I remember seeing seven red naked whales swimming atop the waves of the yellow ocean.
I stood on the shore like a squinting eel. I just wanted to know where has all of the the time gone.
Raymond Pettibon; Decades ago: Los Angeles
“Old friends” are something my camera has seen. When friends pass, I meet them again as memories.
My first collection of artists, I seemed to catch just before they died. By comparison my second collection of artists seemed to be captured just after they were born: I get them coming and going.
When I photographed Raymond Pettibon for the second time his trust in my process was undeniable. Raymond lived in a ranch house styled home and at first painted small canvases.
By the time this session occurred he had graduated to large wall paintings.
He threw, I threw paint in every direction on a plexiglass canvas. Raymond is a big guy. I am a big guy, but Raymond has an indomitable spirit. He would be Sisyphus, except he has the conquering drive. No boulder would stop his energy to get the work done.
When He completed the painting he was depleted. I don’t think he returned to his home immediately. I think he stepped outside the studio and raised his arms to bring in the new oxygen. Then maybe home, or another canvas. He is a big guy
Richard Tuttle is part of my middle age artist collection. Maybe at the time he was mid career.
There are hundreds or thousands of artists who are certainly seen by radar, but their level of growth hasn’t been measured yet. He sat on the teeter-totter for awhile. Obviously I am writing this looking through the rear view mirror. Shortly after I photographed him he was suddenly in museums around the planet.
Richard Tuttle: Decades ago: New York
Our session was in a scratchy looking studio. There was no place to sit without a bit of inspection necessary.
Richard likes the quiet whispers. I had recently returned from photographing Man Ray’s wife Juliett.
He whispered with passion that he wanted to know about everything I saw. Maybe he was a quiet Man Ray enthusiast, maybe he just liked whispering.
I loved our session because I loved making my portrait of him. I loved our session because he had this calming affect on me. I was so relaxed that time passed so quickly that the portrait that I enjoyed taking so much happened in minutes. But I think it worked because there wasn’t an expression that he was afraid to share.
When I left, I wasn’t sure what had just happened. But as I walked from his avenue back to my avenue, I think we might have settled on world peace. Whispers are not always so clear.
Jim Dine is one of a fascinating collection of portraits. I think there might be one dozen artists who I photographed 2-3 times.
Jim is 87 now. When I first photographed him he was 47. I thought he was old then. But objectively, he just had an old soul. I was told just before the first session that he was one of the meanest artists around. But certainly that was misguided information. Jim might have been the nicest and most understanding patient artist out of the hundreds who have sat for me.
Jim Dine: Decades ago: New York
The first session was in London, but the next two sessions were in NYC.
By the time this session that you see (I think it was for a French art magazine) we had seen each other about town. He was prepared for the pain that he swore up and down about: “Those lights Richard are burning a whole through me”. Of course I confirmed to him that the lights are a bit hot.
I told him to think of it as a doctor’s appointment. A blood test or a vaccination and the doctor says, “look the other way, it will only hurt for a minute”. I reminded him of the time my lights set my own hair on fire. I let him know that I will suffer with him for every second the session takes.
When I was finished, he recounted the three sessions. He said, “we are done!”.
Of course I knew what he meant: Three portraits over 15 years was good for me too.
All of the above artists are equally a happy and sad reminder of time passing. The sad part is that there will be a final breath and they will be gone. The happy part is a selfish one: I just loved shooting these amazing talents as part what in hindsight was my Triassic Age.