As a photographer, Robert sought out patterns more actively than in his paintings and drawings. This tightly cropped view of the rear entrance to a city hospital shows an ambulance bay surrounded by white walls and repeating windows. It looks like a prison, an impression reinforced by the reflection in the hood of the car. There is nowhere to escape, no surface that is not immune to this enclosing pattern.

Near the loading area, giant letters spell out the word “emergency,” but with the letters M and R missing. The word emergency refers to a situation requiring immediate and concerted attention, whereas the dilapidation of the sign suggests a state of neglect and indifference. This contradiction triggers a cognitive dissonance that is both absurd and troubling. Our help stations may not be available to us as we’d like them to be.