Many years ago I was asked by Town & Country magazine to photograph an elderly Lady Caroline Blackwood at her home in Sag Harbor, Long Island. In all the years I have been a photographer, this was the only assignment that I have been asked to do for them, so I must assume, and rightly so, that I failed miserably.
The shoot and all it’s ramifications has remained with me all these years, and I have tried, to no avail to resolve the complicated issues that this shoot presented to me. It raised questions as to what it truly means to be a photographer and what is one’s role when making a portrait. Interestingly enough the above painting was done by her first husband, Lucian Freud, who is one of my favorite painters.
Lady Caroline Blackwood in her day was an extraordinary Anglo-Irish beauty whose family was heirs to the Guinness fortune. She married Lucian Freud, the painter, was photographed by Walker Evans, and Lord Snowdon, and ultimately ended up with Robert Lowell, one of America’s finest poet’s. All her husband’s were very tortured and depressed people. Their temperament wore off on her. Her personal life was tumultuous like all these men. She married and was filled with fits of depression, alcoholism, etc. But as a young woman she was an eccentric and elegant beauty with turquoise eyes that continually captured the interest of photographers and painters.
And now along comes me, some 35 years later. The magazine had sent along many beautiful portraits of a young woman who was truly extraordinary. And asked, and expected me to make a portrait of this glamorous woman today.
With my folder filled with images of this beautiful, delicate woman in hand, I made my way to her home on Long Island, and was greeted by a woman who had been transformed into an extraordinarily depressed, highly unattractive, alcoholic, whose body face and mind have been ravaged and destroyed by years of unhappiness and abuse.
This woman had no aesthetic relationship to the young vivacious Caroline Blackwood in my folder. She had aged beyond belief, her face distinguished and lined by years of alcohol and to make matters worse, she came out to greet me wearing skin tight leggings and an inappropriate blouse which we asked her to change, that made her look even sadder. She too, I could tell, felt terribly uncomfortable and never was without a drink in her hand. In retrospect if the magazine had realized what my subject looked like at the time, we may have brought a stylist, hair and makeup person, and scouted a new location that would have been more appropriate and have been able to find something more fitting for the needs of the magazine. But this was not in the budget and this was never requested of me. I was simply asked to shoot a portrait of the present day Caroline Blackwood using her own clothes at her own home.
So this is where my story really begins. You see I immediately saw the dilemma that I faced. Why was I there? From the onset I was extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t know where to look. I shoot portraiture, yet what the magazine requested and what was asked of me was to shoot a more glamorous picture of an aged beauty. I was there to find some glamor and beauty, to remove all the sadness and wrinkles on her face, and make this woman somewhat reminiscent of the youthful beauty seen above.
Most photographers could do this. They would work to flatter her features, to soften the light, to stand back and find some way to hide what lied before them.
For myself at the time and as well today, I am completely torn. My instinct is to get right in there with her, to hold her hand to look deep into her soul and reveal all her fears and unhappiness. This is portraiture. I am not frightened by her disfigurement and unhappiness. I actually find it interesting. I wanted to reveal who Caroline Blackwood was at that moment, but (and here lies the dilemma) I also wanted to protect her from my camera. By looking for the real Caroline, what had I accomplished except exposing a deeply troubled and sad person who wore this sadness not only on the inside, but also all throughout her face and body language. What great insight was I providing to myself or to anyone else, yet it was not my intention to simply make her look like something she was not. There was no way to find glamor in the present day Caroline Blackwood. At least there wasn’t for me.
Obviously today, the photographer or the magazine could retouch and resolve some of the issues. They could have softened everything and perhaps changed the photograph into an illustration, but that is not my style and that was not the way back then.
I blew it. I was lost. I don’t know anymore today what the right answer is. In retrospect the problems are the same today as they were then and I am not sure I have learned anything. The light I use is revealing and penetrating. It may be, but it also may not be flattering. My instinct is to get close, when maybe it would be best to stay far away. I am not thinking of pleasing the subject, I am thinking of finding a way into the person I am photographing. What I find interesting, the general public probably finds unflattering. Irving Penn often had this dilemma. His subjects were terrified that he would make them interesting, but unattractive.
So there you have it. I took an unattractive and unsuccessful portrait of Caroline Blackwood both for the magazine and for myself. I failed on all accounts by not pleasing myself, n0r the magazine. The many early beautiful portraits of her were the real Caroline at the time, but what who was the real Caroline these many years later?
She died not to many years after I shot her portrait and she deserved much more from me, but I am not sure what that means. Do you?
