…or somewhere in between the 60ies and the 70ies, as I got the golden age of the Rolling Stones (Beggar’s Banquet, Exile on Main Street, Sticky Fingers and Goats Head Soup) on constant rotation right now. Sweet Virginia somehow seems to be fitting when temperatures are dangling around 40 degrees Celsius and any conscious attempt at taking a photo has been dissolved in the jelly my brain has turned into…

I could never really shake the feeling to be strangely out-of-time and out-of-place. And it doesn’t get better with the ancient 1955 Leica M3 I drag around and this Robert-Frank-Nostalghia that I can’t seem to get rid of. If you look at too many old pictures, you loose your feeling for now. Or your interest. Or both.

And yes, I know that Robert Frank has been to Valencia long before I went there and so my own pictures feel a little ephemeral… The Beauty of our times is that all that has come before us is at our fingertips – but this is also a curse. It does not get much easier when you’re constantly plagued by the feeling, that everything you have done has been done before, only better. So, why take a picture at all.

Because.

After searching for a more or less complete copy of Robert Frank/Rolling Stones Cocksucker Blues, I found this article on their corporation on the cover of Exile On Main Street. It is sometimes funny how things move in synchronicity….

And if you are looking for something too read: “Photography Within The Humanities” has a quirky title, but it brings together interviews with some of the most important figures of photography in the 70ies (apert from Robert Frank, John Szarkowski, Curator at the MoMa at that time, Susan Sontag, Irving Penn…).

And it all started out with this article in the NY Times on Robert Frank and The Americans…