The Online Photographer

John Morris 1916-2017

Written by Peter Turnley

John Morris. Photo by Peter Turnley.

This morning I received a phone call in Cuba from my brother David in Paris to tell me that John Morris had just passed today. I went to see John just a few weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon. As I walked into his room in the residence where he was staying, John lay, part asleep. I didn't want to bother him, but needed to see him, and whispered into his ear, "John, I love you." He responded clearly, "Peter I love you too." These were our last words, but the most important to me. John was not only my friend for the past 45 years, but truly a father to me and David.

One day a few years ago, as I sat eating dinner alone with him, I asked John, as possibly only a lifelong friend could ask, "John, what would you like me to say about you when you are gone?" John looked at me, and gently responded, with a smile: "I tried." He not only tried, but succeeded in touching the hearts of most everyone he met, and his story, and his passion and care for the world and for life, and his ability to love life, and to be in love, will be an example that anyone that knew him will carry with them forever.

John's life story was the story of our world and of photography over the past 100 years. The names of the great photographers of the world, Capa, Cartier-Bresson, W. Eugene Smith, and on and on, were his family. I was very fortunate to be part of his family since first meeting him with my brother David when he first saw our McClellan Street photographs when we were 17 years old.

John's interest in success was not status, and no one felt more compassion for the left behind than John. His passion was in living life with love, doing the best one can, and fighting for a world where peace, care, decency, generosity, and honesty prevail—and his passion for public service was greater than anyone I've ever known. My relationship with John was not professional; he was my friend, and like a father to me. But he was demanding, and expected greatness—for him, there was nothing more natural. Every conversation was sprinkled with comments about Capa, Chim, Henri, and on and on, and these were not names on a pedestal, but lives of friends with feelings, stories, ups and downs, and heart. To achieve anything great in life, one must dream. Being around John always made dreams easy, because his life, like a dream, was reality.

Whenever I would return from some place where my heart had been scarred, Somalia, Rwanda, Chechnya, Bosnia, Kosovo, Irak, and on and on, the realities I had felt and witnessed were not, for John, something from a television set. They were part of his life blood and fabric and what he cared and lived for—trying to always somehow impact the world for the better. He also was extremely engaged politically, in a human sense. As we go forward, it won't be awards, or honors, or accolades that John will appreciate us for. It will be simply a kind and loving gaze upon our life with the question, did you do your best, did you try, did you try to make the world a better place? And have you loved. And when the answer to any of those questions will be a yes—John will raise his glass with a smile, and you will feel that as always, you are part of his amazing family of life.

John and Peter. Photo by Jan Kwarnmark.

I love you John. You are not gone, you will always be with me, and with us.

Peter Turnley
Havana, Cuba
July 28, 2017

[Ed. Note: There is a full obituary of John Morris by the critic and curator Andy Grundberg in the New York Times. Our thanks to Peter for sharing his very personal thoughts.]

©2017 by Peter Turnley, all rights reserved

Original contents copyright 2017 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Jim Metzger: "Beautiful."

Steve Rosenblum: "Five years ago I had the great privilege to participate in Peter's Paris Street Photography workshop. The highlight of the whole week for me was an evening when Peter arranged for all of us to go to John Morris's apartment where he (at 95 years of age) stood for an hour and gave us a lecture about the history of documentary photography over the last 70 years and his involvement in it. He told us the intimate stories behind many of the most iconic photographs of the 20th century, the people who made them, and the struggle to get them published. Then we all went out for dinner together.

[Photo by Peter Turnley]

"My wife and I agree that it was one of the most amazing experiences of our lives. We will always be grateful to John for sharing his vast life experience with us and to Peter for arranging it."

David Elesh: "Like Steve Rosenblum, I met John and his partner, Patricia, at Peter's Paris Street Photography Workshop in 2011. My wife and I were amazed by John's stories, vitality, and engagement with the present at 95. He spoke of his history, his current political activities, and his gratitude of finding a loving partner in Patricia Trocmé. As Peter writes so aptly, 'his passion and care for the world and for life, and his ability to love life, and to be in love' were fully on display.

"The New York Times has a five minute interview with John on its website recorded in 2006. There are also several photos of John taken at various points in his career. They are worth your time as his autobiography, Get the Picture."

Jan Kwarnmark: "Thank you, Peter, for these words. From our workshop and meeting with John in September 2013 I remember especially that John, after having seen so many war photos, wanted to be an ambassador for peace. And thank you for using my photo, taken with your Leica, at this precious moment."

[Ed. note: Jan's work was featured once before in these pages, as readers might remember.]

Richard Benson 1943-2017

Lee Friedlander, Richard Benson, Newport, Rhode Island

Very sorry to learn this morning of the death of the fine printmaker and the expert on the reproduction of pictures Richard Benson, who died either on June 22nd (Wikipedia) or 23rd (Artforum). A fine printmaker for many years, master of many processes and involved in many fine books and exhibitions, Richard Benson was a polymath of the subject, recipient of a MacArthur "genius" grant and the subject of a profile (in the Dec. 17 1990 issue) in The New Yorker. 

He served as Dean of the Yale School of Art (long an incubator for photographers—Walker Evans once taught there) for the decade from 1996 to 2006. In 2008 he co-curated the exhibit "The Printed Picture" at the Museum of Modern Art, which, as Artforum said, "traced the changing technology of making and distributing pictures from the Renaissance to the present." The book that resulted from that show, also called The Printed Picture, was our Book of the Year that year and has given me much pleasure since. It's our best single connection to his far-flung and far-reaching career.

I didn't know him but I'm aware that he was well connected in the New England and East Coast photography worlds and that he had many friends. Surely an obituary will be forthcoming from the Times, which I will try to alert you to when it appears. Our condolences to his friends, family, and loved ones.

Mike
(Thanks to Robert Newcomb)

Original contents copyright 2017 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

TOP/Yale Spring Photo Book Offer
(Ends June 30th or when supplies run out)

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John Holland: "By a strange coincidence, I'd been thinking a lot about Richard Benson the last couple of weeks, prompted by my purchase of your Yale book sale. Benson himself appears in several photographs in the two Friedlander books (he's well regarded in the biz as the printer for many of Friedlander's best books); Benson first made his name as a darkroom and book printer for Paul Strand; and, to bring things full circle, Benson's apprentice, Thomas Palmer, did the plates for the Friedlander books.

"Going through the Yale books prompted me to re-read The Printed Picture, which was probably the first book I ever bought as a TOP recommendation. Then I re-watched the video series Benson did for MoMA back in 2009, available here. Just finished that on Saturday. Now I learn that he passed.

"The Yale book sale now feels to be a bit of an inadvertent but timely tribute to Richard's long career, especially to the many ways he improved the printing of photographs in books, reflected in the superb quality of these three. Such a talented, smart and vital person. Condolences to his family and many, many friends."

Mark Sampson: "I only met Chip Benson once, about seven years ago at a non-photographic gathering. I knew of him through books about Paul Strand, as well as the MoMA exhibit of 'The Printed Picture.' He was great company and was pleased to see me using a view camera. I wish I'd had the chance to know him better—he was one of the best of us."

Stanley Greene 1949-2017

Stanley Greene at Photokina 2012. Photo by Sara T'Rula.

Stanley Greene, the "poet of war photographers" and the founder of the NOOR Agency, died five days ago in Paris, of cancer, at the age of 68.

Olivier Laurent has written an outstanding article about him at TIME.com, equal parts biography, obituary, and tribute. Highly recommended.

"Since the death of her child, Zelina often stares at something far away, elusive. She says she is already dead herself, if only time would hurry up."
Grozny, April 2001. Photo by Stanley Greene/NOOR.

Among conflict photographers, Stanley Greene had a way of keeping in touch with what was truly important. The reminders of his life in the wake of his passing may have that effect on photographers of all kinds.

