Two veiled women, Paris 1951

Editor: Here we have Robert Frank's gelatin silver print, "Two veiled women, Paris," taken in 1951. There's a really strange, almost haunting, quality to it. It feels voyeuristic somehow, capturing this private moment in public. What strikes you most about this photograph? Curator: Haunting is a brilliant descriptor. To me, it's the abstraction, the sense of otherness that Frank captures. The veil does that, doesn’t it? It’s a barrier and a statement all at once. I'm pulled in by the light – almost a theatrical spotlight – yet held back by the anonymity. Where were they going? Where had they been? The beauty of the unknown is its constant renewal. Editor: Do you think Frank intended for this ambiguity? Curator: Absolutely. Think about the time. Post-war Paris, full of shadows and whispers. Frank wasn't interested in pretty pictures. He wanted to capture the grit, the reality, the soul simmering beneath the surface. A part of our job is reading history in a single glimpse, but sometimes it all goes dark again... I can also see a parallel with traditional portraiture, but stripped bare. It almost makes me chuckle in comparison. Editor: It definitely feels rawer than most portraits I’ve seen. More… human. Curator: Precisely! The imperfections are what makes it perfect, in a strange way. Editor: Thanks. I never really understood Frank's appeal, but seeing how much can be said with light and shadow definitely changes things. Curator: Agreed. Photography speaks in its own language, just like Frank.