Paris 10A 1949 - 1950

Editor: This is Robert Frank's "Paris 10A" from 1949-1950, a gelatin silver print showing several strips of film. There's something voyeuristic about seeing a photographer’s raw process, the captured moments before the selection. What catches your eye when you look at this contact sheet? Curator: It's like riffling through someone's memories, isn’t it? I find the contrast fascinating – intimate moments interspersed with iconic landmarks like the Eiffel Tower. The street scenes pulse with a certain restless energy. It’s like he's trying to distill the very essence of Paris, not just photograph its surface. Does it remind you of anything? A poem, a song, maybe? Editor: Actually, it does remind me a bit of stream-of-consciousness writing. Like we're getting unfiltered snippets. Do you think Frank intentionally composed it to feel so… fragmentary? Curator: Absolutely! Frank’s a master of visual rhythm. Think of it as a jazz composition – fragmented notes building towards a feeling, an impression. The way the frames are juxtaposed, that handwritten "10," they all contribute to a sense of immediacy. It’s almost daring, like he’s inviting us into his darkroom. I feel like he asks us if we, the viewer, see something similar in our life? Editor: It makes you realize how much we don't see in a finished photograph - the choices, the edits. This almost feels more honest somehow. Curator: Precisely! It's the imperfection that lends it authenticity, like the creases in a well-loved book. It is, itself, a portrait of the photographer at work. Something he perhaps would rather people didn't see, maybe! Editor: I never thought of it that way, but now I see that too. Thank you for revealing so much to me in such an intimate way.