It is the first day of Summer, the longest day of the year. While I would love to share an insight or two with my faithful devotees, nothing could be more enlightening than the New York sunshine. So enjoy the bright inauguration of Summer, and look for new words of wisdom this time next week.

Some years ago I was asked by Visa to do a picture on shopping, America’s favorite pastime. I should know. I grew up with a mother whose idea of consumption was to buy one of everything she liked in every color. Her closet looked like the original Henri Bendel store, with so many shoes, Melda Marcos would have been jealous. Sweaters, suits, blouses, skirts, all color-coordinated into a glorious pastel arrangement. If shopping gave rewards, my mother would easily have made the shopping hall of fame.

So when approached about doing a picture about shopping in California, no high-minded, envious, gluttonous consumer could find a more perfect spot than Beverly Hills, with Rodeo Drive at its pinnacle. It took all of the vested power of Visa to get permission to close Rodeo Drive for a few hours. We watered down the streets to make it feel even more rich than the merchandise inside.

It was my idea to find boxes from the stores, and exemplify a normal day of shopping for a Beverly Hills woman. When I shot this picture, I thought it was funny, but over the years there have been many women who’ve identified with this picture. It seems that this compulsion was not unique to my mother, but has infiltrated the upper crust of American society. I guess men have their cars, and women have their shoes.

Immediately after completing this shot, the store doors opened, and all the women who were patiently waiting rushed past me to spend their way into eternity.

So what’s my take on all this consumption? The truth is, I guess I’m right in there with the best of them. I produce an artifact, a photograph. I care a great deal, not necessarily about its reproduction, but rather about the artifact itself, the print. I guess this makes me a materialist. I find an original print beautiful, and I hope people will purchase them and think so too. I also love and produce other artifacts: books, houses, interiors, furniture, etc. I care about the patina and craftsmanship of things, and well-made objects give me great pleasure.

So put me down as my mother’s son, equal to her in my own way. Despite my attempt at disdain, I must admit I am one among many. I am with you all, but in my fashion.

I’m involved in a titanic struggle with myself. I have been for over 50 years. There have been times like Par Lagervist’s Dwarf, it is laying dormant or asleep, only occasionally making its Machiavellian self prominent and overbearing.

But for the last year in particular, it has surfaced with a vengeance, and has made my life at times unbearable. The problem, though, is not with the enemy outside. The problem is with me, thou, myself. There is me, and then there is me, fighting out a battle, that if it could be configured on a visual plane, would equal the battle of Gettysburg.

I can make those closest to me, my family and friends miserable, but as the book connotes, this is The End! Some side is going to finally triumph. Either its off to the New England shore, resting in peace, keeping all things under control, or for the life of me, which it may very well be, its off to taking pictures, sticking my head where it shouldn’t be, looking deeply into the very soul of life, causing angst, disrupting the quietude, fighting the “never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way.”

It all started with my father (and of course my mother), but you already know this. I have learned a lot, and knowledge is power, but I still can’t let me be me. I have hidden myself from myself, and as I approach The End, I am truly finding that if I can somehow or somewhere find the strength, it will just be the beginning.

I just returned from the sandy beaches of sunny Minneapolis, Minnesota. I’m busy unpacking my flip-flops, sun tan lotion, and bermuda shorts. Stay tuned during the next few days for bright rays of photographic wisdom.

I don’t know what to say. I’m happy, and this is causing me all kinds of consternation and fear. Something will bring its wrath down on me for daring to feel ok. Oh, those of you who feel positive, and for all you photographic geniuses, watch out, for the wrath of God may humble your soul.

This has been an ongoing problem, which I only recently have decided to share with you. You see, deep, I mean truly deep within my soul, lies a content, powerful, happy person, who has always been unwilling or unable to show it for very long. You might dislike it, or me, or be jealous of it. You might want to bring me down to size.

So for years, I have always beaten you to the punch. I have fallen ill with every conceivable ailment imaginable. Unfortunately, some real ones have gotten intermingled with those imagined. But do not despair, both real and imagined have the power to squash anything that feels powerful and happy.

So despite the consequences, despite the retribution, I am here to tell you my most intimate and private thought. Please don’t tell anyone, but in fact, I am a powerhouse. Please don’t hate me for this, it’s in my DNA.

It is now the end of one person, and the beginning of the beginning of another, where the new person slowly becomes more public.

I hope you will like the new me.

