Through the years, this has become one of my most popular and well known photographs. People have often seemed to gravitate towards it. I wonder why? As I have often mentioned, my methodology for making good pictures seems to rely often on spontaneity and good fortune. This picture was made in Maryland some years ago. We were on our way to a predetermined location very early in the morning. I was looking out of the window of the location van when I noticed this field with hay bales on it. I immediately called out for the driver to stop the van, and asked one of the assistants to knock on the door of the farm house across the street to ask permission to take a photograph in the field. Luckily, the farmer was in, and graciously gave his permission to photograph in the field. Without delay, I asked the stylist to quickly dress Don, one of the models, and off we went into the field. I could feel the client and the art director's annoyance, that we had unexpectedly stopped at this location. This was not part of the itinerary, and to them was probably a waste of time and money. We quickly went to one of the hay bales, and I asked Don to get on top of it. He did, and then I said, "Jump up, and spread your feet as if you're leaping." This whole process could not have taken more than five minutes. We returned to the van, and continued on our way down the road to our final location. Most people today seem to automatically assume that this picture has been altered, that Don has somehow been superimposed into this scene, or rather it is a composite of two or more pictures. In fact, it was shot in camera, in one frame, but... like altering a photograph in post-production, I was deliberately playing with your normal perception of reality. The fact that this was done without post-production is important to me, but is it important to you? In Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet, a particular moment in time and certain characters are perceived by four different people in Alexandria, Egypt. When you read Justine's version (the first book in the quartet), you are fairly confident that you understand the circumstances, and grasp a true sense of what is real. By the last volume, as you have reexamined the same reality from four different perspectives, you are not sure what is real, or in fact if anybody has enough perception to see anything in its entirety. We see things with bias, from our own point of view. It is hard, if not impossible, to disavow our biases. On the other hand, why would we want to? If we did, we might as well become scientists. This picture of Don jumping over the hay bale is a reflection of my perspective on life, on reality, and its effect on people. If you were to stand right beside me…

My fingers are still frozen together from my shoot last week in the forsaken crevices of the deep, deep South of the US. I returned yesterday, and despite five hours of intensive saunaing, they are still unmoveable. I promise by tomorrow morning I should be able to return full steam ahead to the continued adventures of The End Starts Here. Please forgive. All is well. Until tomorrow.

I think what comes to mind when I look at this picture is the Platonic notion of what is real. This really wouldn't have been as complicated an issue 10 to 15 years ago, but today photographs are not even accepted as admissible evidence in a courtroom. There is an almost universal assumption today that a photograph has been altered in some way. Firstly, I think it's important to realize, that by its very nature, a two-dimensional piece of paper is an an alteration of a three-dimensional world. A world that we (society) accepts as filled with dimension, time, space, senses, has been translated and transferred to a flat, static, two-dimensional piece of paper. This notion reminds me of one of my favorite anecdotes: One afternoon in Paris, a man walks up to Picasso and asks him why he paints the way he does. Picasso replays that he does not understand the question. The man opens his wallet and takes out a family portrait where the people are depicted in a traditional manner. Picasso replys to the man "You mean I should paint people thin and flat?" Many of the photographs in this book represent, in small fashion, the notion of what is real and not. They are an attempt visually to play, and not necessarily accept reality as we traditionally accept it. My photographs are often my attempt to come to grips, to accept or not, to enjoy or reject acceptable notions of reality. As one confronts, participates, or co-creates in this world, I have searched its limits and found...? As pertains particularly to this picture, I have enough awe, wonder, and confusion in the world as it is, to visually leave it alone. I do not retouch or alter any of the pictures. What you see is 95% what was there. The fun is to play with the making of the picture, rather than its alteration. This was simply a lucky moment in a generally lucky day. Sometimes I am not so lucky. I am often chasing things... light, locations, time, etc. For once, I was able to get to the right place at the right time.

I think one of the most difficult, but in the end most liberating aspects of my middle years as a photographer, was the transition from photographing people (subjects) I had carefully searched out and chosen because of their age, wisdom, maturity, character, etc., to photographing models. This was an enormous transformation for me. I went from doing portraiture to doing something quite different. I went from photographing people of enormous strength and endurance, to generally young, beautiful, or attractive, affable people. They were not my usual subjects. The question arose for me: How do I make pictures that have strength and intensity with people who do not generally possess it? The answer for me lies in stepping back, rather than going forward. When I was younger, I kept getting closer, until I had removed all the artifice, until I was standing face to face with people. I would look in their eyes to their souls and I would find my own personal strength. Now I was asked to photograph the "beautiful people." It was not about their soul and character, but rather about their style, their beauty, or even their clothing. Without consciously even realizing it, I learned to make the photographs despite these restrictions or constraints, even better than what proceeded it. I think the general solution became what was hidden and only occasionally expressed in my early work, and that was humor. I learned how to step back, so that the model became a figure rather than a portrait. He becomes part of the story, reciting lines with me, rather than at me. It is a story with him as a character, a personage, rather than a novel about him. Also particularly with the men, the story or anecdote became whimsical and humorous. It was a way to make the images as compelling (or for me even more compelling) than my earlier work, yet it is completely different. It was my way of dealing with the cards that were provided, and finding a hand that was stronger than the one I was originally dealt. I want to wish everyone a happy holiday. I will be taking a small break, returning on the 4th of January. May the year that comes next bestow more graciousness, love, and security than the one just passing. Till next year.

