Early New York City no number c. early 1950s

This is a photographic contact sheet by Robert Frank, called Early New York City no number. What strikes me about it is the way Frank is not just capturing images, but mapping out a whole geography of feeling. Each frame is like a little sketch, a fleeting impression of city life. Look at the sequence with the cups and saucers on a table. There’s a certain rhythm. The light and shadows are almost tactile. Frank is using the camera to feel his way through the world, using the stark contrast of black and white as a kind of emotional shorthand. There’s nothing hidden in the process, it's all there on the surface, a direct record of the artist's encounter with his subject. Frank reminds me a little of Garry Winogrand, another street photographer, both masters of the spontaneous, the unposed, the accidentally perfect moment. With Frank, though, there’s always this underlying sense of melancholy. He’s not just showing us the city, he’s showing us his own vulnerability within it. Ultimately, it's about the endless possibilities of seeing and feeling in a world that's constantly changing.