too soon for fear of comparisons to Diane Arbus. A notable magazine publisher said her work appeared to be taken by someone under the influence of drugs (it was the 1970s), and then proceeded to offer her a book project if she could put up $25,000 (raising the question: and who exactly was under the influence?)

“I gradually learned to treasure the power of my work and to value my own voice,” she said. “I accept myself and realize that being an outsider is part of my strength. That’s why you have to ignore these things even when they hurt and stay on your path.”

She studied with Lisette Model during her husband’s business trips to New York. It was Ms. Model who asserted that Ms. Solomon was an artist with a right and need to claim time and space for her work. Ms. Solomon recalled that advice in an interview with the blog 2Point8:

You are an artist. You must be selfish and not give too much time to others. Marriage is a problem for photographers because they need to be free. Your children are almost grown. Your civic work is done. Your husband needs to spend some time alone. You must have the freedom to create your pictures.

Ms. Solomon acknowledges a debt to Arbus, who showed her the virtues of the square format and the use of strobe to capture moments which would otherwise be lost. Both produced bodies of work that focus on humanity and are devoid of nostalgia and cliché. And Ms. Solomon also acknowledges Margaret Mead as an influence, pursuing her subjects with the focus of a global visual anthropologist.

Her images are inscrutable even as they resonate, and thus are open to the viewer’s interpretation. Some are wildly daring. One wonders about this fearless woman, at the age of 50, as a vagabond in Peru during its time of terrorism. Shining Path guerrillas based themselves in places like Ancash, where Ms. Solomon did a great deal of her work.

“When I flew away, I was on my own,” she told me recently. “And that was part of the lure. I left behind my daily life and I landed wherever I landed. The risks that I took led me into the most amazing experiences of my life and gave me freedom to photograph whatever attracted me.”

By 1986 she was divorced and living in New York, as she still does. She received a Guggenheim Fellowship, supporting her work in Brazil and Peru, and had solo shows at the Museum of Modern Art in New York (“Rosalind Solomon: Ritual“) and at the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington. Yet she says of this period: “Sunshine and lollipops it was not. I completely changed my life in my early 50s to live the life of an artist focused totally on my creative work. That was a wrenching time.”

She kept making photographs, some autobiographical films, a few hand-made journals and even two albums. Today her work is held in over 50 collections. While she has succeeded as an artist, however, the institutional recognition that comes with major career retrospectives has thus far eluded her in the United States.

Rosalind Solomon is not sitting around waiting for it to happen. She just finished reading a Junot Diaz novel. She attended the opening night of “The Oath” and then went back the next night for a repeat performance with questions and answers. On May 13, a solo show opened at the Bruce Silverstein gallery in Chelsea. And her work can also be found in “Pictures by Women: A History of Modern Photography,” which opened May 7 at MoMa.

“I am not a spring chicken,” she wrote to me, “but Louise Bourgeois is my role model. I choose to continue my journey as an artist. It’s a good and productive life.”