(Let’s go, said he
and not too far said she
what’s too far, said he
where you are, said she)

May I move, said he
is it love, said she)
if you’re willing, said he
(but you’re killing, said she

-Excerpts, E.E. Cummings, May I Feel, Said He

There is an intrinsic and basic problem in my life and career. It is a natural consequence of what I do, of who I am, and what I feel. You see, to be a photographer requires an openness and an ability to look deep into someone’s eyes, to regard them with care and affection, and to ultimately fall madly in love with them. There is some discrimination to this, but as I usually choose my subjects, for the most part, it is uncontrollable.

It begins with attraction, and ends with an intimate knowledge of their soul. It involves letting them speak to me, watching carefully, and finding their specialness.

With men, this seems not to be a problem. They quickly become like good friends and confidants. We are able to laugh together, and enjoy each other’s company, but for women (for me), this is a different matter.

I find myself pulled in, looking ever more closely, finding their strength, their delicacy, and their beauty. If they are willing to return the gaze, the game is afoot. In order to succeed, I must slowly disrobe my emotions. I must slowly unveil my feelings, and for the portrait to be successful, she must be willing to do the same. There is a far greater intimacy exposed, although not necessarily in the touch. There is a connection, an openness, an ability to reveal both of ourselves completely, with all our strengths and vulnerabilities. This is a very difficult thing to do, both for me, and for her. It is what distinguishes greatness from mediocrity. How far you are willing to emotionally travel is as important as your talent.

To succeed, we must fall in love, take the pictures, and then slowly take deep breaths, realizing who we are, and walk slowly away from the edge.

Next week, we will be in faraway adventures, and unfortunately, the jungle does not allow for insight. For all those faithful readers, we will be returning, fully suntanned and saturated, on Monday, May 17.

In the Spring of 1995 I was commissioned by the New York Times Magazine to do this picture. I had already done two others in this series, and by now these pictures were referred to as “the line pictures.” Earlier, I had done Hemline and Airline, and now I was asked to shoot Skyline. The only directive was to have the New York skyline in the picture.

We had found a barge that was large enough to put the crew in the middle of the Hudson River. The day of the shoot, it was raining. I remember the Art Director asking me if we should cancel and reshoot another day. I also remember feeling that shooting that day was fine, and that the rain, rather than a deterrent, was an asset. I have always liked rain. It adds an atmosphere that I am attracted to. It makes things enigmatic, dimensional, and unresolved.

It took some hours to get the barge in place, and by then it was raining quite hard. We got everyone dressed quickly, positioned the barge, and shot the picture very quickly. I remember that the barge would drift slowly, and I found myself waiting for just the right moment, when the man’s hat fell between the Twin Towers. I took a few frames and then the job was done.

As I have mentioned before, one never knows which pictures will strike gold. This picture, even before 9-11, was extremely popular, and since then has become almost an icon. The edition is almost all sold out, with only one print remaining.

Since 9-11, the picture has been purchased by people all over the world, but by no one in New York City. I used to think this strange, but I realize the events of 9-11 are still too close for those who were there. A photograph always has a history. It denotes a time and a place, and is able to halt life, if only for a second. Of all the pictures I have ever taken, this picture is marked in time forever. It is a timeline, as well as a skyline.

I grew up in a family of obsessive fanatics. It’s no wonder that today I needed an inordinate amount of obsessive-compulsive anti-depressant drugs, just to allow me not to veer slightly to the right.

I have an inordinate tendency to obsess about my health, my life, and anything else I can attach myself to. If I’m traveling, I obsess about that. If I’m not traveling, I can find a way to obsess about that as well. But nothing captures my fancy like being sick. I can get right down there with the best of them. Soaking any ailment for all it’s worth, and by all means, annoying all around me with my continual need for attention. After 40 years of intensive psychotherapy, I understand my motivations and neuroses, but like all good neurotics, my ailments, no matter how painful and uncomfortable, are a difficult act to drop.

But enough about me. I was talking about my parents. As I mentioned in earlier blogs, I grew up in a grand house, where everything had its place. There was the upstairs maid, the downstairs maid, the chauffeur, the butler, the laundress, and handyman, all working tirelessly to keep everything under control. The carpet’s nap was always vacuumed to look like Yankee Stadium. The antiques sniffed of polish, the woodwork glistened, the upholstery puffed to perfection, and I was not meant to disturb or touch anything.

Now, despite this claustrophobic, critical environment, I learned to somehow love it. I have become my own worst enemy. I have taken up and joined the club that I would never want to be a member of. I love order. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and despite everything, I must admit- my parents were right. All things do have their right place.