Mike
(Thanks to Steve Caddy)

ADDENDUM: Reader Michael warns: "Mike, there is an interview with Stanley Greene in that Time.com article which needs a warning. He describes an experience he had when filming for Doctors without Borders which was more powerful and sickening than any of the war photos I have ever seen. It was sublime, in the sense of overwhelming and frightening. I'm serious: I think you should say something about that by way of warning in your post.

"But thank you very much, as usual, for opening my eyes—and here, my ears—to the larger world I live in."

Original contents copyright 2017 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Steve Sanders R.I.P.

I'm sorry to report that Steve Sanders has died at the age of 64. His website "Steve's Digicams" was one of the English-speaking world's main go-to sites for digicam reviews during the wide-open heyday of the digital transition; his "Steve's Conclusion" pages were often the best source of sober, well-considered, well-written, down-to-earth summaries of new cameras. Steve was also one of the people who published my old "Sunday Morning Photographer," a weekly column that appeared on three major review sites and at its peak was translated into five different languages.

Current Steve's Digicams Editor-in-Chief Billy Chambers writes, "Steve was a very inspiring person. What most folks don't know is that Steve was bound to a wheelchair for most of his life, due to a motorcycle accident in his mid-20s that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Which, over the course of many years, led to him becoming a quadriplegic. The amount of work this man could do in a day, despite his handicap, was awe-inspiring, with many often referring to him as a 'one-man army.' His infectious personality will be truly missed by the staff here at Steve's, as well as [by] his close friends and family."

Sincere regards and condolences to the many people who will miss Steve.

Mike
(Thanks to Oren Grad)

Original contents copyright 2017 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Dennis Ng: "This was the site to go to in those years. RIP." 

Chuck Berry 1926-2017 (OT)

Photo by Donal F. Holway/The New York Times

The album era has recently ended in music, something that deserves more discussion than it has gotten. It lasted roughly a half century, from the introduction of the LP record by Columbia in 1948 to the early 2000s, when CD sales began to tank decisively and downloads started to dominate.

Early in that era, the single was king, and to the single we have largely returned—the huge majority of people now purchase single cuts of music and make their own playlists, something not dissimilar to the 45s and jukeboxes of an earlier era.

Chuck Berry was a singles artist, an innovative entertainer and an influential pioneer of guitar rock and roll. His songs have a rollicking energy that can still get listeners' blood up. Everyone has their own favorite; personally I love "You Never Can Tell" (sometimes called "C'est La Vie"; Berry himself sometimes called it "Teenage Wedding"). It's not on "The Great Twenty-Eight," the best compilation of Berry's singles, released in 1982 by Chess Records.

It's always fun to revisit the Rubber-Legged One, and somehow his music makes it impossible to stay sad. Farewell, Mr. Berry. Wherever you go from here, B. Goode.

Mike

UPDATE: As originally published this post contained a number of errors. Guess I am not back on my best form yet. Thanks to those who provided corrections!

Original contents copyright 2017 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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c.d.embrey: "I worked on Don Kirshner's Rock Concert in 1977(?). Chuck Berry was our featured act one show. The singer who was on before him had problems and went way over his scheduled time. Mr Berry told the stage manager he was going for a drive. When it was his time to preform, the audience was told that he would be late. No one left, and everyone enjoyed a great Chuck Berry performance when he returned.

"One of the highlights of that season was Robert Gordon featuring Link Wray. It had been almost 20 years since Rumble, and the audience was blown away. Chuck Berry and Link Wray were two of the best guitar players of the early years. Glad I was there."

Mark Kinsman: "As a young teenager, I saw Chuck perform as an opening act for the Rolling Stones in the late '60s. The fondest memory of that concert was watching Kieth and Mick clap and sway behind the amps watching Chuck perform. Clearly two fans watching a hero do what he did best."

Blue, Teddy Jack, Tina Rose, Sugaree, Honey and Coco

Record company promo photo of Leon Russell
from 1980, when he had short hair.

I know I should title my posts with words more likely to be searched. It's the business I'm in. But I couldn't resist this post's title. Those are the names of Leon Russell's children.

The man could write.

Leon, a piano player, died a week ago last Sunday. His resumé includes a dazzling list of accomplishments, yet he never really did become a household name. He played piano on the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds and on Sinatra records; he put together and led the band Mad Dogs and Englishmen for Joe Cocker; his album Carney reached #2 on the album charts; he was at George Harrison's "Concert for Bangladesh" in New York City, where he shook up the proceedings with a rollicking medley of the Rolling Stones' "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and the Coasters' doo-wop classic "Young Blood," complete with revival-tent-style vocal interludes; he wrote jazz guitarist George Benson's biggest hit; and he collaborated with Elton John and also Willie Nelson. He started his own record label, Shelter Records, which released Bob Marley's first song outside of Jamaica. Leon both played for an immense number of other artists and bands and also wrote many songs that were hits for himself and many others. But he didn't relish the spotlight, and such fame as he achieved slipped quietly away. Gradually, Leon settled back into semi-obscurity—maybe better called "semi-fame"—remembered mainly by old hippies and (no question) other musicians.

Not apocryphal: he actually did get his start playing piano in honky-tonks. The first guy to hire him was Jerry Lee Lewis. He wrote a song for Ray Charles that won a Grammy. He played on a Monkees album; he played on an Aretha Franklin album. He wrote a hit for Karen Carpenter. Eric Clapton, three Rolling Stones and two Beatles were guest performers on his first album. He played on "Strangers in the Night" and also "Monster Mash." Read one of the longer obituaries; it was quite an astonishing career, never quite at the center but never far from the center of a tumultuous era in American and international music.

I was trying to remember where I'd heard about Leon recently, and then I remembered it was because of one of the last musicians Leon collaborated with, Elton John—who has always been famous and has never been forgotten. Elton was one of those other musicians who never forgot Leon. He aided and abetted Leon getting inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame a few years back. It was a nice thing Elton did for Leon—returned a long-ago favor and helped him get a little late-in-life appreciation. Leon was grateful.

R.I.P., Leon, and respects to Blue, Teddy Jack, Tina Rose, Sugaree, Honey, and Coco, and all of Leon Russell's family and friends.

Switch gears
Segue to Elton. Soon after Elton John got sober, for some reason he got lit up by a passion for photography. Since then, he's gone from knowing virtually nothing about photography to being one of the world's major collectors. Now there's to be a major show drawn from that collection at the Tate Modern in London.

Most of us don't live in London (I'm jealous if you do), but you can take a virtual tour of Elton's photography collection via YouTube:

I had a brief flirtation with Elton John's music when I was young due to a marvelous song called "Bennie and the Jets" that my little brother and I both liked (I still do). Then I sorta didn't like him for a long time because he was kinda poppy and I got turned off by his Liberace-style stage persona (never quite grokked the whole thing with all the wacky eyeglasses). But that was a very nice thing he did for Leon. And then—well, anybody who collects photography and actually hangs it so he can live with it? Our kinda guy.

I've come around. Elton's a good guy.

The show is called "The Radical Eye: Modernist Photography from the Sir Elton John Collection." See it if you can.

Mike
(Thanks to several readers)

Original contents copyright 2016 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Doug Thacker: "I remember seeing an interview with Leon Russell where he talked about how he got his start, his first break. As a young man he was living somewhere in the deep south and working at a convenience store, when one day none other than Richard Penniman—AKA Little Richard—came into the store. I don't remember exactly what happened next, or if indeed he ever said—and a cursory search doesn't turn up the story—but I do remember Leon saying that it was Little Richard who told him how talented he was, and who encouraged him to pursue a career in music. In later years, of course, Leon penned and performed a musical tribute to Little Richard called 'Crystal Closet Queen.'

"I was living in Ohio during the height of Leon's popularity. He was huge, with an almost fanatical following. Many of these followers, at least in Ohio, were self-styled rednecks, proud of their southern roots when they had them, and pretending to have them when they didn't. In their eyes Leon Russell could do no wrong.

"But then, at the apex of his popularity, Leon Russell did something no one expected. He married Mary McCreary, a black woman, and released Wedding Album, featuring the two of them together on the cover. 'I always said if I ever met someone who was a better musician than me, I'd marry her, and that's what I did.'

