New York City no number 1951

Robert Frank's 'New York City no number' is a strip of photographs, printed in black and white, offering a fleeting glimpse of urban life. I wonder about the artist's state of mind as he captured these shots. Was he aiming for beauty, or some kind of truth? Each frame feels like a snatched moment, blurry and imperfect, kind of like memory itself. The texture of the film, the contrast between light and shadow, it all adds to the feeling that you are seeing something real, unvarnished. It's interesting to see the sequence of images laid out like this. It reminds me of the work of other artists who use seriality and repetition to create a sense of rhythm and movement. Think of Warhol's screen prints, or even Muybridge's motion studies. There is a similar sense of capturing something elusive and ephemeral. It's as if Frank is saying: this is what it feels like to be alive, to move through the world, to see and be seen.