je ne regrette rien

It is always advisable to refresh our memory: I took "The Americans" from my bookshelf and went through it once again. The representation of a Society in the fifties, clearly in the fifties (you will not see anything like this earlier or later) with multiple facets and situations. Proud Americans with their flag, a funeral as portrayed later in time by Eggleston, various life scenes. The black nanny with the white baby. But actually no really unsettling picture, which has not been seen before or after the publication of the book. For example in Vivian Maier's pictures of the same period (except that they were discovered only after her death in 2009). Maybe these pictures were so "shocking" simply because nothing similar in that period had been produced and published. Later work clearly responded to Frank's seminal work: Winogrand says this clearly in an interview. You too, Tom!

So be it, Alan. Societies and humans have many sides and many truths. I surrender.

From where I stand, the scenario for me is completely different. You raise important issues, contradictions are certainly there, but we may agree to disagree on their effects and impacts.

@AlanKlein: you make a point about the title. You are absolutely entitled to it. Was Frank’s statement subjective? Certainly yes. Did he present a unilateral view? Probably yes. His point of view is clearly stated in the text @inoneeyepresented to us. May the title be considered a kind of generalisation? Probably yes. But the smart beholder knows all of this and places such statements in the proper context of 65 years ago. In that, the present tense used by you, by @Nick D. and @Wayne Melia (“are”, “see”) may be reconsidered. The Americans was a subjective statement by a talented photographer/observer in another era and in a different historical period. We can take it as such.

Jock Sturges. Nan Goldin. Sally Mann. And more recently? Work creating really headlines?

Ah, by the way: can anyone recall a controversial book, or exhibition, or body of work, raising severe criticisms, as happened to “The Americans”?

@samstevenstried this argument before and I’ll try it again sticking strictly to photographic works. First of all I would like to remark that America celebrated its immigrants, in fact all non-native Americans were immigrants and they are celebrated in the expositions on Ellis Island, where the ships disembarked those who came. Can a foreigner portray a society? Why not, the list of photographers who did this is almost infinite: Cartier-Bresson, Africa, Italy and China, and he was French Bischof, South America, and he was German Capa, Indochina, Spain, and he was Hungarian Burri, South America, and he was Swiss Lindsey Addario, the Middle East and North Africa, like Tim Hetherington, and they are American and British Nachtwey, Middle East and Africa, and he’s American Jerome Sessini, Mexico and South America, and he’s French Paolo Pellegrin, Israel ans Palestine, and he’s Italian Davide Monteleone, Russia, and he’s Italian Gilden, Japan, and he’s American Aue Sobol, Greenland and China, and he’s Danish McCurry, India, Africa and the far east, and he’s American Barbey, Italy, and he’s French etc, etc. it could go on for pages, hundreds of pages. Book titles? They are there to sell the book and they are not a universal statement. Photographers, as all authors, propose their perspective, their subjective perspective, on a certain topic. Freedom of “speech” is often granted, thus they are entitled to do it. It’s up to us to put all in perspective, including the historic perspective.

I would hesitate to use the idea of “street photography style”. Frank, although a fashion photographer (Joel Meyerowitz met him on the occasion of a shooting) became a real documentarist, being able to build stories into his pictures. The analysis intended to be much more subtle. There are many “truths” when portraying a society and a people. Frank proposed his own perspectives and opinions. Questionable, but basically not untrue at all.

He saw other possible sides other than the mainstream one. There were definitely many sides to the representation of the American society of the 1950's. The book deserves a more careful and contextualised reading.