"I recall hearing many of his suddenly former fans react with great hostility to this. Among these fans Leon Russell went from redneck golden boy to persona non grata, in one fell swoop. His new album got little airplay.

"In the year following Wedding Album, Leon released 'Leon and Mary Russell Make Love to the Music,' with an equally defiant album cover. By this time his career was really on a downer and it never recovered. He released a number of albums after this, but none of them did well and Leon Russell faded into obscurity—until rescued from it late in life by Elton John.

"In the America of the 1970s, such a public interracial union as Leon and Mary had was a brave and defiant thing, and a powerful political statement. There's no doubt he knew what it would mean for his career and he didn't care, he did it anyway. I've always admired Leon Russell for this, and don't think he gets enough credit for it. His convictions and defiance were as strong as his music."

Mike replies: I had kinda forgotten about that, although I knew Mary was black. Maybe we should all go see that new movie, "Loving," as a way to honor Leon's memory.

PhotoDes: "I went to high school with Leon Russell (Russell Bridges) along with David Gates (Bread) in Tulsa in the late '50s. They played together for student functions and dances on many occasions and recorded a couple of 45s, I think locally, on small labels—Perspective and Robbins. The Perspective hit was 'Pretty Baby' and David was the vocalist, though at the time he used the name Ronnie Franklin (with the Vibes). The other was 'Lovin' at Night' with David Gates and the Accents. Russell played piano for both. We all bought their records and cheered them on, but I was surprised when they both headed to the West Coast after graduation and frankly didn't expect to hear a lot from either of them. I think it was in the '70s when I was told that Leon Russell, who I never recognized on the album I had (wearing what you call 'short hair,' was Russell Bridges. At first I thought 'hometown boy made good,' but I discovered several of his songs on other singers' albums I owned and realized that would be short-changing him. He was a genuine and unique talent."

Mike replies: What a great comment! Thanks for letting us hear from you.

Marc Riboud 1923-2016

"The eye is for seeing, not for thinking." —Marc Riboud

A passage from Claude Roy's introduction (translated) to Marc Riboud: Photographs at Home and Abroad, first published in France in 1986:

"When you are a teenager so taciturn that your older brothers say things like 'You don't use your mouth, so maybe you'll use your eyes,' when you are retiring, fitful, vulnerable, anxious, then being able to take refuge behind the eyepiece of a camera, behind a mask that enables you to see without being seen, is a great comfort. When you are a young man at odds with yourself and later admit that you were torn between 'the fear of getting too close to people and another force that egged me on to get a closer look,' then being the man with the invisible face who makes other faces visible is rather a neat solution. When you are the fifth child in a large middle-class family involved in business, banking, and stocks, when you've been schooled in engineering, groomed for the workaday world, and destined for a job at the plant, then your father's Vest Pocket Kodak, or the Leica he's given you, become instruments to guide you towards wide open spaces, and photography gives you a license to roam."

Roam he did. More than thirty books have been published of his work, including many pictures from Asia and the Indian subcontinent. What I remember most about him is something another Magnum photographer told me about him: that, despite being a photojournalist, he declined on principle to photograph mayhem...no violence, carnage, blood, war, or suffering. "I have always been more sensitive to the beauty of the world than to violence and monsters," he said.

He took many pictures you have no doubt seen, of the Watergate hearings, the Great Wall of China, an improbable painter poised on a girder of the Eiffel Tower looking like a cross between Buster Keaton and a mime, or two black boys, blurred, shadowboxing on a beach in the gloaming.

His signature image distills the "flower power" of the 1960s: a young woman holding a flower in front of a line of National Guard soldiers with bayonets at the ready. Like many big hits I tired of that one long ago; in the Riboud picture that first comes to my mind when I think of him, we are looking down from above at a broad marsh, with a strip of sky at the top and a patch of dry land at the bottom, where a distant man in a white shirt is lying on the ground with his hands behind his head, as if to say, ah! This is the life.

Although his style and his concerns have moved back in time significantly since I first engaged with him, his work remains well worth getting to know if you don't know it already, with its gentle arm's-length humanism. He died last Tuesday, at 93. There are many obituaries, including those at the New York Times; at Magnum where he was a member until 1979 and still revered; at TIME magazine; at PDN, and at The Guardian, among others. He is survived by his wife and four children.

Mike
(Thanks to numerous readers)

Note: TOP claims Fair Use in reproducing the photo of Marc Riboud from his website, but we have applied for permission to use it and will remove it on request.

Original contents copyright 2016 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Joe Holmes: "Digging around, I stumbled across a couple of outtakes from the more famous shots of the flower power protester and the Eiffel Tower painter. Unfortunately, they're pretty small images, though here's a giant reproduction of that flower power outtake. And finally, this is actually my favorite Riboud image. Talk about framing!"

Two Deaths in Photography's Family

I'm very sorry to report that Dave Heath has died.

And that Bill Cunningham has died.

Bill Cunningham. Photo by Hugh Crawford.

Each deserves attention and respect individually, but I was personally struck by the contrast between the two of them. It could hardly be greater, given that each photographed real people on the street. For Bill Cunningham, a groundbreaking and influential fashion photographer who pioneered the practice of catching fashion "on the hoof" so to speak, wandering Manhattan on his bicycle photographing real people for the New York Times, the Times has published a widely read obituary, written by Jacob Bernstein. It's a rich read and a mini-profile of a very successful but dedicated and uncompromising life as a photographer. Although Bill Cunningham himself regarded the publicity he received and the fame he achieved as a hassle that interfered with his work, he received many honors—he was awarded the Legion of Honor by the French government, saw a lifelike mannequin of himself installed as an homage in the window at Bergdorf Goodman, and, when a documentary was made about him in 2010, it premiered at the Museum of Modern Art. He was so beloved in New York that he was designated a "living landmark" by the New York Landmarks Conservancy. His work and the way he went about it influenced many other photographers and their projects, from Scott Shuman's "The Sartorialist" to Brandon Stanton's sprawling Humans of New York. And, for such a humble man, he was highly revered in the high-powered world of fashion: as Anna Wintour, the legendary British editor of American Vogue, famously said, "we all get dressed for Bill."

Dave Heath's fortunes, on the other hand, are succinctly summed up in this headline from Philadelphia Magazine, especially considering that Dave Heath died on the day of his 85th birthday: "84-Year-Old Philly-Born Photographer, Dave Heath, Finally Gets His Due." No obituary yet, in the Times or anywhere else. Searching the Times for Bill Cunningham reveals a cascade of articles about him; searching the same site for Dave Heath brings up a hodgepodge of unrelated articles, many having to do with Heath Ledger.

What a dazzling "due" Dave Heath did finally get, though, and all of us are the richer for it, now and going into the future. I missed the show in Philly, no doubt something I'll regret for a long time, but the late-in-life career summation Dave Heath received from the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art not only rescues him from obscurity but will preserve this great photographer for posterity. Keith F. Davis's superb book Multitude, Solitude: The Photographs of Dave Heath was TOP's Book of the Year last year and is one of my personal favorite photobooks of recent times. I find it both incredibly rich and very moving.

Their deaths only days apart (Bill Cunningham died on Saturday, June 25th, and Dave Heath died on Monday, June 27th) is merely a coincidence, of course. But, especially if you're not acquainted with either gentleman, I highly recommend both Bill Cunningham's Times obituary and Dave Heath's introductory/retrospective book as a study in contrasts and similarities as well as rewarding glimpses into two long lives in photography, well lived.

Mike

Dave Heath. Photo by Kendall Townend.

[UPDATE Saturday 8:30 a.m.: The World's Best Photography Magazine (a.k.a. the NYT) now has an obituary for Dave Heath. Thanks to Craig for the tip. —Ed.]

