Gordon Parks with a bit of Asian influence
‘The King of Cool’
Miles Davis died one week before I was scheduled to shoot his portrait. I felt victimized by every word synonymously associated with traumatized.
I had shot him in concerts. But a face that people share in a portrait session is simply, singular to that moment. A “Miles” session would exponentially elevate my photographic dreams. He was a face that the world knew. He wielded his trumpet as a magician might a wand. Our ears were spellbound by his trumpets’ magical powers.
Miles Davis in Concert 1982
Upon hearing of his death I was emotionally exiled to a place as desperate as the Baltic’s’ Curonian Spit. It was there the drifting dunes would engulf my spirit. It is a bit silly to be so simply defeated. My spirit was shattered. He was musics’ Picasso.
Years ago a photographer was like a horse in the “Derby”. You positioned yourself along the rails to find an opening for the lead. Miles’ death cast me adrift from the race. I certainly continued shooting portraits and a bundle of miscellanies: Visual journeys placed me in front of quintessential architecture and design. My plate was still full.
Time seemed to fill the void. I had lost a step. I had lost some passion. Time allowed me to realize that the universe had been realigned for my benefit. I looked in the rear view mirror after a bit and saw rubiks’ genius. All of the lost pieces were finally back in place.
Some years later I was invited to an arts award dinner. The recipients were Yoko Ono, Nam June Paik, John Cage and Gordon Parks . I have now photographed all but Yoko.
All three were special moments and evolving friendships. But shooting Gordon was an emotional and creative turning point in my life. I simply didn’t realize it. Gordon was simply one of the most accomplished artists I had ever met.
Nam June Paik
John Cage
He wanted to get to know me.
I arrived at his East River United Nations Plaza apartment. He lived high up in luxurious isolation. When ‘John Shaft’ (Gordon Parks directed the original ‘Shaft’ movie) opened the door, It seemed as if Issac Hayes whispered, “Welcome, do you like red wine, I am making an omelette”.
We sat for nearly two hours in his kitchen. We shared a bottle of burgundy and made our way through the deliciously silky ham and cheese omelette. We chatted about nothing, and everything. It was as if we both wore smoking jackets and were taking intermittent puffs on our Romeo and Juieta cigars.
He took me into the living room. There were photographs strewn everywhere. He was editing for a new book. Almost 90 years old and still working at being Gordon.
We stood on the high floor looking over the East River. He turned to me and asked if I still wanted to shoot his portrait. He wanted to know what my ideas were. I smiled back and told him “I was good to go”. Gordon was more than 40 years older than me. I felt as if we had been friends for a lifetime. We were good company for each other. For three consecutive weekends we repeated the afternoon schedule: Wine, food, chat.
He shared a lifetime of moments in a nano second. I had my visual moment in my mind. The portrait day finally arrived.
While shooting he asked me why I was smiling. I couldn’t possibly tell him that in someway this was the kind of picture that I had imagined for Miles Davis. After all that he shared with me I couldn’t have told him that this moment was my “Birth of the Cool”. He might not have understood.
I left his apartment and hopped into a taxi. I knew what was on the film. I couldn’t wait to return and show my images to my “John Shaft”. Gordon Parks was the coolest artist in my universe.
More importantly he showed me that the image I made today was my present. This was the photograph and the photography I was meant for. My photograph that day was my future.
Gordon Parks