Kennedy inauguration no number 1961

Editor: Here we have Robert Frank’s gelatin silver print, "Kennedy inauguration no number," from 1961. It’s a contact sheet, a collection of moments captured at what looks like a formal event. The whole sheet, presented like this, makes me feel like I am given access to what goes on backstage, almost raw material ready to become History. What strikes you about this work? Curator: Well, this isn’t the typical heroic imagery we often associate with JFK’s presidency, is it? Frank gives us something far more complex. The use of a contact sheet does exactly what you mentioned: destabilizes any single, iconic image. Consider that Frank, a Swiss-born Jewish photographer, was documenting America during a period rife with social and political tension. How do you think his position as an outsider shaped his vision? Editor: I guess it made him less likely to reproduce the expected patriotic images. Maybe he was interested in the in-between moments, the anxieties lurking beneath the surface of this carefully constructed image of power. It’s interesting how this one image encompasses a wider historical perspective. Curator: Precisely! And what does it say about power if Frank shows the 'backstage', or better said, behind-the-scenes? Also, this aesthetic, the supposed 'poor quality' that we can see by means of contrast, shadows and granularity became part of the artistic photography of the 20th century as a claim for freedom of speech. Would you agree with me if I suggested this picture unveils and shakes up the idea of perfection? Editor: I agree with you completely. I hadn’t thought of it that way. This makes me want to explore more of Frank’s work. It seems that photography goes beyond mere representation of power and encompasses criticism of that very power dynamic. Curator: Exactly. And, as you said, in an extremely creative way, by showing images not originally intended for being viewed or exhibited. So, by unveiling the images, Frank unveiled something more, a sign of his times.