Original contents copyright 2016 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Ned Bunnell: "I had the pleasure of bumping into Bill once. Literally. I was photographing the famous Easter Day Parade in NYC, in 2008. I had darted to get a better view of this one lady with a neat hat coming through the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I saw this blue arm extending in front of me with camera in hand. We bumped. I immediately turned and said something like Bill, so sorry to get in your way. He gave me a genuine smile and said 'nice camera, I didn't think Pentax was still around.' Here's the lady we were both going after. I checked and didn't see his version of the lady in his gallery in the NYT from that day. It was probably blurry from my bumping into him."

Kenneth Tanaka: "I knew about Bill Cunningham. Sorry to hear about Dave Heath. Cunningham was just a truly wonderful character. Anyone who wants to see pure, persistent joy of photographing a subject for decades must see the film Bill Cunningham New York. Warning: It's not about photography. (Cunningham used an old Nikon film camera and one lens for all of his daily work. As the NYT no longer has a darkroom he developed his film at a nearby quick-mart-type shop.) Rain, snow, or shine he was out shooting NY street fashions. Many nights he'd be photographing gala gals. He lived like a monk and devoted all his energies toward documenting the ongoing ever-changing parade of what people were wearing. What a life Bill Cunningham had!"

Sven Erikson: "I highly recommend the documentary Bill Cunningham New York (2010), an interesting and touching look into his life and works."

Rick: " I had the unusual (for me) experience of not just seeing Dave Heath’s art at the Philadelphia MOA last fall, but also hearing him speak about his work. It was unusual in the sense that despite a lifetime of photographic art appreciation, I was unfamiliar with his photographs until that very day, when I was at the Museum to see some classical paintings but wandered down to the Honickman and Berman Galleries almost by accident. I thought up until that moment that I knew most of the best work in contemporary fine art photography. I was wrong. Dave Heath was a revelation. And the pleasure of such a discovery is hard to overstate. I shall buy the book, which I should have done last year!"

hugh crawford: "I'll miss Bill a lot. I first started running into him at parties ( his lesser-known body of work is society party photographs) when he was about twice as old as me, and somehow we eventually got to be more or less the same age.

"Really wonderful afternoon light would attract street photographers to the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street, one of the few places that you can routinely get sunlight coming in at a low angle from three directions and a pretty amazing assortment of people who are oblivious to photographers. If Bill was on the corner, impromptu discussions would coalesce around him.

"I was always fascinated by what else was going on in the photos, sort of like how Wegee's photos would be interesting if they only showed the bystanders without the murder victim at the center. I hope his archives are in good hands. Bill always said that no one was interested in old clothes or old news, but I think he was wrong.

"Here is a photo I took of him a couple years ago [I added it to the main post, and thanks much, Hugh.  —Ed.]. Note the manual-focus Nikon with the autofocus lens and the C-41 color negatives fresh from the one hour photo lab sticking out of his bag with a copy of the previous Sunday Times. I think we were talking about waist level vs. eye level photography and he pointed out that he needed to get the shoes in the picture.

"Sweetest nicest guy."

Mike Stanton: "For those interested in seeing the documentary 'Bill Cunningham New York' (2010), it is on Amazon Prime, free to Prime members."

Fan Ho 1931-2016

 Guest post by Manuel Vilar de Macedo

An example of Fan Ho's lyrical window on Asia: White Windows, 1962

"Brexit" overshadowed the news of the passing away of Chinese-born photographer Fan Ho, who died last Sunday. Fan Ho was one of the most important and influential photographers of the second half of 20th century; his exploration of the relationship between light and shadow was remarkable, and made for a very strong and recognizable style, which is something only a few photographers can claim without sounding too pretentious. And his compositional sense was simply brilliant. His body of work is extremely rich and diverse, and it can't be limited by labels such as 'street photographer.' He was great at that, but his pictures weren't confined to street photography.

I was fortunate enough to be introduced to Fan Ho's pictures about a year and a half ago; since then he became one of the photographers I look up to.

The late Fan Ho. Courtesy South China Morning Post.

There are obituaries and selections of work at the South China Morning Post, Quartz, and PetaPixel.

Manuel

"Manuel" (the handle under which he comments) is one of the cadre of TOP's best commenters, which is saying something. He reads TOP from Porto (Oporto em inglês), Portugal. —Ed.

©2016 by Manuel Vilar de Macedo, all rights reserved

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Michael Miller: "Any chance of a TOP book sale around this stunning photographer? Amazon lists The Living Theater for $75 and A Hong Kong Memoir for $300. Such amazing imagery, such manipulated pricing. Doesn't he deserve a reasonably priced edition of his major ideas?"

Mike replies: Not "manipulated," I don't think, just out of print. The standard edition of the latest reprint was available until recently. It's common for the prices of photobooks to rise sharply when they go out of print. Sometimes they fall again after the "oh no I missed it" demand spike is over. Check back in a year or two.

I'd love to have A Hong Kong Memoir too, so I sympathize.

Rich: "I was fortunate enough to meet Fan at a couple of his book releases at Modernbook Gallery in San Francisco a few years ago. A warm, very friendly man. And his photographs just magnificent. A true inspiration for me and I can only strive to emulate his talent and photography. I treasure the two books of his I own (Hong Kong Yesterday and Living Treasure) and his autographs within. I peruse them regularly for inspiration but now will do so with a heavy heart. He will be missed."

Emmet M. Mann

Emmet Mann as child and adult

Well this is one post I hate like hell to have to write. We are terribly saddened to learn of the death of Emmet Mann, most famous to the world as one of the luminous subjects of one of the great American photobooks of the 20th century, his mother Sally's Immediate Family. As an adult he suffered from schizophrenia, and worked as a landscaper. He had many interests and causes; he was a musician, aspired to be a writer, and had many friends.

Our sorrows and heartfelt condolences to Sally and Larry, his sisters Jessie and Virginia, and all his family members and friends. He was 36.

Mike
(Thanks to Niall M. and Kent P.)

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Michael Reichmann R.I.P.

I'm extremely sorry to have to pass along the news of the death of a friend of us all.

Michael Reichmann, known all across the sprawling Internet photography community simply as "MR," has passed away after a long battle with cancer. Michael was the founder of The Luminous-Landscape, an influential enthusiast website that played a big part in reporting on, and influencing, the rise of digital photography during the digital transition.

A fine photographer in his own right both before and after his enthusiastic embrace of digital imaging, Michael's photographic interests were aptly reflected in the name of his site. Although he photographed other things, his primary passion was for beautiful and, indeed, luminous landscapes. He traveled the world looking for them.

I first met Michael in the 1990s when the energetic and enthusiastic Canadian and his soft-spoken English friend Chris Sanderson, an experienced professional videographer and filmmaker, came to Niles, Illinois, in the Chicago exurbs, to pitch an idea to myself and the Publisher of Photo Techniques magazine. Michael and Chris had in mind a video photography magazine delivered on DVD, and they wanted to pair up with PT to get their product on the newsstands. I thought it was manna from heaven for us, but the Publisher and his Director of Marketing Services turned Michael and Chris down. The idea later became The Video Journal, which was sold for a number of years by mail-order subscription. Michael did write a number of articles for me at PT, and he became one of our earliest digital print offer artists—we sold prints Michael had made with the 3-megapixel Canon D30. Those were the days when "uprezzing apps" were hotly discussed! The sale did very well, not because of the techniques involved but because of Michael's lyrical photographs.

When I left Photo Techniques, I wanted to keep writing about photography, and Michael and I switched places—I became the writer and he became my editor for many weekly columns on The Luminous-Landscape. The column was eventually called "The Sunday Morning Photographer." Although I only met him in person that one times in Niles, he and I spoke often by phone during that time, covering business and of course all manner of topics photographic.

MR interviewing Ctein in 2013

Just as my SMP column eventually morphed into The Online Photographer, so did The Video Journal eventually give way to both free and subscription videos on Michael's L-L site. But that was the tip of the iceberg in terms of Michael's protean activities in the field he so loved. He did many interviews (one of my favorites featured jazz great Oscar Peterson), guided travel workshops and photography trips, published many different writers, and of course reviewed hundreds of cameras.

