By the time I made this portrait of Sir John Pope-Hennessy, I had maybe made 500 portraits. The 80’s were a whirlwind affair with people from all walks of life. Some days were rudderless, others a bit of a gale storm on wheels. I flew through the lives of so many people, my memory reminds me of the quagmire I engaged along each road to success or failure.
Rupert Murdoch and his gang had invaded New York and beyond. There was a ton of activity between continents. But, I saw a new consistency. Just about every conceivable conductor of our cultural venues belonged to someone from the British Isles. I was fascinated by the invasion. What had happened to drive so many personalities across the Atlantic? I felt the wind at my back. It was an agenda to drive me.
What transpired was a series of Black and White portraits. I have no memory of why the series became Black and White. So this color photographer ventured into foreign territory. I made about 25 portraits of powerful and unique British personalities.
Walking into the home of Sir John Pope-Hennessy was like sneaking into multiple museum vaults. Art history unfolded before my eyes. This was a special entree.
I was given strict orders not to photograph the collection. It made me feel closeted in the midst of some covert MI6/KGB affair. So quiet. So eerie. So beautiful. So many British cultural elites seem to be born into spydom. Maybe this was a moment.
Pope-Hennessy was a formidable personality. His connoisseurship was atop the international art world. He knew where all the great European paintings rested.
My portrait session was fast and furious. He shared some terrific stories. We were done. I committed to a date to review my test prints.
I returned a week later to his Park Avenue home.
Before I could drop my coat and show the portfolio of portraits, Pope-Hennessy offered and poured immediately a whiskey. His bar was a few feet from where I sat. The glass with rocks dancing was in my hands swiftly.
He glossed over my pics. He recounted stories about photographs of Canova’;s sculpture. He thought for a moment that my portraits of himself had a likeness to the Canova pieces.
Yes yes I was flattered.
Another scotch was passed to me. I think over an hour 4 to 5 drinks had been consumed. For the moment I can’t remember eating anything.
Suddenly, Sir John Pope Hennessy steered a glance towards me, “Your photographs are brilliant. I will want some copies”. I was elated.
But he quickly added, “ do you have any plans for the evening?”. I said “no”. He said, “which kind of porn do you prefer to watch”. There was a pause that felt like hours, but was more like a nano second. He added, “heterosexual? Or man on man?”.
I flinched. He leaned forward. Both hands aside my head. “There is a dvd rental store quite close. We could order some food and any movies you prefer”.
At that point I looked into his eyes. I felt what seemed like a gigantic head, a Buffalo’s head leering at me. I think he smiled. But I glimpsed at his crocodile eyes and I knew I had to disappear.
Imagine the sounds of a rafter of wild turkeys shimmying under a country fence. I am six foot three. I am considered a big person. I uttered some sounds as I shimmied under his arms. I blindly grabbed my portfolio and my coat.
I found myself exhaling on Park Avenue.
I certainly embarrassed myself. I certainly lost a sale. I thought, “instead of a little bit of sex, me and my feathers flew out of Sir John’s apartment”.
Oh well. My heart raced for a few weeks.
