Frank Jackson is a Los Angeles based photographer known for his narrative stories and whimsical imagery. Frank works primarily in black and white and spends much of his time on the road exploring things that require time, patience and a quiet mind. What follows are my notes from our session.
Corner cutter. Handheld embosser. Fountain pen. Paper. Tangibility. Jazz. Good, good Jazz.
Such a thoughtful guy. A guy with feeling and kindness and knowledge. Did I mention Jazz. The house we are in is one of royalty. The black and white legends hang from the walls and the bloodline I cross over as my shadow darkens the door is the top. The best. Pure. Residue. I don’t put two and two together until Frank shows me the way. “No way,” is all I can say.
The light is working, showing itself to me, showing off even. White hot, colorless Los Angeles filtered through the Spanish style and stucco. It works. My mind says stark, dark, graphic and unclear. It’s so f%$#$%$ obvious. It comes from doing this again and again, year after year. You know it and you know it FAST.
There are dual conversations. The one actually happening and the other in my mind as I tile the story together. I love being here, but I’m perpetually frustrated because we never just get to hang. Talk. Listen without speaking, even to each other.
A small room but filled with a big life. Europe. Lots of Europe and it makes sense. His movements are slow but they are attuned to the details in life and it’s a marvel to see in an age when people text while parallel parking.
Mail. Real mail. Photographs. Real photographs. Prints. Everything is printed, and printed well. Labeled, stamped, mailed, and at times rephotographed. There are years of projects here. Years. The effort required is what I’m getting at. This ain’t no downstream beer. This is pure, high-mountain gold.
There is a sadness here because of the illness, and it’s magnified because I can feel the desire to be out, to be known, to be making like this might be your last minute on Earth. I too know both the sadness and the urge to move when your body and brain have other plans. But ya, there’s the other side of that coin. “Say you do got me boxed in and I gotta put YOU down,” as De Niro says to Pacino in HEAT, “I will not hesitate, not even for a second,” and what these curves of life provide is CONVICTION. Right this f%$#$%$ minute commitment of get it down, get it down and get it secured away in the vault of your mind, your memory or your instinct to go where you aren’t sure you can do.
Gear scattered around the room, on the floor, the bed, the table. Positives, negatives. Whatever. I’ll take it. You feel the lift through the board under your feet. I just got barreled. Three rolls. Only three rolls. But so much more really.You can find Frank’s work here.