Several years ago, knowing he had cancer, he founded The Luminous Endowment to help photographers of all kinds fund their projects and further their work.

Michael earned for himself a place in the history of photography with his early championing of digital and his longtime influence on the public discussion. His loss is truly a hard one for the photography community. Deep condolences to MR's family and loved ones.

This is often said but seldom so true: he will be missed. Michael had many friends, even among people he never met. He was 71.

Mike
(Thanks to David Smigelskis)

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Steve Rosenblum: "I am deeply saddened to hear this. I carried on an intermittent email conversation with Michael through the years, have read L-L since its inception, and had the pleasure of publishing an article on his site as part of the Sunday Morning Photographer column in 2004. I always admired his ability to turn his passion into something that the rest of us could learn from and enjoy—and that will continue after his death. Not such an easy thing to do. I few of his photographs hang in my home. I will miss him."

Michael Cytrynowicz: "Oh no! I am so sad. Always a reader of his, learned so much with him along the years, always enjoying his gentle canuckness, especially across the literally dozens of videos I watched with him and Jeff Schewe, Ctein, Ken Raber and many others. When they decided to open up all LuLa contents for $1 a month, I was exhilarated—what a cool, generous move. That was how Michael was. And I enjoyed as well his musings about re-discovering film. Will be sorely missed—my condolences to his wife and family—he was a real mensch."

Al Jaugelis: "I've appreciated his articles and opinions, but much, much more, his photographs. Many of them stop me and hold my gaze. Masterfully composed, color that takes my breath away. I never knew him apart from the LuLa site, but truly feel we have lost a very special man, and a great photographer. One who still inspires me."

Michel Filion: "I am so grateful that I once wrote Mr. Reichmann to tell him how beautiful his photos were! He was very touched with my email and thanked me for it. I am leaving for Iceland Tuesday and will think about him everytime I see a luminous landscape. Thank you, Sir."

Response from Kevin Raber: Everyone, thank you so much. Your comments mean the world to Michael's family and me. Michael was just about the best friend one could have and I am proud and honored to be carrying on the tradition of Luminous-Landscape. Both of us share the same passions and while I may never be crafty with words as Michael was I will speak my piece. It's my hope and dream that we continue Luminous-Landscape to be better than ever and serve as a great resource for photographers around the world.

—Kevin Raber, Publisher, Luminous-Landscape

RIP #2 (Not OT)

It was 74 degrees (23°C) here today, and until an hour ago it was beautiful. I used the leaf blower for the second time, for some Spring cleaning. (Hmm...Spring?)

Of course, it's March 9th, and this temperature is a record high for this area and this date, which is...troubling, too.

Me to winsome checkout girl: It's beautiful outside.

She: I know. I love it! It's just like home.

Me: Where's home?

She: South Carolina.

Me: Oh. The thing is though, our weather isn't usually much like South Carolina's.

She: I know! Well, enjoy it while you can!

Hmm. A person could take that two ways.

I don't think anything, ever—no, not disease-bearing ticks, not precarious heights (I'm scared of heights), not the thought of being trapped while spelunking (a picture I saw decades ago in National Geographic gives me the willies to this day), no, not even the phrase "President Trump" (now I've done it—at this rate I'm going to give myself nightmares)—has frightened me half as much as climate change. I wish I could un-read all the books I've read about it past about the first half of the first one.

But I have to admit it's a very odd thing indeed that it's so sinister and at the same time so...pleasant. Sort of like the malignant hit man in "The Wire" who would gently console his victims before murdering them.

After I posted that "RIP" post this morning for George Martin, I was reached by news of the death of photographer Gary Braasch, of Portland, Oregon. Gary, an energetic and active 70 years old, died while on assignment, snorkeling at Australia's Great Barrier Reef. The exact cause is still being investigated.

A passage from Gary's bio at trunity.net:

His keystone project since 2000 has been World View of Global Warming, which is the only dedicated photo documentation of the effects of rapid climate change. For this Gary has journeyed extensively including to China, Australia, Tuvalu, Antarctica, the Arctic and the great mountains of the world. An exhibit of 30 prints on climate change has been exhibited at the American Association for the Advancement of Science in Washington DC and at Chicago's Field Museum. In 2007 he published a book on this: Earth Under Fire: How Global Warming is Changing the World (University of California Press).

There are obituaries at The New York Times and at Fox News.

Sincere condolences to Gary's friends and family. My hope is that someone continues his necessary work. It will take courage, I think, and great fortitude—or hopefulness as strong as Gary's.

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Cedar Braasch: "Thanks for getting news of my father's passing out to the world. The Washington Post did a great article on my dad as well. I hope to work with his girlfriend and partner Joan to continue his message and elements of his work. Thanks for all the love and support. Climate change is a major issue that will only continue to cause suffering in this world. It's time to stand up and push for legislation that protects our environment, our oceans, our forests and drinking water. My dad lived his life so well and helped so many people. My father wasn't someone who just took 'pretty photos'; his message and love for the world changed so many minds on the subject of climate change. My father found in his early work covering the Mount St. Helens eruption how fast life bounces back after complete destruction. It's part of the cycle of life and this world.

"Grieving with you and your community, Cedar Braasch."

RIP (OT)

George Martin 1926–2016

-

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In Memoriam: Joe Saltzer

I was reached by the news yesterday that Joseph Saltzer of SaltHill Photographic Products died back in 2008, of complications resulting from triple bypass surgery.

I wish I could write a proper obituary of Joe, whose death appears to have gone unmarked in the online world. I can't, I'm afraid. I reviewed a number of his innovative and deluxe high-end darkroom products for Camera & Darkroom magazine over a number of years, talked to him on the phone many times, and finally met him in person when I visited his beautiful contemporary/modern style house at the end of Wildcat Road in Chappaqua, New York, an hour outside New York City. In the words of Andy Grundberg, "SaltHill [was] what you might call a small manufacturing and marketing firm," which Joe ran from the lower floor of his home, where he also had a laboratory-quality, state-of-the-art research darkroom.

His chief designer was a genius from Eastern Europe who spoke little English. Together they conceived, designed, built and marketed products which were certainly overbuilt for their purposes, and which had the same relationship to more commonplace darkroom products that Leica has in the world of cameras today.

Joe was the one who recommended me to S. Tinsley Preston III for the job of chief editor of Darkroom Techniques magazine in 1994, a challenging, sometimes maddening job that was, overall, an experience that I would not have missed. For six years it was a wonderful lookout post from which to watch the changes then happening in photography, affording great views back at the past and toward what lay ahead.

Alas, fate had it in for Joe. His business faltered around various disasters and betrayals connected to his quixotic fiber-optic enlarger. I could tell the whole story, but the story is not mine to tell. The enlarger, which did eventually briefly come to market, had a superlight head made possible by its radical light source—a "cloth" consisting of a weave of fiberoptic strands, some emitting green light and some blue, the two colors of light to which variable contrast papers are sensitive. Joe's misfortunes multiplied upon themselves, and he lost his designer, his business, his fortune, his house...and his wife, who left him as his business crumbled. Joe and Tinsley Preston had a falling out over unpaid advertising bills, and Joe ended up working in the darkroom department at B&H Photo for a time, a relationship which unfortunately also did not end very well as far as I know. He moved house more than once, having come down considerably in the world, and I lost track of him during that time.

I knew Joe, and will remember him, as a bright light. He had vision, and talent, and taste. If he didn't leave a large mark on photography it's because he was in the wrong business at the wrong time, and paid too dearly for the boldness of his vision. His is one of the more tragic tales of the Transition Era. 1979 was the peak of the darkroom hobby in the U.S., and if Joe had started his business 15 or 20 years earlier, he would probably have been much better known and far more widely admired.

At the very least, his passing would have been more noticed by the world at large. I hope some photography museum somewhere (Eastman House, perhaps) will collect an example of each of his products so they don't disappear from history altogether. A belated goodbye, Joe.

Mike
(Thanks to Adrian F.)

