That the camera never lies has long been proved to be an untruth. Photographers know how to make the machine fib, setting up shots that feign spontaneity, cropping out context. And, anyway, most people stop being themselves and start acting if they discover that the third eye is on them. Once "captured," an image can be bent. I know a newspaper snapper whose moody scene of a desert under a full moon was challenged by an astute reader: my friend had moved the moon to enhance his shot ... and turned it upside down. This happened decades ago in a darkroom, when computer tricks like morphing were unheard of.
Robert Frank has a healthy understanding of how manipulative photography can be. In an interview in 1975 he said: "Photographs leave too much open to bullshit." Nevertheless, he has spent most of his life trying to produce honest images. The Swiss-born photographer and filmmaker, who has lived in the United States and Canada for the past half century, is now 76, an age which has critics pontificating on his long career. Most agree that Frank was one of the biggest influences on photography and cinema in the 20th century, often referring to the label Jack Kerouac first stuck to him, "the poet of the camera."
Effusive praise can be debilitating, which may explain why Frank has not backed an exhibition of his work since 1994. But now two European galleries-Essen's Folkwang Museum and Madrid's Queen Sofía Museum-have been allowed to join forces to bring together 88 of his photos, taken between 1948 and 2000, together with an hour-long film and seven of his shorts. Having already traveled to Germany and Spain earlier this year, the show is now on view at Lisbon's Belém Cultural Center until Nov. 18.
Called "Hold Still-Keep Going," a reference to Frank's to-and-froing between fixed images and movies, the exhibition also suggests his doubts about the adage that a picture is worth a thousand words. Many of his photographs require text, or at least he has felt compelled to scratch words across their grainy surfaces. An example is his profile of a naked woman standing before a flickering television. Scrawled across the photo is the imperative: "4AM MAKE LOVE TO ME."
Frank's photos and short films are typically bleak, particularly when portraying the almost autistic loneliness of life in parts of New York City. His films are usually unscripted, shot with a camera that weaves about like a drunk. Both stills and movies are often autobiographical, the most moving ones of his children, Andrea and Pablo, both of whom died in tragic circumstances.
Best-known of the photos is a series of some 20,000 that Frank took around the U.S. on a Guggenheim grant. This view of the 1950s through the eyes of a Jewish immigrant punched many black-and-white holes in the American Dream. One example in the exhibition is some boys outside a Mississippi school in 1955. Frank provides their words on seeing him take their picture: "He must be a communist-he looks like one. Why don't you go to the other side of town and watch the niggers play?"
Today, Robert Frank divides his days between Canada-a quiet spot called Mabou, in Nova Scotia-and New York City, its antithesis. Both continue to provoke him to take honest pictures.