Atlantic City, New Jersey no number 1955

Curator: Here we have Robert Frank's “Atlantic City, New Jersey no number”, a gelatin silver print from 1955. It's presented as the photographer's contact sheet, a series of small, unedited frames. Editor: Woah, what a flood of ghostly moments! There's something voyeuristic about seeing all these raw takes at once, you know? Like stumbling upon someone's dream journal. Curator: It’s a compelling format choice, breaking from tradition. Usually, we’d only see the perfected image. But here, the process, the selection is laid bare, allowing us a look at Frank's thinking as he shoots. We are drawn into the labor of producing such a record. Editor: It really puts you in his shoes, doesn't it? It's almost like experiencing the randomness, the grit of reality along with him, frame by frame. There’s one shot here of a boardwalk sign… a classic Frank composition. I can feel that particular mid-century American mood that is sort of exhilarating and bleak at the same time. Curator: The gritty feel is so typical of Frank’s work, influencing later photographers. Consider his emphasis on readily available materials of small cameras, grainy film stock, all to point at a conscious decision away from commercial, and towards what could almost be considered reportage. Editor: Absolutely! The roughness actually intensifies the honesty of it, in my opinion. There's an argument there: That accessibility is the real point, not polish or technical perfection. This makes it even more affecting because you feel the photographer is almost pulling things, taking pieces out from everyday reality, without overly composing. I love that. Curator: Precisely. That approach resonates within post-war dialogues around social commentary, challenging notions around artistic skill versus observation and documentation as its own, valid form. It reflects anxieties within the changing socio-economic landscape too. Editor: Seeing these scenes now is a bittersweet time capsule, I guess, huh? I get this powerful sense of being close to something beautiful yet fleeting, an echo of a different age captured on these little frames, warts and all. Curator: I think that you perfectly describe why this contact sheet and the materiality of silver gelatin prints themselves carry such potent cultural weight even now, after nearly seventy years. It reminds us that images carry narratives of time, place and a visual language always engaged with its social climate.