Robert Frank: Looking In

Fourth of July--Jay, New York (1955).

“I am always…trying to look inside, trying to say something that is true. But maybe nothing is really true, except what’s out there. And what’s out there is constantly changing.”

Thus begins “Looking In: Robert Frank’s The Americans” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an exhibit honoring the 40th anniversary of Frank’s initial publication.

Most see Frank as a modern photographic icon. Few know of the initial disappointments in his career. After emigrating from Zurich in 1947, Frank served as a fashion photographer for Harper’s Bazaar. He found it hollow, lacking the self-expression he craved.

Frank circled the globe, but failed to attract a publisher for the results. Life magazine too rejected his submissions as too somber and gritty, though this acerbic realism would ultimately bring unbridled success.

The Americans showcases Frank’s intensely personal and spontaneous approach. He appears to point and shoot; the deceptively simples images are askew, with edges cut off. This style would be deemed “the snapshot aesthetic”, and Frank its creator.

Frank’s book is a photographic chronicle of his 1950s road trips across the US. He peers behind-the-scenes of a prosperous, post-War nation to reveal tensions within.

His criticisms are evident in the initial image, “Parade—Hoboken, New Jersey”, which displays two women with blurry faces, one hidden behind the American flag. A bold picture of proud, white men entitled “City Fathers”, also in Hoboken, immediately follows. The contrast is clear.

As an American outsider and a Jewish survivor of WWII, Frank dislikes the marginalization of all minorities—not just women. He presents a segregated “Trolley—New Orleans”, pictured after an all-Caucasian celebration of “4th of July—Jay, New York”—reminding viewers that independence is not available to all.

The Americans is not solely judgmental; it’s also playful. Frank pairs photos that showcase twinkling stars with one of a Hollywood starlet. His humor is subtle, moving from the Metropolitan Life Building in New York to a Jehovah’s Witness in Los Angeles (different types of insurance!), and from a car with evangelical bumper stickers to couples necking in a park.

Frank’s solemnity prevails. He questions the futility of the journey. The Americans‘ final photo displays Frank’s wife and son, disheveled and exhausted, driving a seemingly endless road. The snapshot recalls earlier pictures–a chilling car accident coupled with an infinite route 285, stretching to the horizon.

I salute Frank’s penetrating commentary, as relevant today as it was 40 years ago. We must highlight our mistakes, lest we repeat them. But we mustn’t forget the extraordinary progress we’ve made as a nation since the ’50s. And the journey is worthwhile.