photography, gelatin-silver-print
film photography
landscape
street-photography
photography
historical photography
gelatin-silver-print
monochrome photography
modernism
monochrome
Dimensions overall: 25.3 x 20.2 cm (9 15/16 x 7 15/16 in.)
Curator: Brrr! Looking at Robert Frank's "Guggenheim 137—New York City," made between 1956 and 1957, gives me the chills, in a good way. All that monochrome… snow, I presume? Editor: It's interesting how Frank presents these strips of gelatin silver prints, these visual poems of a wintery urban landscape. Almost like viewing contact sheets—unveiling a part of the photographic process itself. Curator: Exactly! And what is revealed? Children bundled up against the cold, little dark silhouettes. One seems to be running, others dragging sleds… It makes me wonder about their stories. The frame itself becomes part of the narrative. It adds another layer of complexity to these street photographs, which I’d describe as fragments or fleeting moments from the everyday. Editor: Absolutely, and thinking about the sociopolitical atmosphere of the time – post-war America – what do these everyday scenes of leisure tell us? What is present, but more importantly, what is absent? Considering that these were produced around the time of the Montgomery bus boycott and the Little Rock crisis, these scenes seem markedly exclusionary in terms of race and class. Curator: Oof. That is a really… bleak reading. It's undeniable, of course, and adds such weight. It makes the scenes seem less joyful, more...stark. Editor: I think that tension is crucial to understanding Frank’s broader project. While there’s undeniable aesthetic appeal, especially in the grainy texture and composition, there is this undercurrent of… I guess what we’d now call privilege. A selective lens trained on a specific slice of American life. Curator: So true, it’s a far cry from the whole pie. I am looking at these children trudging up the snowy paths; it almost has a sense of hope despite the bitter chill in the air. But there's more there, an uncomfortable truth perhaps. Thank you for pointing that out, for turning up the heat in what looked to me a perfect winter scene. Editor: Likewise. Frank gives us a gift, but gifts always require a critical unwrapping. We learn so much more by looking beyond our initial reaction.
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