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Two Recent Deaths

The health and popularity of any human endeavor rises and falls in waves—nothing's static—and photography caught a huge swell in the 1960s to the early '80s. Many of photography's great names are from that era...it's our "Greatest Generation," to cop a term used of the WWII age cohort. Many of the greats from an earlier wave were still alive then, and many names came to the forefront that we still recognize. A few, we venerate.

If it seems like there have been a lot of obituaries lately, that might be why. We're losing that generation.

We lost Charles Harbutt on June 29th. A former President of Magnum, he was one of those names who flew low and didn't break into many photographers' radar fields. But he was an accomplished shooter and a longtime teacher. I have a signed copy of his iconic book Travelog that I treasure, although I have to admit I really didn't like his latest book, Departures and Arrivals.

Charles Harbutt in the mid-'80s by his friend and colleague Joan Liftin

There are good articles at PDNonline and The New York Times.

And to catch you up on another exceptional photographer of that generation, there's this link, from The Washington Post, about the sad decline into dementia of the fine gentleman and very accomplished artist William Christenberry. Bill taught at the Corcoran while I was there, but I never took a course from him, because he taught art, not photography. A photographer whose work was all about remembering should have had a less ironic ending.

Curiously, I don't feel quite so sad about Harold Feinstein, who died on June 20th. The reason is because it seems that certain "friends of Harold"—I don't know the backstory at all—had been assisting him in a late-life Renaissance. There was a very successful Kickstarter campaign (the we helped publicize) which resulted in the publication of his retrospective book, which was a pleasure and a treat, and his work is well-represented on his nice website, and he'd been writing a blog. It's sad to hear of his death, yes, but it's also very nice that we got to know him in the first place—and he got some deserved recognition—before that came to pass. 

Mike
(Thanks to Oren Grad and many other readers)

P.S. If you're tempted to prompt me about the wonderful Robert Frank link, I'll be posting that one later.

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Richard Rodgers: "Sad times. First Mary Ellen Mark and now Charles Harbutt. While at Apeiron in the late 1960s, Mary Ellen enabled my photography skills to grow and Charles, through his teaching skills, enabled me to become a college photography teacher."

David Christensen: "Rondal Partridge also passed away recently. He wasn't well known (by his own designs), but what a link to the past—the son of Imogen Cunningham, apprenticed himself to Ansel Adams, and assisted Dorothea Lange in California during the depression. He was 97 when he died—and according to the SFGate, 'he spent his last 15 years mastering the art of hand-coated platinum printing with a focus on botanical subjects, dead animals and antique tools.' Here's the link to the very interesting SF Gate obituary."

Mike replies: Thanks David. I didn't know that. He's a photographer whose work I know better; I very much enjoy his book Quizzical Eye. It's one I return to.

Rodger Kingston: "I've known Bill Christenberry for nearly 40 years. I met him in the late '70s through a couple of photographic friends, Gus Kayafas and Gerd Sander, and over the years I visited him and his wife Sandy when I was in Washington, or saw him occasionally when he came North.

"Bill could always be counted upon for a good story—after all, his art is a story, a visual narrative of the world centered around his native Hale County, Alabama. He is one of those people who never stops talking—except with Bill, you don't want him to stop talking.

"Bill is undoubtedly a great artist. However, the key to appreciating both Bill and his art is to understand that he is a great Southern artist, steeped in the black Alabama soil, and soft spoken, with a light Southern accent tempered by his many years living in Washington, D.C.

"His studio is a veritable museum of his paintings, drawings, and photographs; his sculptures of the buildings appearing in his two-dimensional works; and the signs he rescued from the towns and countryside around his beloved Hale County.

"I'll never forget the time he showed me his legendary Klan Room, not long before it was mysteriously stolen.

"I have about a dozen of his books, many of them signed, all of them carefully handled and well read. The most recent one I have is, ironically, fittingly, William Christenberry: Working from Memory: Collected Stories. Reading the stories, I can hear him talking, speaking of his friendship with Walker Evans, or describing the circumstances surrounding one of his works.

"The last time I saw Bill, several years ago, before the onset of his Alzheimer's, he and Sandy were in Boston for a lecture, and a group of us went to dinner afterward. Bill sat at the head of the table, and, with his soft Southern accent and courtly manner, entertained and edified us all."

Mary Ellen Mark Has Died

This simple tribute appeared on Mary Ellen Mark's website four days ago.
The portrait is by Ralph Gibson.

Mary Ellen Mark, one of the great American social documentary photographers of the second half of the 20th century, passed away last Monday of myelodysplastic syndrome at the age of 75.

Although she ranged as far afield as fashion and advertising photography on occasion, her most famous photographs were intimate extended documentary projects of people at the fringes of society, such as Erin "Tiny" Blackwell, the Seattle street kid whose life Mark documented for more than 30 years.

Since her death the Internet has exploded with articles, announcements, obituaries and tributes. The New York Times obituary quoted Mary Ellen herself (originally printed in Communication Arts in 1997): "I remember the first time I went out on the street to shoot pictures. I was in downtown Philadelphia and I just took a walk and started making contact with people and photographing them, and I thought: 'I love this. This is what I want to do forever.' There was never another question."

In a short personal reminiscence at The New Yorker, Adrian Nicole Leblanc wrote, "I thought professional distance in documenting hardship meant not showing the joy in doing the work that I loved. The ego in that assumption would take years to unpack, but Mary Ellen opened a door for me. She was a master photographer and an actualized human being. I am very lucky to have witnessed her at work."

One nice short slideshow is at cnn.money. You can see her seminal photo essay from LIFE magazine, "Streets of the Lost," in its entirety at Time Lightbox.

Her work was published in innumerable magazines and she published nineteen books, including a title in the Photography Workshop series (recommended), Marianne Fulton's retrospective 25 Years (the earlier An American Odyssey 1963-1999 is very expensive now), and Cry for Help: Stories of Homelessness and Hope. Her other books explored prostitutes in Mumbai, the patients of a mental institution, and an Indian circus, but she also published a book of photographs taken on movie sets and one called Prom.

Her natural form was the photo essay, and a friend of mine who encountered her on the street in New York a few years ago reported that she complained bitterly about the lack of work and the dearth of serious venues for photo essays.

Her original book about Tiny Blackwell, Streetwise, is unobtainable to mortals, but the follow-up, Tiny, Streetwise Revisited, is scheduled to be released by Aperture in the Fall.

Hank Burchard, writing in The Washington Post in 1994, said, "One picture by Mary Ellen Mark is almost too many, yet a hundred of her photographs is not enough. Few photographers have ever had both the visceral impact and the intellectual depth of Mark."

Mike

Original contents copyright 2015 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Robert Hudyma: "I met her briefly twice: once in New York City in 1992 for a slide-show presentation of her circus images, and again in 2007 when she came to Ryerson University in Toronto to give one of the final Kodak Canada sponsored lecture series. Unfortunately her lecture was cut short since there was a fire alarm and that is the last time I saw her. You can watch her lecture here. I especially enjoy her Christmas dog images."

Richard Rodgers: "Had the opportunity to study and learn from the young Mary Ellen in late 1960s while staying at Apeiron in upstate New York. Among the many joys was a day spent with her while we photographed a country fair. Still retain and use many of the skills learned from that time. She was and still is a very important person in my life."

JK: "The day after Mary Ellen Mark died I spent a couple hours watching video interviews she had done. I especially liked this one. Her famous shot of Fellini comes at the end but there are couple other nice ones along the way."

Stan B.: "No matter her subject matter, you always knew she would create strong, compelling compositions full of empathy and passion. The epitome of the dedicated documentary photographer, she was the antithesis of today's fly-by, sound-bite journalists. And every one of her essays serve as a 'how to' for photographers who want to know how it's done—technically, aesthetically, humanely."

