I was sad to hear over the past few days that photographer Larry Fink had passed away. Larry was of a generation of photographers, coming-of-age in the 1960s, when social consciousness was at the forefront of their work. Larry always struck a strong balance between documentary approach and fine art aesthetics. He was unique because, though he was social aware, his work was not simply dismissed as “cause” related. Maybe it was the Rembrandt-like lighting he often achieved with his flash. Larry is probably best known for his look at social stratification, the “haves” and the “have nots.” This work is the basis of much of Larry’s career, and is the featured subject of his outstanding book Social Graces from 1985.
It was around the time that this book was released that I first became aware of Larry Fink’s work. I was a college student at the time studying photography in New Jersey and I actually had a connection to Larry through a friend who worked as a darkroom assistant for him in nearby Pennsylvania. As part of my studies and involvement in the photography department, I thought it would be a good idea to reach out to Larry and see if he might come and meet with the fellow photo students at my school and also make a presentation. I got his phone number from the friend left him a message, and then lo and behold he called back, leaving me a message on an answering machine (old technology, I know…) The message made my film student roommate freak out that somebody of the caliber of Larry Fink would be leaving me a message. That’s the kind of world that we lived in that a figure such as Larry would make that kind of impression on us. Larry did agree to come spend a day with me and my fellow photo students, and he was charming and gracious ; very giving with his time, and I remember the work that he shared as part of his presentation left all of us inspired and impressed.
Needless to say, Larry’s whole career produced a string of stellar bodies of work. You can easily Google “Larry Fink, photographer” and see examples of his work. It’s sad when the greats of the medium pass on, but we are fortunate that they leave us inspiring bodies of work that will last far longer than any of us will. Thank you Larry, rest in peace.
Rest In Peace, Mom
My mother passed away suddenly on January 1, 2023. I was lucky to be able to book a flight back to New Jersey quickly enough the day before to be with her in the hospital when she passed. It is astonishing how quickly things can happen. One day they are here, the next day they are gone. I know I am fortunate to have had her in my life for so long. 81 is not young, but in these days, it’s not exactly old either. Nonetheless, I spent a long week with my family, making arrangements and laying her to rest. These days to come will be hard, I’m sure. For today, I will rest as well, thinking about the woman who brought me into this world, with love and affection. I will miss you, Mom.
2022: 34 Two Titans
FILM. French film. New wave. Firebrands. “Photography is truth. Cinema is truth 24 time a second.” Don’t give a fuck about the critics. Break new ground. “Yes”, never no. “No” if it isn’t a solid yes. We lost two titans this past week. William Klein and Jean-Luc Godard have both influence me immensely. Perhaps it’s fitting they both left this mortal coil within days of each other. Taking some time to pay tribute to these two masters. Au revoir.
2020:26 (Halfway Through)
I will not add too much to the chorus of voices who have waxed (poetically or not) on how shitty this year has been. Making these weekly posts has been mostly therapeutic for me, and lo and behold… we are at week 26 of the year. Halfway home? Halfway down? Are we halfway to the bottom or are we destined to rise up from this, the lowest depth?
Only time will tell.
I will listen to Bill Callahan or maybe Broken Social Scene and tap deep into my optimistic self, drinking from a glass that is half full.
p.s.
Someone from my distant past died this week. I hadn’t seen her in many years, but when I was a young boy, she was an important part of my life. I’ll hold the memory of a bashful kiss on the ferris wheel at the St. Mary’s carnival deep in my heart. Rest in peace, Linda.
2019: 38 (Robert and Bob)
While I was away traveling through Japan, I received news of two deaths that hit me deeper than most. Of course, the photo world was abuzz upon hearing of the death of the great master, Robert Frank. Though he lived to a ripe old age of 94, the news was still sad to hear. Countless statements have already been made regarding Frank’s influence on the medium. My personal feelings are but an addition to the chorus. Frank’s work, particularly The Americans, fundamentally changed the way I viewed photography, and shaped the artist I would become. Raised on an early diet of Ansel Adams, upon seeing Robert Frank’s photos for the first time in college, my mind was completely blown away; he made me reconsider everything a photograph could be. Throughout my life since then, he has been a silent companion anytime I raise a camera to my eyes. Salut, Robert.
The second death hit way closer to home. A dear photographer friend of mine, Bob Ayre, died a few weeks after he was involved in a terrible car crash on a highway in northern New Mexico. I met Bob through the Fresh Eyes Photo Project. We worked together in a local youth correctional facility, teaching photography to incarcerate youths. Bob was such a sweet man, as was apparent when he was around the so called “dangerous” kids. His passion and open heart shone through in every session we taught together. Over the past several years, Bob and I grew closer, and we would occasionally meet up for lunch. We would talk travel and photography. Bob was a knowledgeable photo tour guide in New Mexico, and he honored me by taking me out on the backroads one Saturday a few years back, letting me in on his “secret” locations. He was always telling stories, and he was (not so) quick with a joke. He was a huge supporter of my photography, too, even inviting me to discuss my Portugal project with his local camera club. Bob was leading a photo tour the day he crashed his car… thankfully his guest walked away from the crash with superficial wounds. Unfortunately, Bob’s injuries were too severe for him to overcome. I am glad I was able to see him in the hospital the week after the crash. I could tell he was in pretty rough shape, but he managed to eek out a smile when I talked to him that last time. Rest in peace old man… I’ll miss you.