I have to confess that until I saw the brief obituary in the Guardian this morning I did not realise that Robert Frank was, until now, still alive. Nevertheless, very sad now to learn of his passing.
For my money, along with Walker Evans, he was one of the greatest American photographers of the 20th century. Indeed, one of the greatest photographers, full stop. “The Americans” (despite its rather mannered, acid fuelled?, introduction by Jack Kerouac which I find a sad and embarrassing self-parody of what he achieved in “On The Road” – even though I never actually managed to finish it!) is one of the truly great photo-books of all time. He brought a new aesthetic to photography and, for my taste, is more interesting and compelling in his immediacy, naturalism, and honesty, than, for example, the work of HCB, which unfortunately has had to carry the burden of what I still regard as a somewhat preposterous concept, the Decisive Moment. That concept was not something that dogged Frank.
One thing I find quite remarkable, and which had not really been brought home to me before now, is how relatively little major photographic work he seems to have produced throughout his long career. The Americans is about all that immediately springs to mind. Much of his later work was concentrated on movies, very little of which I am afraid I have seen. Nevertheless that book alone is a major legacy and testament to his achievement.
I cannot say that within my own work I am conscious of any direct influence. I nevertheless regard Frank’s early work as one of the foundations of my own understanding of the practice of and appreciation of photography. I guess it is almost inevitable that when I am out play-acting as street photographer with my film Leica, the work that Frank did is somewhere in the back of my mind.
Frank, R (2016). The Americans. Göttingen: Steidl
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