Jim Hughes: "The photograph of Mary Ellen that you use to lead off your tribute was made by her long-time friend Ralph Gibson, according to the credit below the picture in the Washington Post obituary. [Jim's comment was written before the correction appeared; Steve Rosenblum mentioned it earlier today. —Ed.] I hadn't previously seen this image, but I have seen others Ralph made with Mary Ellen, including this famous one of his left hand touching hers, their fingers entangled at the moment of exposure:

Photograph by Ralph Gibson

I published this picture in Camera 35 as part of the first large magazine portfolio from his then upcoming book The Somnambulist.

"I met Mary Ellen in 1967. I remember a beautiful woman passing in the hallway outside my open office door, carrying a large portfolio. Turns out she had just returned from six months photographing in Turkey on a Fulbright. The office next to mine was occupied by Mary P. R. Thomas, whose job it was to select photographs for the U. S. Camera Annual. Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me, and I went next door to look in. There were deeply printed photographs of people, most of them looking directly at the photographer as if they were lifelong friends, spread out to cover every surface of Mary Thomas's office. In the text to accompany Mary Ellen's portfolio in the 1968 edition of the Annual, Mary Thomas wrote: 'Mary Ellen Mark is a torrid combination of youthful energy and curiosity plus an innate sense of perception that enables her to see and "frame" the scene or subject before her almost immediately....All these photographs portray great beauty and strength. Look at them carefully.'

"Mary Ellen and I remained friends over the subsequent many years, and I had the privilege to publish her wonderful pictures in various of my magazines. I will miss her. And I will continue to look carefully at her pictures, which live on."

Kathy Li: "Just want to also point folks to Kyle Cassidy's LJ post on what he learned from Mary Ellen Mark."

Paul C. Buff 1936-2015

Paul "Buggy" Buff, of Nashville, Tennessee, passed away on March 14th at his farm in Alabama, at the age of 78. A friend of Frank Zappa's who ran a West Coast recording studio in the 1960s and one of the last of the inventor/entrepreneurs, he is best known to photographers as the folksy founder and owner of the photographic lighting company which bears his name. He manufactured and marketed several lines of studio monoblock flash units that were innovative and powerful but always bargain-priced, such as the "Alien Bees" line.

Studio "strobes" as they were traditionally called have became less important to many photographers as ISOs skyrocketed in the digital age and on-camera flashes became more powerful and controllable and began to double as off-camera flashes as well (the concept behind the well-known enthusiast website Strobist.) Monoblocks (as opposed to pack-and-head systems which separate the electronics from the flash head) remain a flexible and simple-to-operate option, portable and versatile as well as fun to experiment with.

The company will continue in business.

Mike

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Michael Tapes: "Paul Buff was one of those genius people that grace the world. He made tremendous impact in the world of professional audio as well as photographic lighting. I only knew him casually, but used his products, both as a youth in the recording studio (he designed the first noise gate which was called Kepex), as well as in my photographic exploits (he broke apart the studio lighting price/performance world with his White Lighting strobe lights).

"In addition to being a great product designer and music producer, he was also a marketing genius, again, breaking traditional molds and creating innovation. I almost went to work for him several years ago to head production, but we did not come to terms (and I doubt that I would have moved to Nashville). Like most genius type of folk, he was eclectic and eccentric. Thanks for your stuff, Paul. R.I.P."

Jane Bown 1925-2014

Jane Bown at home, surrounded by some of her photographs.

We are reached this morning with news of the death of the great Jane Bown. The quintessential photojournalistic portraitist, she worked for the world's oldest Sunday newspaper, the UK's The Observer, for more than half a century, beginning 65 years ago.

Renowned for modest reticence and for the simplicty of her style, she worked quietly and quickly, without calling attention to herself, using natural light.

An earlier photograph of Jane from her home.
Both photos are screen grabs from the Channel 4 profile below.

The picture above is this one, by Madame Yevonde, 1967. This is from a bromide print in the Yevonde Portrait Archive of
Britain's National Portrait Gallery.

Just this year a film documentary of her life was released, called Looking for Light. It's not available online that I know of. [UPDATE: The DVD is available from Amazon UK. There is also a Limited Premium Edition that includes a signed original print. NOTE that these will be Region 2 (European Union) DVDs. These play on Apple Computers (what I use) if you reset the region, but you are only allowed to reset the region five times!! Be careful. Thanks to Gill R and Bob Curtis for this. —Ed.]

Here's a brief recent profile of her from British television:

She published many books, most out of print now, including Exposures (UK link) from 2009, Unknown Bown (2007) (UK link), Faces (2002) (UK link), and The Gentle Eye (1982) (UK link).

The book Faces is subtitled "The creative process behind great portraits," but Jane sums it up in a jot: "What people say to me is how do I do this. And I say, just look."

Observer Editor John Mulholland, quoted in the Guardian obituary, said "her contribution to the paper’s history, as well to Britain’s artistic legacy, is immense, and will long survive her. She was loved by her colleagues and adored by our readers. We will miss her hugely."

She was 89.

Mike
(Thanks to Guy Batey and Leslie Ashe)

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Elaine: "Oh, I loved Jane Bown's work! I still have her book Faces. She used Olympus film cameras. Her work really inspired me. She used natural lighting, which is what I love. She was such an inspiration to me. R.I.P., Jane.  :-(  "

David Paterson: "In the '70s and early '80s I worked quite regularly for the Observer's Sunday magazine and was fortunate to meet Jane Bown a couple of times. She was friendly but brisk and there was a strong impression of an acute intelligence in spite of her quiet manner. She was a legend even then—cameras in a shopping bag—and will be greatly mourned and missed even though she retired quite some time ago. A true great."

Alan Hill: "Ars est celare artem (art is about concealing art)—has there ever been a better example of the truth of this old saying?"

René Burri 1933-2014

René Burri died on October 20th. (Magnum Collection/Magnum Photos)

I'm not the right person to write an appreciation of Magnum photographer René Burri, who died last Monday. He was just the sort of photographer I should like, and I always thought of him sympathetically, but in trying to engage with his work I never caught enough friction to make contact. I still don't quite get him, although I've always thought I should. Along with the rest of the world I admire his most famous pictures.

I heard of him as a younger gadfly of Henri Cartier-Bresson's, who measured himself against his older and more distinguished colleague, provoking and inspiring and perhaps sometimes irritating Henri, through a shared affection. And over the years I heard intriguing stories of how Burri refused to take certain pictures because they were too obvious or too exploitative—and how could I not like that? "One of these days I'm going to publish a book of all the pictures I did not take. It is going to be a huge hit," he said.

But with artists I don't know yet, "meeting" them is always a possibility for the future. René Burri is well served by in-print books—one a "how I worked" memoir called Impossible Reminiscences [now back-ordered —Ed.], another a major retrospective book of photographs. I haven't seen either one (have you? Tell us what you think if you have). There are numerous obituaries on the web. I'm sorry I don't have more to add, but I would welcome comments from others who do.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2014 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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Featured Comments from:

Bill Pierce: "this is a comment I made earlier on another website that had a thread on René Burri. René Burri died on Monday. A lot of you know he was an exceptional photographer. He was also an exceptional human. He had a few years on me and still outran me. When my airplane flight got rescheduled and I had no place to stay when we were covering Tiananmen Square, he shared his hotel room. As an extra bonus I got a guided tour through his book The Germans. I spotted one picture that was actually a print comprised of two adjacent frames. He laughed and said I was one of the few people who realized what it was, that Cartier-Bresson hadn’t spotted it. I finally got my plane out. René stayed to rewalk the mountainous part of Mao’s Long March. As I said, he could outrun me.

"Every time we crossed paths, it was an exceptional pleasure. I suppose there are a lot of good photographers in the world. There are few that had his kindness, his generosity and his genuine love for the people around him. The cliché 'he will be missed' is an understatement."

Clive Evans: "Met René at Les Rencontres d'Arles in 2010—a really warm generous nice guy."

Remembering Ray

Ray K. Metzker, 1931–2014

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Written by Keith F. Davis

Photographs by Rachael Jane

After a long illness, the great photographer Ray K. Metzker died on October 9th, 2014. He will be dearly missed by his family, friends, and many others in the world of photography.

