Fifty years after forming in Manchester, Joy Division has maintained a distinct sound, their pulsating bass lines, propulsive drums, high-fret guitar melodies, and baritone vocals continuing to reverberate throughout pop culture, post-punk music, and beyond. All the while, frontman Ian Curtis has lingered in his fans’ memories as a 23-year-old with piercingly melancholic eyes and a tucked-in button-down shirt.

“There’s a tragic story behind Ian Curtis, and that gets talked about a lot—but he was also just a young man who was funny, personable, and communicated with fans,” Mat Bancroft, curator of the British Pop Archive at the John Rylands Library—part of the University of Manchester—tells Vogue. Bancroft, of course, is referring to Curtis’s death by suicide in 1980, just days before the band’s first American tour, after a tumultuous battle with epilepsy amid the band’s meteoric rise to fame. But a new exhibition in New York, “Ian Curtis: Insight” at Voltz Clarke Gallery, is not about his untimely death; it centers instead on Curtis’s creative process, gathering handwritten lyrics, letters, archival photographs, and band-related ephemera—none of which have ever been exhibited stateside before. The show arrives just days after what would have been Curtis’s 70th birthday.

“Insight” begins with a handwritten letter to Joy Division’s manager, Rob Gretton, in which Curtis expresses his displeasure with Closer, the band’s critically acclaimed second album (“I decree that this LP is a disaster”), along with other general frustrations. Across the room is an earnest response to a letter from a fan named Helen Wilson. In it, Curtis not only apologizes for his delayed reply but also updates her on the tracks the band was recording at the time and hints at new songs they would soon perform live.

But the true through line in the curation comes from pages of Curtis’s handwritten lyrics for Unknown Pleasures and Closer—displayed in tracklist order—his block lettering painstakingly precise. “We’ve got so much material in the archive where we don’t know exactly what they’re connected to—are they unpublished songs, poems, or ideas? Are they stories, or is he just making notes?” says Bancroft. “So what we’ve tried to select in this exhibition are works where we definitely know it’s the lyric or a working lyric.”

It’s striking to see signs of his process at work, especially as Curtis wrote Closer. “At this period of time, lots of songs have multiple versions of them—within the archive, we might have five or six or seven versions of a track,” says Bancroft. There are exceptions, however: For some of Joy Division’s best-known songs, including “Isolation” and “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” there exists only a single sheet of paper, the lyrics essentially complete save for a few crossed-out words. “It’s almost like he sat down and delivered the song in one go,” Bancroft says.

As Joy Division fans might expect, “Insight” also includes several hauntingly beautiful black-and-white portraits of Curtis by acclaimed music photographers including Lex Van Rossen and Kevin Cummins. But among the most striking images are the color shots by Herman Vaske from the band’s 1980 Kant Kino gig in Berlin. (Bancroft jokes about how pleasantly unusual it is to see Curtis wearing a mustard-colored shirt.)

At a special preview of the exhibition, the attendees include two special guests: Stephen Morris, drummer of Joy Division and New Order, and Gillian Gilbert, the guitar fill-in for Curtis and lead guitarist Bernard Sumner and keyboardist of New Order. When asked if they had any inkling of the impact their music would have as they were making it, Gilbert replies, “We didn’t know at all—it was just something to do, at the time.”

Studying the Kant Kino photographs, Morris pauses at one showing him, Sumner, and Curtis wearing coats indoors, recalling how frigid the venue was. He also shares another memory: The band used to rehearse on the third floor of a walk-up building in Manchester, where all the lads occasionally clamber into their road cases and raced them down the hall. When Curtis would cheekily ask his bandmates how much they’d pay him to ride one down the stairs, he’d do it in leather motorcycle gloves, a jacket, and a crash helmet. (He was allergic to the cases’ foam lining.)

Rounding out the exhibition are a strip of film negatives from a live performance and Gretton’s handwritten tour plan for the band’s would-be first American tour, which was never realized. The first gig, poignantly enough, would have been in New York.

There’s another poetic coincidence, too. “Where the Voltz Clarke Gallery sits now is the same building as where Talking Heads used to live in the mid-1970s,” says Bancroft, referring to the apartment David Byrne, Chris Frantz, and Tina Weymouth once shared just a few floors up. “When I told Debbie [Curtis, his widow] that, she said, ‘Oh, Ian would’ve really liked that. He loved Talking Heads.’”

“Ian Curtis: Insight” will run for four weeks, through July 22, 2026, at the Voltz Clarke Gallery. Admission is free.