Imagine attending a Rolling Stones concert where none of the band’s iconic tracks—Satisfaction, Paint it Black, or Sympathy for the Devil—are played. Would that frustrate you? If so, consider this a caveat: MoMA’s extensive exhibition on Robert Frank touches on virtually everything except The Americans, the landmark book that catapulted him to fame in 1958.
This curatorial choice, as bold as it is surprising, aligns perfectly with Frank’s mindset following the publication of his iconic book. Overwhelmed by sudden fame and scathing American critiques, Frank grew disillusioned with the static image’s ability to convey truth and turned his focus to filmmaking.
“Frank marked the summer of 1958 as a pivotal moment in his career, and that’s exactly when we start the exhibition,” explains Lucy Gallun, curator at MoMA’s Department of Photography. Before setting his camera aside for a film camera, Frank embarked on a final photo series taken from the window of a bus on Fifth Avenue. This series, resembling a storyboard, transitions from static street photography to dynamic, experimental film. “It was ‘the beginning of something new,’” Gallun notes. “Starting the exhibition at this juncture highlights Frank’s forward-looking exploration of new methods and mediums in his work.”
Bohemian life
Frank’s early films exude a joyous sense of freedom. Unbound by formal constraints and commercial expectations, he immersed himself in artistic bohemia, channeling uninhibited creativity. His first experimental short film, Pull My Daisy (1959), co-directed with neighbor and painter Alfred Leslie, joyfully adapts Jack Kerouac’s play The Beat Generation.
Was it because Kerouac himself improvised the narration? This 28-minute avant-garde piece in black and white, featured in the exhibition, is celebrated as the inaugural Beat film. Its loosely structured script captures the musings of beatniks—among them poets Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso—drinking beer in a New York apartment, set against a backdrop of metaphysical discussions and free jazz.
More than the content, it’s the form, that free image so coveted by Frank—improvisation, moving camera—that is celebrated. We find this creative freedom in the music videos Frank made for the Stones (Gimme Shelter) or Patti Smith (SummerCannibals), broadcast with sound, using headphones. They stand alongside portraits of singer Tom Waits, painter Willem de Kooning and writer James Baldwin.
In a different register, MoMA gives pride of place to the artist’s book The Lines of My Hands, published in 1972, considered by some to be Frank’s other editorial masterpiece (even though he refuted the idea of “masterpiece”). Here we discover the genesis of the oft-reprinted book: A treasure trove of images from all eras, contact sheets and prints, assembled in collages, and punctuated by Frank’s comments.
“Frank’s artist’s book The Lines of My Hand is incredibly influential to other artists,” says Lucy Gallun. The book is compelling in its combination of image and text, and it is unique in the manner in which he looks both backward and forward; he reflects on the work he has made in the past, and yet his perspective always remains outward from where he sits in the present.”
Introspective reflections
As the exhibition unfolds, it pivots toward increasingly personal and abstract works, darker in tone. The exhibition’s poignant title, “Life Dances On”, is borrowed from Frank’s 1980 film, where he contemplated the figures who shaped his life, between New York and Nova Scotia, Canada. It was there, in 1971, that he sought refuge with his wife, June Leaf, who passed away in July 2024.
The couple embraced a reclusive existence in an old fisherman’s cottage in Mabou on the windswept island of Cape Breton. This island geography plays a pivotal role in both the exhibition and Frank’s body of work. It acts as a reflection of his inner world, in a perpetual oscillation between the external and his inner realm. This setting appeared to literally infuse his being.
The images he captured outdoors depict the closeness of the ocean, the severity of the climate, the simplicity of the wooden shack, sand and snow mountains, horses, birds, and cows. A clothesline, occasionally adorned with Frank’s photographs—creating a mise en abyme within the frame—regularly featured in his photographic and filmic work.
Indoors, the photographs and videos portray a humble home, mirroring the unpretentious lifestyle of the artist couple. In the 1985 video Home Improvements, viewers encounter a wood stove amidst a chaotic array of miscellaneous items, photographs, and mementos. Capturing his reflection in a window, he remarks, “I always create the same image; I look from the outside in and from the inside out.”
These comments encapsulate Frank’s inward journey, shadowed by personal tragedies. His daughter, Andrea, was lost in a plane crash in Guatemala in December 1974, at the age of 20. “In the years following her death, he commemorated her by integrating her portrait into the surroundings where they last spent time together, in the landscape he viewed daily,” Gallun explains.
Life Dances was dedicated to both Andrea and his long-time friend and collaborator, Danny Seymour, who was likely murdered at sea. The tragedy continued as Frank’s son, Pablo, overwhelmed by his sister’s death, descended into madness. Diagnosed with schizophrenia, he took his own life in 1994. In True Story (2004), his latest video, Frank symbolically resurrected him by incorporating some of his most heartfelt letters into the film.
Life goes on
By turns poignant, poetic, and filled with anger, these autobiographical works bring us face-to-face with the artist’s profound wounds. “Frank had said, ‘It strengthens you to remember,’” Gallun reflects. In Life Dances On, his partner, the artist June Leaf, queries, “Why do you want to take these photos?” He responds, albeit belatedly, “Because I am alive.” For him, continuing to create was a means to navigate his grief.
According to Lucy Gallun, one of the most touching pieces is a seven-minute Super-8 black-and-white film titled Flamingo, which concludes the exhibition. Styled as poetic journalism, it captures a choreography of workers and construction machines as they extend the house in Mabou, aiming for more space and a better view of their natural environment.
Images of hope serve as a salve after so much sorrow. Gallun notes: The idea of ending the exhibition with Frank and Leaf literally reinforcing the foundations of their home—a place that has shaped both their work and their shared lives for many years—is profoundly touching. It’s crucial to fortify this base, because life continues on.”
« Life Dances On: Robert Frank in Dialogue » is on view at MoMA in New York until January 11, 2025.