I treasure the time I was able to spend with Ray over the years. I first met him in the early 1980s, after Harry Callahan encouraged me to contact him. I had already been a fan of Ray’s work for at least a decade, and had begun adding his prints to the Hallmark Photographic Collection. At this time he was living in a wonderful space: a renovated nineteenth-century firehouse in an old area of Philadelphia.

Our visit that afternoon was relatively brief, but fascinating. Ray was not excessively outgoing; he always had a good deal of Midwestern reserve. He spoke quietly and carefully: everything he said—and did—was deeply considered and deliberate. And of course, his working space was beautifully organized. As we climbed the stairs of the old firehouse, I remember passing one level with a well-equipped wood shop. When I asked what use that served, Ray told me that he made his own frames. As simple as that idea might have been, I remember being surprised—and impressed. I had never heard a photographer say that before, and it made me realize that Ray put far more than "average" thought and effort into what he did. I got the unmistakable idea that everything about his photography mattered to him: there were no shortcuts.

It was clear that everything in Ray’s meticulously organized space served his process of art making. He was completely devoted to an artistic life. This was not a matter of any superficial “lifestyle”—it was an all-encompassing commitment. This, in turn, stemmed from an unwavering enthusiasm for the process of photography and a deep faith in the validity of his effort. As quiet as he typically was, Ray had an iron will and a profound belief in the significance of what he was doing. As a result, he had arranged his life in order to pare away all but the bare minimum of real-world distractions.

After seeing him several times in subsequent years, my contact became more regular after about 2007 as I began exploring the possibility of a major acquisition and show. As a result, I made four or five in-depth studio visits to look at work and to talk. Usually, I was accompanied by his dealer, Laurence Miller, who knew the work only slightly less well than Ray himself. Larry had shown Ray’s pictures during their mutual years at Light Gallery in the late 1970s, and became his primary dealer in the early 1980s. It was a partnership of enormous mutual respect and support.

On the first of these extended visits, I realized that I had only presumed to know Metzker’s work. The quality and range of what I saw was genuinely amazing. Organized in boxes by date and project, the prints were a revelation. Ray was definitely “old school” in his printing, and he was a true master. His prints had an amazing life and presence. He could use the extremes of the tonal scale—from deep black to gleaming white—like no one else. The prints tended to be small in size—many of them were on 8x10 or 11x14-inch paper—but they had more visual impact than vastly larger prints by most other photographers. They exuded intentionality, care, and integrity. Metzker never released prints that were mere approximations of what he wanted to say. The placement of tones, the overall quality of light, and the formal structure of the image were all precisely determined. Metzker wanted his viewers to look long and seriously at his prints—and so he worked hard to make every one worthy of that attention.

In addition to their physical quality, the sheer range of what I saw was stunning. For every picture I knew, there were dozens that were completely new. There was some difference, of course, between the best-known images and some of the unknown ones—famous pictures do not become famous for entirely arbitrary reasons. That said, the overall level of quality was staggering—one box after another was full of fascinating and exquisite photographs. Some of these were variants of better-known images, revealing Metzker’s process of working up to and around a given subject. In other cases, entire boxes of pictures were new—complete projects or thematic pursuits that had gone unmentioned in any of his several monographs.

The sheer variety of work made me consider the relationship between Ray’s “place” in photo-history and the reality of his working method. It is probably safe to say that he is best known for his Composites of the mid-1960s, with his early Chicago and Philadelphia pictures, his double-frame works, his Sand Creatures series, his 1980s City Whispers, his landscapes, and his Pictus Interruptus works bringing progressively less recognition.

While understandable, this limited familiarity obscures the true genius of Metzker’s process: his endless curiosity, his willingness to take risks and to change, and the sheer breadth of his creative interests. From his boldly graphic city pictures, to the geometric tapestry of the Composites, to the delicacy of his landscapes, to the optical abstraction of the Pictus work, Metzker was engaged in a relentless quest to see how the photograph worked, and to challenge himself over and over to discover new ways of seeing. While the means of photography mattered a great deal to him, he was also deeply attentive to subject matter—he cared, in some real way, about the people and places he photographed. They were special because they were his: they were part of his world, and thus of his identity.

Metzker was a humanist, but not a sentimentalist. He had a real feeling for the lonely figures he photographed on the streets of Philadelphia and Chicago. But he did not pity them—he gave them a fundamental human respect, and he saw something of himself in all of them. In a slightly different way, he also loved the cars and buildings he recorded—as well as the basic beauty of light and shadow. That is, he accepted the reality of the world around him, recognizing that it held all kinds of treasures and revelations. The transformative power of his images is a product of his surgically precise vision—his ability to find, to isolate, and to magnify very particular facets of experience. He is the great visual poet of Philadelphia. That is not a subject that most photographers would instinctively think to claim, and yet consider what Metzker was able to do with it! He created an amazing visual world that was entirely his—because his dedication to seeing it was like no one else’s.

While Ray was a “formal” master, the emotion of his work has been less widely acknowledged. In a broad way, the tenor of his pictures was a reflection of his inner, emotional state. His shadowy “City Whispers” work of the early 1980s, for example, was produced in a period of unusual moodiness and emotional darkness—a time pervaded by a sense of melancholy and mortality. It is also significant that the open, light, and vibrant landscapes of the mid-1980s were made when he was falling in love with his soulmate and future wife, Ruth Thorne-Thomsen. All of Metzker’s pictures have this duality: they record some facet of real perceptual experience, while suggesting the photographer’s state of mind.

It is important to note that, for all of his seriousness, Ray had a great sense of humor. He loved to laugh, and even to be silly. In this regard, the wonderful names he gave to some of his images or series—“Spring Tingle,” “Glo Man Glo,” “Flickety Oops”, “Hula Cola,” “Pictus Interruptus,” and “The Whimsies”—reveal an important side of the man. Just as he loved music, he loved the playful sound of particular words and phrases.

My visits resulted in my museum’s project, “The Photographs of Ray K. Metzker.” We presented our exhibition in 2011 (and a book of the same title came out in 2012). At the time of our show, we had Ray and Ruth out to Kansas City. Ray and I did a public conversation in front of a near standing-room-only crowd in our main auditorium. Ray’s energy had been somewhat up-and-down in the preceding months, but he was totally “on” that day. He was thoughtful, witty, clear, and inspiring. It was an honor to be with him on stage for that hour. We could never have guessed it, of course, but this turned out to be his last major public appearance.

Ray is one of the giants of modern photography. He was never a critical “flavor of the month,” but that is fine. What he leaves is a true artistic monument: a body of work of genuinely lasting importance. I got the sense over the years that Ray never wanted to waste a minute: he knew what his life was about and he got on with it with a passion that was renewed every day, day after day. He certainly appreciated the attention he received, when curators and writers like William Ewing, Anne W. Tucker, Richard Woodward, or Evan Turner undertook important projects. However, in the end, the motivation for what he did was self-generated. The work expressed—and satisfied—an internal sense of curiosity and intellectual adventure. Until very near the end, he was always looking forward—always on the hunt for the next good picture, the next visual discovery.

In truth, Ray was always ahead of his audience. To everyone other than him, every body of work was a surprise and, to be honest, a bit of a puzzlement—until, with the passing of a few years, the beauty and the logic of each project would become clear.

With his passing, Ray is giving us all a chance to catch up.

Keith

Keith F. Davis is Senior Curator of Photography at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri. He is the author/editor of The Photographs of Ray K. Metzker (2012, no longer in print).

Rachael Jane is an editorial, portrait, and wedding photographer in Kansas City.

TOP extends grateful thanks to Keith and Rachael for this post.

Text © 2014 by Keith F. Davis, photographs © 2014 by Rachael Jane, all rights reserved

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Featured Comments from:

Manuel: "I saved this article for the weekend, in order to read it with enough time and the attention its subject deserved. Now that I finally read it, I want to congratulate both the author, Keith F. Davis, and Michael C. Johnston, for one of the best and most interesting articles I have read on TOP. There are many, of course, but some stand out. This is one of them."