At a certain point in time my intention was to consign to history the famous Cartier-Bressons, Burris, Capas, Egglestons, Parrs, etc. and to re-focus on works of contemporary and less-known photographers. The idea did not come from a bout of sudden iconoclastic fury but, once I could consider the landscape of established photographers as “consolidated”, this meant looking around and “ahead”. Despite this basic idea, “The Americans” had been there on the wishlist since quite a long time and finally I picked it up. At a first glance it looked like one of the many collections of images American society of the 1950s that we know. But it is never wise to stop at first sight, better go beyond the impression generated by a single image and look for more in order to understand, to gather supplemental information to put the work into context. To know more, to supplement the informational limitation and inherent ambiguity of photographs by contextualising, lookingwith an open mind at what the photographer proposes, associates. Or hides from us. In the mid-1950s, Robert Frank, a Swiss commercial photographer who immigrated to the US after World War II, receives a Guggenheim grant for a different kind of work than he usually does: to document America. He travels with his wife and two children, and tours the US for a couple of years, sneaks into bars, offices, parties, diners, enters the Ford factory, goes to funerals, photographs processions, famous people, strangers, is arrested, taken for a communist subversive. He spends three days in a cell in Arkansas, accused of espionage, another time a sheriff somewhere in the south orders him to leave town within the hour. He exposes 767 (who knows why not 770? or 760?) rolls of Kodak Tri-X and takes almost 28.000 photographs, of these 28.000 he initially selects a thousand and then 83 of the final choice. Unable to get an American publisher, Frank publishes the first book in France in 1958, with Robert Delpire, the editor and publisher who was a friend of Henri Cartier-Bresson. Upon his return to the USA, Frank meets Jack Kerouac and shows him the photographs. Kerouac falls in love - particularly with the little lift operator - and writes an introduction to the 1959 American edition that perfectly accompanies the pictures. But despite Kerouac's introduction, which creates the association of Frank's work with the Beat Generation, the book is poorly received by critics and the public. MoMA refuses to sell it and Minor White calls it “a degradation of a nation”. Popular Photography' magazine talks of “a wart-covered picture of America by a joyless man” and describes the work as “a sad poem by a very sick person” and deriding the images as “meaningless blurriness, grainy, muddy exposures, drunken horizons and bad execution”. At the time, America outwardly experienced post-war exaltation, growth, and opportunities to be seized: this book is a shock, even visually. For the first time a photographer disregards the formal setting by contrasting it with the marvellous and horrific reality. No limits are set to the representation of a reality that seems to have to be only crude, challenging the tradition of documentary photography that until then followed rules of transparency and objectification, and certainly excluded from its aesthetics any influence of the photographer's thoughts, emotions and points of view. Robert Frank does exactly the opposite and makes himself and what he thinks clearly visible. He ignores every formal compositional rule as established by Cartier-Bresson and Walker Evans, seeing no reason to emulate them, and goes against the notion of photography as an easily comprehensible universal language, defying stylistic canons, technical perfection, composition, exposure and focus. He makes no effort to include aesthetic elements in his images; on the contrary, his shots appear casual, even sloppy. But he also demonstrates, here and there, that he is well versed in perfect photography. If it is true that Dorothea Lange with her The Migrant Mother showed poverty and despair in a socially and economically depressed scenario, Frank on the other hand puts the viewer in front of the downsides and exclusions, the divisions and discriminations in a society, at a time when it was representing itself as brilliant and successful. With "The Americans", Frank highlights the contradiction of a certain reality with the hubris of a people who had won a war, were living in an economic boom and probably thought they could do anything, in a whirlwind of individual and collective achievement. An iconic depiction of post-World War II American society, of the moment of growth, in which Frank highlights alienation, anguish, loneliness, showing Americans simply as they were, without embellishing them and highlighting the contrast, denied but existing, between the dream and everyday life. The Americans is structured in four sections, each beginning with a shot of an American flag and following the rhythm of movement and stasis, the presence and absence of people. Through thematic, formal and conceptual elements, it links the images, presenting a clear structure, an empathetic narrative and a precise order. Jason Eskenazi, who at the time of the exhibition celebrating the 50th anniversary of The Americans was a museum warden at MOMA, carried out a research: he asked eight photographers to comment on the photograph from the book that had impressed them most. Each of these photographers linked the chosen photographs to their own direct and powerful experience of American society. Eskenazi's work is a metaphorical iconisation that calls to mind real people encountered whose images impressed memory. This is what Robert Frank succeeds in doing: through his photographs he connects with the lived life, the experiences, the feelings of the viewer. And this applies with similar nuances to all the photographers Eskenazi has questioned. It is the union of real life, the glue of experiences. The book dramatically changed the way Americans looked at themselves, as well as the way photographers looked through the viewfinder. It shows ordinary Americans leading ordinary lives, not necessarily the American dream of the 1950s. What differentiates Robert Frank from Vivian Meier, from Garry Winogrand, from Walker Evans, from Dorothea Lange? Different eras, among others: Evans and Lange worked during and after the trauma of the Great Recession of 1929, Robert Frank documented the turbulent and contradictory society after the Second World War. In an interview in 2004, the photographer claimed that this type of photography was passé and obsolete. An ungenerous statement, as if he had put a definitive word, or rather, provided a definitive iconographic vision, on Americans. Perhaps due to the fact that he had become disinterested in documentation photography over time. The remaining photographs, along with his entire archive, were later sold by Frank in 1978 to cover his living expenses and to finance his filmmaking. But the good old Swiss-American Robert is wrong when he claims “now there are too many photographs. It is overwhelming. A stream of images, why should we remember anything? It is too much, too many things to remember”. A banal criticism, as if it is the photographs that should be remembered and not what the photographs mean, represent and document. This is demonstrated by the long list of works on Americans and America: Lange and Evans, before him, on a depressed and bent society, Eugene W. Smith on the rural scenario of the country doctor, Stephen Shore and Mark Cohen on urban and suburban society, Diane Arbus and the suffering of diversity, Gordon Parks on the Afro-American condition, Friedlander, Winogrand, the narrator of city life, Eggleston, the aesthete of colour who represents the banality of everyday life, Sternfeld, Meyerowitz - Winogrand's emulator and Frank's admirer -, up to Alec Soth, who narrates the hidden, rural America in an equally crude and direct manner. Is this the only/last and final representation of American society? Certainly not. Documentary photography will always be the medium to show “frames” of society at given moments, unique in their characteristics. And with the photographic book, these “frames” are placed into an entirely autonomous dimension. Of course, one can use narrative techniques common to other media, but photography, the photographic print and the photo book walk alone. And they are complex objects that require different levels of contextualisation: of the author and his work, of what they represent in a given context and its historical moment, and of the way in which the viewer, with his experience, interests and emotions, relates to said objects. Thinking about it, however, it would seem - but needs to be verified - that there are no longer any books and photographic works that create a real upheaval in the world of photography. But perhaps that is just storytelling.