Dear Mr. Smith,
I was and am happy to see your addressing the topic of truth in photography. Personally, I think photography has the ability to hide the truth as much as the power to reveal it. It is this, philosophically, in which I’m most interested, as much as an individual as I am as a photographer. I am interested in telling the truth but I’m not sure that it is possible. Come with me for a moment.
There are stylists and makeup artists and there are wardrobe artists and there are location scouts. I dream of getting to work with a team of artists all committed as am I to bringing a vision out of the murky depths of our imaginations and into the light. But with every step I take in this direction I find one more person ironing out the wrinkles, and hiring me to do the same. I end up with pretty photos of people that did in fact look that way but only after having been given the once over. Usually the once-more over. I want beauty. But I can also understand why this elderly, seemingly broken, former beauty had evolved into a truth that wouldn’t sell magazines to the country club elite. When it comes to glamorous people, the light is always fading.
Photographs begin the thought. They do not, in my opinion, conclude it. If this woman deserved more from you then it was, if anything, giving her the respect of acknowledging the possibility that, for even just a moment, you could make her remember what it was like to be someone people wanted to see. Of course, no easy task, but you are a professional, and if I have learned anything from the study of your work, you are also a a greatly curious man who’s got an insatiable appetite for wonder. My suspicion is that Caroline Blackwood, if given a proper chance, still could have made you swoon. This is the problem with being a photographer; we moonlight as psychologists.
The photos of her express a truth as well. Perhaps not one that Town & Country believed it could profit from or one in which you could find your best work. But that you continue to ask these questions of her shows me that you continue to learn from her, and that you share this learning, and its tumultuousness, is a beautiful way to honor the truth of another person’s existence.
In the spirit of and with great respect,
Peter Prato
Comment by Peter Prato — May 22, 2012 @ 10:56 pm
[...] via The End Starts Here — Rodney Smith. [...]
Pingback by I must assume, that I failed miserably — May 23, 2012 @ 10:26 am
Personally, I think there is a kind of beauty in decay and you captured it perfectly in that first image.
Comment by Lara Rossignol — May 23, 2012 @ 12:13 pm
Mr Smith, it is wonderfully refreshing to read as story where someone feels they have failed at their job, and explains where they feel they went wrong. Something like this is quite probably far more useful for those who want to learn than a story of a success.
I am a (relatively recent) fan of your beautiful, original work.
Comment by CB — May 23, 2012 @ 12:27 pm
You might recall Diane Arbus got into a similar situation photographing the aged Mae West.
Comment by k4kafka — May 23, 2012 @ 1:17 pm
Thank you very much for sharing this story, I found it inspirational and refreshing to hear this side and know that we are not alone when we fail. I think all photographers worth their salt have done the same thing in their careers.
Comment by Aaron — May 23, 2012 @ 2:21 pm
I think these photographs are wonderful representations of her.
Whether they made her “beautiful” in the media approved sense doesn’t matter.
I think you showed some of her intensity and drive in the head shot and said something about her life in the garden shot.
You didn’t get what you planned for, but I don’t think they’re failures as photographs at all.
Comment by Dave — May 23, 2012 @ 3:27 pm
I have to say I think that image of her on the very stylish bench in the garden ought to have been exactly what the client wanted – she’s quite beautiful by any standard. The close up is a fine image but possibly not something either the mag or the subject wants published. Both are respectful in their different ways, but the distant shot is more of a “winner” than a “survivor”.
Comment by Albin — May 23, 2012 @ 5:28 pm
I’ve just had a sell out exhibition as part of Sydney’s Headon Photo festival and no one was more surprised than me.
My images are of early morning train commuters.
They are anonymous people. None of them look glamorous and none smiled.
Yet they were embraced by the public.
So I question your statement “What I find interesting, the general public probably finds unflattering”.
In my view the general public is attracted to beauty and for too long it has been fobbed off with lazy images. As photographers we need to take beautiful photos
Comment by John Slaytor — May 23, 2012 @ 6:22 pm
I agree with Dave. I think they are both beautiful portraits. I am as grateful that they were not photoshopped and retouched as I am saddened that contemporary portraiture often is.
I would love to see more images from this shoot. Is it possible that you would consider posting them? I don’t understand why you feel that this shoot is a failure. The portraits are poignant and dignified and her beauty is evident–as is her age and the challenges she faced. Given the choice of the visage you depict in these two lovely and contemplative images, and the botoxed, collagen-injected, bleached and waxed horror that we might face today, I find what you chose to capture to be so much better.
