IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF FRANK
Harry Ledgewood
At seventeen I came across a copy of Robert Frank’s The Americans in Blackwell’s in Edinburgh. Photographs of funerals, cafes, bars, gamblers, cowboys, bikers, lovers, and the entire host of the American milieu of the ‘50s, ran roughshod across the book’s pages. Frank’s composition of the book – comprising two years of road trips across America with his family and a Guggenheim fellowship – was both innovative and rooted in the tradition of the American frontier myth.
These were pioneering photographs taken along the frontier trail of modern America. Before, my idea of photography was rooted in an understanding of the Ansel Adams school; grand, painting-like landscapes that seemed to exist ad-infinitum, regardless of the presence of the photographer. Frank’s photos were fast and messy. Whilst some reveal his sharp eye for composition, others reveal his outlaw, vagabond nature – taking quick photos of unwitting subjects before they had a chance to break the reality of the moment. He captured the moments of everyday life that would otherwise pass in a flash. Travelling to America with my family years later, these photographs remained firmly in my mind.
Taking everyday pictures of people, specifically strangers, is a much more intimidating task than the likes of Frank, Vivian Maier, and Martin Parr make it seem. Reproducing these moments involves a swift process of flashing a camera without intimidating or threatening your subjects. Photographing such everyday moments of existence means the preservation of a moment only intended to last once. These pictures are not quite Frank’s, but they are my attempt to capture that rough beauty of real-life.
This article first appeared in PRISMA, Issue 4.