As I began to feel more comfortable with stepping back and placing people in the environment, I also began the transition (which may be discussed in later blogs) to photograph fashion. Ironically, as an aside, I grew up in the world of fashion, when women were stylish, and the photographers were romantic and extraordinary. Today, both the fashion and the imagery has reached its low point. It is neither distinguished nor graceful, but rather conceptual, mean spirited, vulgar, and to my mind tasteless. But this is a story of another matter. I love making pictures, and the fashion world has allowed me opportunities that I greatly appreciate. When done properly, it feels gracious, sensuous, beautiful, and stylish. It's about mystery and potential. Although I do not have this picture to share with you, I do have another story about my middle years. It comes from the beginnings of my transition from shooting portraiture and landscapes to shooting fashion. Although fashion is a form of portraiture, it involves models, which are an entirely different breed. They will be discussed next week. Early on in my years of doing assignment work, I was asked to work for Coach, the manufacturer of leather goods. The campaign was entitled Descendants of Famous People. I think I did three or four of these ads, but the one I would like to discuss is one I did with a young woman who was a descendant of Babe Ruth. It felt natural, and obviously appropriate, to shoot this picture at Yankee Stadium in New York. I remember that this 20 year old woman lived in another state, so she did not arrive until the morning of the shoot. On that morning, we (the talent, myself, the stylist, the hair and makeup person, assistants, etc.) all met at the location van. The woman appeared quite sad, forlorn, and uncomfortable. She obviously was not used to the attention. Her true life had no relation to the glory of Babe Ruth. She only had his genes. She was raised in a very humble manner, and carried herself with her head down, and with an extreme, uncomfortable self-consciousness. I introduced myself and the crew, and explained that there were people here to help her with her clothes, and her makeup, and I hoped that the experience would be fun for her. I disappeared for an hour to scout the right location, and as I was returning to the van, she was exiting. It was if a new woman was born. She was beautiful, held herself differently, looked directly at me, and was proud of herself. I remember this moment vividly. I remember thinking "I want to do this." If you can change a person's feelings simply by changing their clothes and style, what a great gift that is. All through the shoot, she was happy, beautiful, and slightly sexy. It was a new, happy person. When the shoot was over, and the clock struck five, she went back into the van,…

I am pleased to report that the book party and signing at Sotheby's last night went well. I'll be sure to post some pictures in the days that follow. For now I am plopping a couple Alka-Seltzers into my coffee to try and speed the recovery from all the festivities. Continue to stay tuned; I have some very personal, very tasty insights to share, but they'll have to wait until tomorrow. Until then, my most loyal readers...

Like all things that are organic, my photographic history seems to have a beginning, middle, and end to it. This morning, I would like to talk briefly about the middle development of my photographic career. As The End primarily deals with the after effects of the middle section of my career, this picture precedes most of the pictures in the book. As noted previously, and shown last week, the early periods of my photographic life were intensely focused on intimate and close (both physically and emotionally) portraits of people of my choosing. As mentioned earlier, it was if the camera's eye was more penetrating and insightful than my own. I was searching, and the camera provided a means to see right into the very soul of a person. There was rarely a deviation from this focus. When a trust was created, I was able to perceive the emotional core of a person. As relates to what I just said, I once had the good fortune to have lunch with Anna Freud, and told her that I felt I could look into a person's eyes and soul, and see where 20 years of therapy would lead them. It was not as if I was naive to peoples' potential for evil, but rather focused on their potential. I could see their fears, their anger, their hurt, their anxiety, but felt these not necessarily as wrongs or inappropriate, but rather simply part of the human condition. By seeing their potential, it was an opportunity of saying yes to life. This again is how my photographic life began, but then in the 1980's things began to change. The middle portion of my life began to evolve. Although the solution required enormous emotional turmoil, the problem was quite simple. As I began to find it necessary to work for clients, I no longer had the luxury of traveling the country to find and choose the person I wanted to photograph. For today I will tell you about part 1 of "the road taken," and what began as a tumultuous way to find a new voice. The first assignment I wish to mention was an opportunity in the mid-80's to begin to photograph CEO's. I did this for a number of years, and it provided the beginnings of a new but familiar voice. My first assignment was quite a gift. It was to travel the world, and photograph approximately 10 CEO's of different divisions of the corporate structure of H.J. Heinz Company. The only problem was I was told that I could no longer simply be close to the subject, and not show their environment. In other words, I couldn't be sent to England, and have the viewer not know where the photograph was taken. The subject had to be shown in context. This was initially frightening. On the one hand, I was no longer choosing my subject, but also I now had to learn to step back and show the environment. Without realizing it, this…