We debated this topic here at length twelve+ years ago. What I can suggest today is: A good photo, which does not necessarily mean “a beautiful photo”, is a photo which makes sense to the photographer in first instance. It’s up to the photographer to explore and understand all the factors and elements, which make sense to her and which she wants to be part of her work. This exploration and understanding is the path to a wider contextualisation of the creative work and to the determination of its sense beyond the individual perception of the photographer. We may want to widen this discourse delving deeper into the photographer’s perspective as well as into the beholder’s perspective.

Art is not subjective in the sense of “like it” or “not like it”. It is subjective in that its appraisal depends on knowledge. Of what was produced as art so far, photographed if you will, and how something seen at a certain moment relates to it. This does not mean that feelings, emotions or taste are not important. Or that any viewer is in any way limited in their freedom of expression. We do not “need” any experts, but they may be very useful to understand better what we see. In this specific case it is not the expert per se who tells us anything, it’s their knowledge of history of photography to understand creativity, expression, and emotions. And then make up our mind.

It is not purely subjective. There are universal criteria to set up a picture story, to compose a picture, to place a certain work into the overall body of photographic work of the world. What the beholder knows is extremely important and determines the context, within which the picture or the work is placed. Roxana Marcoci, MoMA's Chief curator of photography, certainly knows much more than any average beholder, as does Clement Chéroux, former curator a the MoMA and now Director of the Henri Cartier-Bresson Foundation. Likewise, did John Szarkowski and Edward Steichen. They were photographers but also "knew" photography and were able to spot master work, even if still not yet universally recognised.

A good photograph makes sense. It may make sense because of its aesthetics. it may make sense because it stands out in the landscape of thematically or aesthetically comparable photos. it may make sense emotionally, as it stirs feelings. Making sense to whom? the author. a restricted audience. a wide audience thanks to a communication and diffusion channel. critics or experts in the history of photography. followers on a social media platform. It depends. Novelty and originality are important, but to whom? And what is the background, the knowledge, the context awareness of this person, struck by the picture, its novelty and originality? What makes a good photograph raises more questions than answers can be given. And still, when I see a good picture I know it is a good one.

Empathy is a complex notion. In my concept I tend to associate it to an interpersonal relationship with mutual exchange, based on mutual interest. Instinctively I do not think of objects as mediums, even if a careful consideration may include them as well. Thus the role of books in creating empathy, they have a role in empathising, as you say: Empathy does not only inform my attitude towards a person, my emotions, I associate it with my behaviour. But my view may be reductive.

Lots of apologies here. But I think we are aware of our points of convergence but also of the differences in opinions we like to stick to, aren't we?

