After settling in New York in 1951, Swiss-born photographer Robert Frank was awarded two consecutive Guggenheim Fellowships, in 1954 and 1955, to explore the different socio-cultural patches from which the great American quilt was comprised. Frank’s wish was to reveal “the kind of civilization born here and spreading elsewhere,” as he expressed in his application. Over a period of 9 months, 30 states, 767 rolls of film and 10,000 miles, Frank carefully combed the United States. Despite his foreign status, it was not the tourist-baits of readymade American Pop-Culture icons that lured the young photographer. Rather, Frank was drawn to the characters, hierarchies and injustices hidden from mainstream American media. The result was Frank’s most celebrated body of work, The Americans, a series of 82 images whose relevance and impact has rippled ever since.

In the current lot, Frank depicted a musician, presumably a member of a marching band summoned to generate a lively energy to an otherwise staid event. The angle from which Frank photographed the man situates the opening of the tuba in front of his face. By doing so Frank not only accentuated the anonymous nature of the rally participant, but replaced his face with an inanimate object known for its deep and at times deafening powers. The nature of politics, Frank astutely observed, at times drowns the individual voice in favor of a loud rallying call. Chicago-Political Rally, is a wry but insightful take on the dynamic of American politics, injecting a dose of irony into a scene of purported harmony.