THE LEGEND OF THE LILLS

TOM WAITS

I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: Where stories are concerned, Tom Waits presents a “target rich environment” so naturally I have a few.

I got the call to photograph him from his label and rather than discussing visuals they asked that I coordinated everything with Mr. Waits on the phone.  

A week before the shoot I got a call from Tom (whom I had never met) and we talked for about an hour, as the conversation turned to the shoot he had to jump off the phone.  The following evening we discussed parasites, waterways, shopping malls and mice but when the conversation veered to the matter at hand he politely but abruptly suggested we continue our discussion another time.  This pattern repeated itself every night until my assistant and I, prepared for nothing but ready for almost anything, boarded a plane for northern California. 

What could possibly go wrong?  

When we checked into the hotel there was a cryptic message from Tom to meet at sunrise where two roads intersected.  During one of our calls he had mentioned a magical sunrise he encountered when he drove his kids to school.  I was encouraged to think that perhaps he had been discussing the shoot and I had just failed to pick-up on it.

A couple of hours before sunrise my assistant and I were freezing our asses off stumbling around in a dark field setting up a portrait.  At first light we could make out the rolling hills blanketed in a low fog that gave a gauzy, surreal quality to the sunrise. We were surrounded by knee-high wild grasses that disappeared into the distant fog where the faint blur of farms hung in the shadows.  It was every bit as beautiful as he had described.  To insure that no time would be wasted when Tom arrived, as the light changed we shot polaroids, each one more stunning than the last as the sun rose.  Suddenly, as the sun peeked over the horizon, the magic evaporated with the fog. 

We were breaking-down lights and packing up our gear when an old pick-up truck rattled off the road. The gravel under its tires made a sound similar to the distinctive voice that bellowed from the open truck window “Did ya’ see that sunrise?  Told you it was somethin’!  Damn!”.  He turned his stare to the horizon and silently took it in with a long, deep breath.  After a moment he snapped his head back in our direction , gave a wink and a grin and with the tip of his hat left as abruptly as he had arrived.

That set the tone for a day that would include driving for hours in his pick-up, drinking cold, stale coffee in a vacant conference room, searching in vain for an imaginary cat named “Bob” at the behest of a man who may, or may not, have been a member of the Eagles, negotiating rates at a hotel that only charged by the hour, destroying the roof of a passenger van that we had filled with rusty buckets and doll heads by slapping a heavy, wooden rowboat on top of it and sitting in an empty bar that was auditioning accordion players.  

When a photographer looks at their work they tend to see the experience of making the image rather than the image itself and by that yardstick this was a wonderful session.  I do not believe for a minute that anything that day was random.  Tom, by leaving everything to chance and squarely accepting every situation as intent you allowed us to make images where none had existed.  You elevated the day from another stroll in the park to a high-wire walk without a net. 

Thank you Mr. Waits - the way you allowed the day to unfold resulted in one of my favorite collaborations.  

MOTHER'S DAY 2020 - A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A SIDESHOW MOM

Mother’s Day 2020

It was Saturday, April 9th, 1994 - I was in New York meeting with clients and showing my portfolio, a practice that has been lost since the internet took control and one that I miss.  A  photographer friend was in town so we decided to kick around on our day off.  It was raining and unseasonably cold so we ducked into the subway and eventually stepped off at Stillwell Avenue to find Coney Island to be a virtual ghost town.  Everyone with any sense had packed it in but there was a lone barker in front of a tent still hoping to fleece a few tourists.  Her wares consisted of a “meet-n-greet” with a two-headed boy.  We had just jumped off the D train, not the turnip truck so we knew we weren’t about to swap stories with a couple of guys sharing a neck, but solving the mystery was worth few bucks.  As the establishment’s sole employee, the woman stopped barking about the two-headed boy long enough to take our money and pull back the tent flap for us to enter. She tried to confiscate my camera but I refused, ever the business woman, she opted to keep the cash and foolishly insisted that I not take any photos.

Other than an atmosphere of sadness, the circus-like tent was empty except for a single banner hanging down in the center.  It appeared we were the latest victims of a sideshow grift until we discovered a specimen jar on the other side of the banner.  The fact that it contained a preserved two-headed baby restored my faith in carny advertising. I raised my camera, dropped to one knee and snapped a few photos as I heard our hostess scampering in to protect her investment.  I quickly tossed my camera into my bag and did the old “tying my shoe” routine…I know, right?  Riddle solved.  Dead baby in a jar.  That should have been the end of it but I was having Lynchian nightmares where this “floater” suffered a painful birth from a warm amniotic womb into a cold glass one. 

It is astounding the information one could gather in a pre-Google world if you allowed here-say as one of your sources.  I pieced together what I believed to be the facts - this little guy was born the same year I was which made it personal, was studied at a University and was returned to the parents who did what any bereaving couple would do - sold their progeny to the highest bidder.  The specimen changed hands several more times before I made its acquaintance. I considered the woman who ran the attraction and what her reality must be like tending to the “bread-winner”.   I imagined her getting up before dawn and having breakfast sitting across the table from “him” (a poor conversationalist I’m sure), carrying the jar out to the car, securing it with a seatbelt and jostling it thorough traffic as they went to work.  Was he family? … Or just the family business?

Now fully obsessed, I wanted to document a day in the life of a sideshow “mama”.   Eventually I made my way back to Coney Island and practiced my pitch over a dog at Nathan’s.  Upon hearing my idea, not only was she not on board but was immediately outraged.  I tried to calm her down and explain myself as strangers looked on and quickly realized that to a casual observer I was the one that sounded crazy.

I hope the little guy has been given some peace and has ”retired”,  either way I’m sure he’s aging better me.  I remain intrigued but am no longer obsessed.  It’s not like I carry this picture in my wallet.  Anymore.

LUKE PERRY (1966-2019)

It’s been a long time since I posted and to make matters worse, I’m posting today as I learn of the loss of another good human with whom I’ve been blessed to work.  I am determined to post more new work here in the future so this doesn’t simply become a celebrity obituary blog but out of respect to those that pass too soon I am compelled to honor their memory. With regard to this blog it appears that I’m lazy but respectful.

I first photographed Luke when he was brought onto 90210 as Dylan.   I was doing quite a bit of Fox’s gallery work and probably did his first sessions for the show.  A couple of years later New Line Cinema called me do publicity photos for 8 Seconds.  These photos are from the last session I did with Luke when I photographed the cast of 90210 at the end of it’s run in 2000.  

By the time we made these photos we had a good rapport, I would never say I knew Luke personally but we shared some memorable days, a few laughs and some interesting conversations.  From the very beginning he “got it” and was my favorite kind of subject - he was witty, honest in front of the lens and knew exactly what he wanted to give to the camera.