If you look at my photographs, this sense of compulsion, which has turned into a sense of composition, was nurtured and driven into me from a young boy. Despite throwing it up and out, I have learned to use it in my favor. I have learned to place things in their right place, to find order in chaos, to distill an essence from a catastrophe, and to learn my own rhythm. It all looks so easy, but believe me, it took many years of torture and anguish to learn to rule from the center.

People often ask me particulars about how I shoot, what film, what format, what cameras, lenses, etc I use, and why, and I thought it about time to answer some of these issues. I’ve addressed some, but definitely not all of these questions in previous blogs, and as they are intimately related to vision and life, I will probably address more as time marches on. But as I happened to be rereading the afterword to my first book, In the Land of Light, I thought that although there are some things I do differently today, (as an example, I now shoot mostly with a Hasselblad and a tripod, while before only on occasion), basically all that was true then remains true today. This afterword was written at least 30 years ago, but I feel it remains to me a basic manifesto for today:

Afterword from In the Land of Light

“It is by the bow of a man’s back, the way a woman moves her body, holds a cup, looks at me, by the way people dance and sing and laugh, that I understand them. I have a passion to get below the surface of things, to find an enduring essence. I want each of my photographs to express the underlying forces in life, each frame to be able to stand on its own. When a photograph succeeds for me, I feel that every inch of space is necessary. For these reasons, although I may spend hours in a place, I often shoot very little film.

I find I am always drawn to a subject: I may see something far away that excites me, even if it is only a sense of light or space. I run directly toward it and look through the viewfinder, I move closer or farther away in order to harmonize my relationship to the subject and to what I feel.

My passion for clarity is particularly manifest in the way I use a camera. Many photographers feel that, because the world is unclear, they have no obligation to make their photographs sharp. I agree that the world is unclear. Yet it is my compulsion to make the world as sharp as possible. By doing so, I try to expose more than is readily apparent. Thus I have some means of controlling chaos, if only by describing it. However, the acuity of a photograph does not always define life for me; detail sometimes reveals mystery.

I have spent years studying the technique of photography in search of a means to make a small-format 35mm camera achieve the technical clarity of a large-format camera. I am never satisfied with the results of my work: the detail is never sharp enough; the light is never articulate enough. Though I marvel at the mastery of some large-format photographers, only the unobtrusiveness, speed, and agility of a 35mm camera can achieve the closeness and intimacy I require in my portraits.

For me, the interaction between the photographer and the subject is crucial. In Israel, I often saw photographers cope with the difficulties of portraying people by standing at a distance and using a long-focal-length lens. I want a person to be aware of me, to deal with my presence, and am therefore always physically close to the person I photograph. For these reasons I use only a normal-focal-lenth lens.

There is something about being face to face with someone that is necessary for my life. There is much in the world that terrifies me, so I need to get close to people- to reach out.

When I feel I am close I get closer: to remove everything from the frame that is extraneous, and to scale down the photograph in hopes of achieving a simplicity that reveals only what I feel is in that person. I am so close that I cannot look the other way or hide behind anything. Then I am aware of an intensity of intimacy and understanding. I begin to sense who I am, and to perceive in others the small expressions that help to reveal a person’s unique and essential quality.

People give a great deal to me. They trust me even though I am a stranger. I love them for their strength and for their willingness to reveal themselves to me face to face.”

There is, though, one basic and fundamental issue I do wish to address. 45 years and thousands of rolls of film later, I still have this unwavering love for black-and-white film. Although, just as most who knew me thought I never would, I reconsidered, and started some 8 years ago to shoot color as well. It serves a different function for me, and I will talk about this later, but there is nothing to me like the blackness and luxuriant intensity of the black-and-white. It is an abstraction by addition. You see, there is more color in black-and-white than there is in color. All to be continued.

Lastly, I continue, and no doubt will until death, or until Kodak decides to stop me, to shoot film. I have shot Plus-X 120 film (my all-time favorite film), and Tri-X 120 for over 40 years, and I must thank Kodak for its long-term commitment to an age that is recorded in digital seconds. Unfortunately for me, without these films, my life would not be the same. As time goes on, I will explain why film fits the world as I see it.

For the last few days I’ve been speaking only in whispers. I lost my voice late last week, and I am now busy looking for it. I’ve been searching high and low: turning over couch cushions, checking all of my pant pockets, and peeling back the corners of all my rugs. Give me another day to locate it; I’ll be back in top form tomorrow.