At the close of the last century, photographer Arthur Frank hit the rodeo trail with camera in hand. Traveling through several western state, even upstate New York, he and his camera became absorbed in that unique contest of wills between man and animal. A native New Yorker working as a lawyer, Frank says that he was merely an interested outsider at first. As he forged friendships he moved closer to the heart of the people and learned the skills needed to breed, raise and train cattle.
Frank states that being accepted as an insider, "has led to a greater appreciation of the relevance of the rodeo as a unique means of preserving and celebrating these traditions and the rich history of the American west."
These are not John Wayne cowboys, ten gallon hats clean and neatly perched on the head. The hats start clean but are rapidly splattered with dirt. These cowboys don't gaze into a purple sunset, they stare at the flaring nostrils of the bucking bronc, at the long and deadly horns of a bull. This is dangerous business and Frank has caught shots with gashes and bandages, and that cowboy more broken than the animal he confronted.
There are rewards on the rodeo trail, some monetary, some emotional. This circuit belongs to the individualist who has rejected the desk job. The financial rewards are slim and herd to get. But flowers await the entrant, generally held in the hands of a beaming woman whose hat is immaculate, of course, but also decorated.
We cannot determine if Frank has captured the end of an era or one that will continue in its own fashion, but we are happy to have this record of the great American dream of the west, to meet in pictures the people who live its difficult reality.
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