print, photography, gelatin-silver-print
print photography
photography
gelatin-silver-print
cityscape
realism
Dimensions sheet: 20.4 x 25.3 cm (8 1/16 x 9 15/16 in.)
Curator: Here we have Robert Frank's gelatin silver print, "Buildings--Louisiana," from 1955. Editor: Oh, wow, it’s brooding. Like a film noir cityscape shrunk down to the size of a postcard. I love the claustrophobia. Curator: Indeed, the composition relies heavily on stacked rectangular forms. Note how the lighter building in the foreground serves as a compositional pivot, directing the eye towards the darker, almost menacing, structures looming behind it. Editor: It feels like the city’s secrets are being whispered from those shadows. The high contrast enhances that sense, doesn’t it? Like it’s teetering on the edge of being completely swallowed by darkness. And that one illuminated building...is it supposed to represent hope? Or is it just further isolating the surrounding darkness? Curator: A pertinent question. Consider how Frank, through his lens, often captured a fragmented and somewhat cynical view of America. The stark contrast could be interpreted as highlighting the disparities within society, with light and shadow representing different social realities. The realism feels staged. Editor: Hmmm, cynical or just unflinchingly honest? I’m struck by its vulnerability. You can feel the grit, the heat… like looking at a city stripped bare, no romantic illusions. Is there a reason it’s named ‘Louisiana?’ I wonder about the culture in New Orleans or even Baton Rouge in the 1950’s when African Americans had to use separate accommodations and more than once they’re relegated to a side door as a place for entry. Curator: Frank traveled extensively across the United States. "The Americans," as that series would come to be named, documented everyday life but with an undeniably critical eye. I suspect the location is less important than what it represents—a slice of urban America both ordinary and deeply unsettling. It's a semiotic index. Editor: An urban poem filled with light, shadows, and question marks. Curator: Yes. A poignant, lasting testament to Frank’s observational prowess and photographic style.
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