I have to apologise, I realise that I have used empathy thinking of two different things: in first instance a mutual emotional relationship, where one person projects into another developing a deeper sensorial understanding; second, representing the viewer’s research and investigation of an author/artist that leads to knowledge, understanding and emotional closeness. Not reciprocal and not based on a mutual relationship. Sorry for that logical faux-pas. In this respect I see a radical difference between the two ways to reach out to the public: books are more “rigid”, normally have a certain limit of the number of pictures and can be viewed over and over again. Exhibitions do not have such limits ( e.g.: I have seen a very large retrospective of Henri Cartier-Bresson in Paris at the Beaubourg with over 500 “objects”. Tough experience), but have the advantage of the three-dimensionality, allowing the viewer to move in and out, close and far from the pictures. I love both, even if books are more easily accessible from where I stand.

Isn't the knowledge of the creative process - artistic process, if you will - one key element to (re-)construct the frame of reference which leads to the empathy with an artist/author? That means knowing, and trying to understand, how the artist with whom I feel empathy has evolved during their artistic course and integrating this understanding in how the emphatic relationship is shaped?

Indeed. I recently saw different self-portraits by Picasso, depicting his evolution over the years. A plastic example of feelings and influences. To appreciate it one has to be aware of such evolution and has to feel as well. Another artist that struck me recently is Jeff Wall: his works are so hyper-real that surrealism can be clearly perceived. Gregory Crewdson, Thomas Struth, Andreas Gursky and others in different ways.

A number of questions come up, some of them already asked above which Kodak 400 film? Portra, Gold, Ultramax (this doesn't look like Ektar)? expired? since when? (a year would do no harm, a decade perhaps yes) Film pressure plate working ok? Lens ok? Processed how, by whom? Fresh chemicals? scanned how? with which scanner? Scanner matters do you have proofs? do they look the same as the photos uploaded? one should not expect sharpness as the one of digital media.

I agree. I perceive the feeling as some kind of flow coming over me, sensations that not necessarily can, or should be described. Isn't motivation at the ground of expression? Not a goal by itself but it's conscious or unconscious motor. I see empathy as closely related to physical relationship. For me it has to do with real-life interactions. I can feel attracted to an artist, creator or photographer-author knowing their body of work. Empathy for me is more than "feeling with", its, as Wikipedia says: and this frame of reference includes more than can be mediated by any kind of creation, IMO it requires direct interaction which enables direct perception and feeling.

Hi Sam, I must say that I did my best to help derailing the thread. And it took me a while to try and answer you. As a matter of fact the trigger for my musings was how I wanted to "read" the photo books in my ever-growing library not only looking at the single pictures as such but also thinking of how I could look at the works in a unitary way, as they are conceived, discovering their rhythm, the whispers, the shouts, the passages and the cornerstones (I believe an author makes photographs with a purpose in mind, decides to create a book, selects, edits, processes, sequences, cuts, adds, subtracts. As I do when I self-publish my books). My mentioning of "intent" is only instrumental in this context, I think that the author's intent is never fully knowable and many times not knowable at all. But the fascinating exercise is to take the photo book, examine and explore it, and, more important, feel, perceive and sense to try and figure out what the work means as a whole. This process is necessary unilateral, because direct interactions are unlikely. Now, feeling, perceiving and sensing, when there is no direct interaction when I handle a book is a very subjective approach. Subjective not in that it is just based on personal tastes, sensations and preferences. It also includes what the viewer knows. Since we are talking about photography, it includes other photographs, other authors, other comments and critiques on photographs and authors, essays of experts, treaties on the history of photography. You name them. Therefore, my approach to "reading" photo books is putting my own knowledge, experience, feelings, perceptions in relation to the works I see to try and imagine what is behind it, what the underlying idea was, what the author apparently did to produce the work and what they might have wanted to communicate. Being aware that I may be wrong and not understand the real motivation and intent. Does it matter? With "surrendering the intent" this is what I mean: the author handing over their work to the viewer's subjectivity. I hope I'm clear.

Intent is different front controlling (here we go again!) the myriad of elements potentially in a picture. Some photographers claim that they control them all. Some may, some may not (I don’t care). The intent is to put out a photo. Targeted, universal, controlled, random. All is possible. It’s the final outcome that I consider: presenting a picture (or a visual work). And the the intent is surrendered.

There’s more to it than just a frame. The mentioned Jeff Wall and Thomas Struth are just two examples. It’s beyond any analytical explanation.