The first time I ran into Robert Frank’s “The Americans” I was disturbed. I had been going over a bunch of photographers and their work, but this was different. Different to the point I knew I got to get a copy of the book. It was weird. The images were nothing unexpected. Someone traveling across the country. Someone taking casual shoots by virtue of being at the right spot at the time. But, they were not Cartier-Bresson like. There was not decisive moment of abstract geometric beauty. They were something else, something I could not put my finger on. Something in them was nagging me to no end.

Once I got my copy, I found a long and winding introduction by Jack Kerouac. The intro did not ring much in me—a long revision of the images evoked by Robert’s pictures that read like someone explaining you a movie argument—till you got till the end where he wrote

“To Robert Frank I know give this message: You got eyes.

And I say: That little ole lonely elevator girl looking up sighing in an elevator full of blurred demons, what’s her name and address?”

Going out with a bang, but with a bang that made me understand what was in Robert’s photos that keep making me uncomfortable. Something I was not aware I was avoiding to confront: the frame bias. Kerouac make it pretty clear telling Frank that he got eyes, something most of us with a camera do not have. We believe we do. We fool ourselves into believing it. But the truth is that our composing frames are just a mere reflection of our bias when we click the shutter. That is what made Robert Frank “The Americans” so tough for me. He got eyes and trap what they saw. There was no édulcorant, no cinematic substitute, no fake joy to cover untamed desperation and clashes of morals.

Suddenly I realize why I feel comfortable taking pictures at night when streets are deserted. The tearing tension of the frame bias gets minimized. There are no actors, no stories, no morals, no assumptions, no need to please the average. That is what Robert’s image triggers that keep me staring at The Americans; it is the tearing tensions or your biases. I guess, I should start going out and start taking all sorts of pictures. I guess, every time I hesitate to click the shutter I should just smash it and then look for the bias that is tearing my finger away from the shutter. But even at some deserted nights, there are times I hesitate to snatch the image since the moment and my bias waltz in a deadlock embrace. Even then, I should just smash the shutter and ask questions later.