Why are we intrigued by the mundane, everyday scenes that people choose to photograph? I believe it is a sense of common relationship, a sort of kinship, because we all take those photos that mean little to anyone except perhaps family and friends – or so we believe. In a way, an image that is disassociated with its original owner is more comfortable to us than reading a diary or personal letters that were never intended for us. But there are also revealing details in a photo if we look closely.
When we look at this snapshot – identified as Doris and Lois Kroeger of Brooklyn – there is something immediate in this moment recorded nearly a century ago. Here are sisters we assume, perhaps aware, but maybe not, that they are being photographed by a family member from a porch or window, but they are not posing in any self conscious way. They are intent on one another, particularly Lois’ upturned face and earnest expression; it is not certain if they are holding hands.
Clues to the age of the image:
An established residential neighborhood of substantial houses, but no vehicles and only one other person visible; no evidence of traffic on the streets even though the snow could not be very recent (snow has melted on the uninsulated roofs); so not much to go on except the architecture which looks late 19th century. There is a pole on the corner indicating power and/or telephone.
The girl’s double breasted coats are a style that recurs for more than 50 years, with the possible exception of the slightly puffed sleeves at the shoulders. Doris’ cap is not much help, but Lois’ fabric bonnet and the style of her doll makes me guess turn of the century and surely before 1910.