Public ceremony--Casper, Wyoming 1956

Editor: This photograph, "Public Ceremony--Casper, Wyoming" by Robert Frank, a gelatin-silver print from 1956, has this strangely deserted feel to it. There are chairs set up, like people were just here, but now… nothing. What's your take on what's happening here? Curator: Deserted is definitely a key feeling. I look at this and imagine tumbleweeds – wrong state, I know – but the air of forgotten Americana is powerful. Frank captured the country, sometimes gloriously, sometimes not so much. A public ceremony implies community, civic pride. But these empty chairs... there’s a palpable sense of absence, of something missing from the American promise. Or perhaps the back of the room, or those bits of what seem to be cloths left as reminders of those not present. Editor: Do you think that feeling was intentional? It's such a stark image, almost like a stage set after the actors have left. Curator: Absolutely, intentional. Frank was a master of capturing those off-kilter moments, the ones that speak volumes without saying a word. This isn’t a celebratory snapshot; it's a meditation on what those celebrations really mean, or what is leftover of them when all go home and things resume normalcy, maybe with a void to fulfill. Are these ceremonies empty gestures or meaningful expressions of shared values? The photograph doesn't answer, it asks. What’s more, who do you think gets to participate, and who gets to witness? The viewpoint, somewhat distant and impersonal, doesn’t lend itself to inclusion, does it? Editor: That makes me think about how history gets recorded, and who gets left out of the narrative. It's much more layered than I first thought! Curator: Precisely! A photo like this keeps whispering questions. And in a gallery, maybe a hushed visitor feels they might know a few possible answers... or maybe it just keeps reminding them that what remains also shapes the present.