Comment by fran liscio — May 23, 2012 @ 8:29 pm
Mr. Smith,
The great truth of the portrait is that it testifies to Caroline’s life ultimately, yet still reveals something of her past beauty in a strange way. It’s hard to satisfy requirements of the magazine and reconcile with yourself. I think that is what makes portraits so powerful personally; way more failures than successes, but you still go back to them all to seek more answers.
cheers
jon
Comment by Jon Love — May 23, 2012 @ 10:20 pm
As a graduate of your Santa Fe workshop in 93′ I can still write that no other photographer has influenced me more. You did not fail Rodney. In fact you succeeded because you made “your” picture: well composed and meaningful.
Comment by Tom M Johnson — May 24, 2012 @ 1:46 am
Edvard Munch said that he knew that he did a worthy portrait if the sitter’s enemies liked it. Love your thoughts but such a huge subject and an impossible to put a generalized answer to. Thanks for your post.
Comment by William Gray — May 24, 2012 @ 11:51 am
interesting topic, I would say it depends on the goal
pictures can show sadness and other emotions and even ugliness, despair, or madness
it depends if you are reporting (and then show things as “they are” in a way) and this has its value,
or is like the magazine asked: something glamorous
the most important to me is your point of view as a photographer, you could not betray her or yourself showing “the true” at the time neither to show a “fake” image.
Looking at the images I think you didn’t betray you nor her. The pictures show determination and elegance somehow, also letting know she went through very difficult times. You are a Master.
Comment by Catalina — May 24, 2012 @ 1:44 pm
The problem was not so much with you as it was with the magazine and its desire to represent the subject in a way that did not correspond to the truth. I have been in this situation as well, where you feel that if you do your job correctly the client that hired you will be unhappy because they are expecting something very different from what you see in front of you. Making someone look good is one thing. Making them look like something they are not is quite something else. You know, sometimes, from the moment you meet the subject or see the location, that you can take a good photograph of what is there, but that it will be considered a failure. In this instance their reaction-not hiring you again-was clearly their loss. Good for you for having integrity. So much of modern editorial photographic portraiture suffers from excessive “image control” by the subjects and their representatives and excessive retouching by the photographer or magazine. I prefer the kind of portraits you did, and do so well.
Comment by John McDermott — May 24, 2012 @ 7:50 pm
Although I am comfortable with writing, I am not comfortable writing as a critic, certainly not when attempting to say something sensible about photographs. I prefer to make the photographs and let them speak for themselves. Put another way, just look at any of the books of Cartier-Bresson’s photographs and see which speaks to you more, the words or the images.
It seems to me that you fell into an impossible situation. Perhaps the editor could have gotten the photograph he was imagining had he sent you on that assignment with a time machine. A friend of mine (edfreeman.com) told me some years ago he had just thought of a foolproof way to guarantee that his subjects would like their portraits: he would not deliver them until ten years after the sitting. Betty Page, the lovely model who served as the inspiration for Jenny in Dave Stevens’ graphic novel THE ROCKETEER, did not wish to be photographed as the woman she had become some years past her prime. I recall seeing photographs of her only as a young woman.
Judging solely from the portraits you posted, I think you did a great job. The closeup is a fascinating character study, one that may be purchased from you by her biographers. The one of her seated under the tree is a very flattering portrait even when enlarged so one might see — if one were so inclined — a face ravaged by years of dissolution. It shows her on her turf which is part of her and adds a lot to the portrait.
The magazine editor, hoping for a photograph of a beautiful woman, should have published that one and gratefully hired you again for pulling a rabbit out of a hat. I can imagine the pain you were feeling when in the midst of it. We can all sing in the shower; on stage it’s a little bit harder. I think on stage you sang pretty well.
And, by the way, thanks for the story behind the photographs. I found it very helpful.
Comment by Jon Streeter — May 26, 2012 @ 7:35 pm
When you and a subject meet, it is almost always a holy union. Always follow your instincts.
Comment by Laurie Freitag — May 27, 2012 @ 2:20 pm
|| True words are not always beautiful. Beautiful words are not always true. ||
How neatly this old Chinese adage encapsulates the dynamics of the very human desire for everything beautiful to be true and everything true to be beautiful…
Yes, the look of distrust on Lady Blackwood’s face is disarming, but it is not unbeautiful. Perhaps the trespass felt was simply the pang guilt for telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth at the expense of another soul’s complete exposure…
But what a lovely soul it is.
Your insights are always a pleasure to read.
If in print, every page of my copy would be dogeared. Cheers from elsewhere.
Vesa
Comment by Vesa Lee — May 29, 2012 @ 5:34 pm
Some times its hard to have compassion.
Comment by Ron Cowie — May 31, 2012 @ 5:01 pm