I thought I would take one week off from writing about The End, to write about the very beginning. I have just returned from the low country of South Carolina where this picture was taken. That was over 30 years ago. It has reminded me of how the end may be just a beginning In my early twenties, photographically and in many other ways, I was looking for wisdom, insight, and strength. I was not interested in physical strength, but rather depth of character. While I danced around with my own feelings of inadequacy, I was drawn to people who had endured and persevered. These people were the focus of my attention. One afternoon while traveling on Wadmalaw Island in South Caronlina, I came upon this old unsettled house where I found an elderly woman whom I thought interesting. This woman, as were many of the people I photographed at the time, was in her 80s, and displayed the qualities for which I had been searching. I was in my twenties, and was sure that wisdom and grace were only to be gained as one grew older. Life’s history had to be played out for some years before one could reveal it. However, just as I was about to photograph this woman, my wife at the time suggested I look at the woman’s grandson. Because I was so focused on his grandmother I hadn’t even seen him. As soon as I really looked into his face, I saw all that I was looking for: a soul that far transcended his years, and graciousness and wisdom that usually comes only with age. Added to this, I saw one of the gifts of youth: his vulnerability. To this day, this simple picture is one of my favorites. It was a gift to me that I thought I would share with you. What is important for me, the day after this Thanksgiving recess, is to try to realize the small gifts that we are given. I must try to find something new, not necessarily in a place that’s unfamiliar, but rather in a person or a place that is right beside me.

I think this picture, although on first viewing does not appear so, feels like a continuation of some of the issues I addressed very early in my career. This picture was originally shot while I was doing a story on hedge funds. I don't think it was ever used, but has remained one of my favorites from that shoot. The question that has intrigued me over the years, is What is it about this picture that resonates with me? Often, I can tell you quite quickly and deliberately what it is about a picture that I like or dislike, but this one alluded me for some time. Therein lies its strength. In the case of this picture, I do not believe my emotional response to the image is the same as many others I have described over the previous weeks. Obviously, I shot it. It has my particular orientation and vernacular, but to me, there is something very mysterious and unresolved about this picture. It is almost like a portrait, yet nothing like it. It's close, but it's no cigar. It is familiar, yet it is completely unknown. I think that the quality of its peculiarity, its slightly unfamiliar composition, is truly the heart of the matter. Like a great portrait (the master of them all being Leonardo's Mona Lisa), there is no resolution. It remains enigmatic, drawing you in continually, but raising more questions than it resolves. The list of unresolved issues for Leonardo's painting has grown over the years rather than diminished. And that is why I like this photograph. The hedge in this outdoor room, the position of the figures, their relationship to the hedge, to the world, to each other, is never resolved or obvious. What is going on with them, and with life, and therefore with me, remains in question. A great photograph must never answer all the questions, otherwise you would never be drawn back to it. It must continually remain unresolved. It must draw you back. You may want to know the circumstances, but the question remains: Will you ever understand it completely? On this Monday prior to Thanksgiving 2009, I wish all of you a happy Thanksgiving. I hope that these comments do not answer all your needs, but raise the desire for more. The book is a means to an end. In fact, the end may just be the beginning. That would be a gift worth giving. I've included a few older pictures, pictures from 30 to 40 years ago, where I feel some of these issues were already brewing.

Today when I look at this pictures I smile to myself. But, it recalls a time when I was all but smiling. They remind me of a small part of a much longer story. The game of golf paralleled my relationship with my father as a high school boy. Today I miss him a great deal, and would love his company, but then... that is another story. My father did not participate much with me or my activities, but he was an avid golfer, and if I ever wanted his attention, I had to learn and attempt to play this peculiar game. There was one small problem. After hundreds of lessons, thousands of hours at the driving range, I could never rid myself of a frustrating and definitely inappropriate slice to the ball. (For those unfamiliar with the game, this means the ball despites one's efforts and determination to hit it straight, and would veer off to the right with such a vengeance, that one could only feel someone else's hand at work.) The more I would try to adjust for the slice, the most voracious and unforgiving the slice would become. The battle between the boy and this little ball was never resolved. In fact, as a means to outmaneuver this veer to the right, I would almost hit the ball directly left in order for it to go right, hoping that in the end, this would allow it to go straight. One glorious Saturday afternoon in the Summer of 1964, my father and I, by some miraculous good fortune, had managed to be tied for first place in the annual father and son tournament. We were on the 17th hole and my father felt it neccessary (with the sniff of victory in the air) to put even more pressure on me, imploring me to hit the ball straight. Of course the more he persisted, the further to the right the ball would travel. I could have shot the ball backwards, and with its ruthless determination, the ball would have veered far far to the right. As might be expected, on the approach to the 17th green, there was a large pond to the right of the green, where I immediately launched my first ball, right into the center of the pond. On the second attempt, I was almost lucky: the ball veered so far right that I almost overshot the pond which would have landed the ball in the far right fairway of the next hole. This crazy little ball had a mind of its own. It would go where it wanted and not where the master had directed. Needless to say, we lost that tournament, along with my clubs, that I thanklessly threw into the deepest part of the 17th hole pond. I have never seriously played this game again, but I must thank it, for helping me accept the course I have chosen. I learned that hitting the ball in the wrong place definitely has its…