Storm Cloud, Clinton, Connecticut, 1972

This picture was taken a few months after my father died.

In late August of 1972, when I was 25 years old, a wonderful thing happened to me. I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news.

It was afternoon on a late summer’s day in Connecticut. I was mowing the lawn, when my wife came out to me to tell me that my uncle was on the phone. My father had just died of a massive heart attack. Suddenly, just like that, it was over. The grandmaster, superman himself, had just died, and with it, all the battles I was fighting came crashing to a halt. I had gone from feeling desperate to separate myself from him, to feeling totally alone and helpless without him. He had always felt like the source of my power, and without him, I now felt like nothing.

Another wonderful thing was the total loss of his wealth. You see, my early life was one of great privilege. I was raised in a 19th Century life in the mid-20th Century. There were grand houses, servants, chauffeurs, luxurious cars, and travel, and this too, on that fateful day in 1972, was all gone.

Most people today who meet me, and knew my family, assume that I had inherited my father’s wealth. But fortunately for me… like him, the money was all gone. This is a great story, (a Hollywood epic of sorts), but it’s a story for another time.

So commencing in the fall of 1972, there was no one to battle with, and very little money to survive. I was on my own. I somehow paid for my last year of graduate school, and began the journey of becoming not just a maker of photographs, but the struggle and battle of becoming a photographer.

As Robert Anderson once wrote, “death ends a life, but not a relationship, which struggles on in the survivor’s mind.” This has been my life’s work. Surprisingly, my father is gone, but he has never left me. For 40 years, his voice has been with me. I have struggled, and perhaps finally at age 62, have just begun to End, like the book, my struggles with him. As the book title denotes, the end is just the beginning.

Today, February 22, 2010, a terrible thing has happened. I miss my father. I miss his wisdom, his strength, his humor, but he is not here to share my life. I have begun to put my struggles with him to an end. I think he would finally look at his son and be proud.

To all of you who struggle to make photographs, the life you lead is not just one of imagery. These are the symptoms, the reflections of your life. It is what’s on the inside that makes you a photographer, rather than simply someone who takes pictures. This is a life struggle. The talent is to find a way to do it on your own.