Theimageslookatfirstlikeleftovers,thoseframesshotswiftlyand
carelesslytocompletearolloffilm.Yet,farfrombeinganalienatedwork
aboutalienation,theconsistencyofMoriyama’stone,sustainedacross 300
pages,speaksofaconcentratedandfocusedefforttoexpressincoherence.
Alsoin 1972 RobertFrankreturnedtopublishingwithascrapbook
offramesequencesandphotos.The Lines of My Handwasonceagain
aresponsetoaninabilitytomakelifeaddup(NorthAmerica’sand
hisown).Noattemptatavisualargumentismadethistime.Instead,
heproducedabookfullofconfessionalregrets,secondthoughtsand
disassembledbitsandpieces.Ontheopeningspreadloomgrainyfilm
framesofastarkhumaneyesuperimposedonableaklandscape.Beside
themhewrote:‘Twenty-fiveyearsoflookingfortherightroad.Postcards
fromeverywhere.IfthereareanyanswersIhavelostthem.’^36 Thetone
andstyleofThe Lines of My Handhavesincebecomewidespreadin
photographicpublicationsandexhibitions,visualshorthandforragged
outsiderism.Thehalf-cinematic,half-photographicdiaryhasgrowninto
aflexiblegenreofitsownthroughtheworkofphotographerssuchas
LarryClark,NobuyoshiAraki,JimGoldberg,DannyLyon,Wolfgang
TillmansandRinkoKawauchi.^37
82
71 Opening page spread from
Robert Frank,The Lines of My Hand
(New York, 1972).