Twice Upon A Mattress

What could be better than being asked to make a picture about one of my favorite subjects, sleep? By now I must be an expert in the art of napping, and it’s long lost first cousin the art of a restful nights sleep.

So without much thought required I immediately thought of Carol Burnett in “Once Upon A Mattress,” a Broadway show I saw with my mother at age twelve. I can still remember seeing Carol Burnett sitting on a tall pile of mattresses and laughing out loud. It all felt so funny and good.

As this picture had to be done almost immediately, I had no time to scout for a location. I simply decided to shoot the picture on my own property. I try to keep my life fairly private, but on occasion I will open my house and grounds for a good cause. So reluctantly, I agreed to shoot the picture here.

I think it’s very important at this time to take a small break and give you a glimpse behind the scenes. I have always (at least for the last 15 or so years) worked with the same team of people. I am not one to embrace change, unless it is radically called for or I feel it is an improvement.

My stylist Renate is a German wunderkind of the highest quality. She should receive a Legion of Honor award for staying with me for these fifteen years. She always is a large contributor to the pictures.

She is always full of enthusiasm, and is ready to jump into any situation, sometimes backwards, but at least has always been willing to tread where even angels have feared to go.

I don’t know where she was able to round up ten mattresses on a day’s notice, but the miracle of 29th street did. The evening before the morning of the shoot, Renate arrived with trucks of mattresses, sheets, props, etc., to begin the long setup of the mattresses for the next mornings shoot.

Like almost everything we do, it all looks so….simple. But believe me, it’s not. Everything is a team effort. Everyone is working very hard toward the final few minutes of an unrestrained burst of energy, where the final result is exposed. It’s all the prep work that lies behind the scenes (the hair and the makeup selections, the wardrobe, the props, the location, the body language, etc.) that lead down this circuitous path twisting and turning, getting closer and closer, to the moment where I can fall in love and kiss Zoe sitting on her mattress.

So for three to four hours the evening before the shoot, Renate and her team of worker bees steamed and pressed all the sheets, and carefully with a German watchmakers precision, stacked the mattresses gently in place, until we had a perfect arrangement of stripes, colors, and height. Everything took hours, but finally we were all ready for the big event first thing the next morning.

At six a.m. the whole crew arrived, model, hair, makeup, stylist and assistants, my assistants, the client, etc., and everyone began the process of getting ready. Finally, about eight a.m. we were ready to rumble. Zoe was lifted onto the mattresses. I stepped back with my camera and looked through the viewfinder at what this whole magical team had created, and………..well, I don’t quite know how to say it, but I didn’t like the location or the light. This was totally my fault. I chose the spot and the timing. No matter how much I tried, I could not push the shutter. I did not like the picture. Everyone was admonishing me to take the picture. “It looks great, it’s fine. We are going to lose the light.” But I simply couldn’t. It did not seem fine to me.

At this moment the light was rapidly changing from an early morning beauty to a mid morning disaster. I quickly ran around the property to try to find any spot where I liked the light and location. I found one little space that was totally backlit and I knew in a half hour the sun would be too high to shoot there.

I ran back and started screaming at everyone to grab a mattress, any mattress and get them to this other corner of the property. All of Renate’s precision is now kaput. The pressed sheets were removed, and in 15 minutes what had been a masterwork of design and precision was thrown together as if it were a giant goulash.

Somehow in all this, Renate kept her cool and made it all still look great, even though I had to cut the mattress number to eight before the moment turned into a pumpkin. Everyone was in panic mode. Finally, with not even a few minutes to spare, Zoe ascended to the top of the mattresses; the sun exploded from behind a cloud. The miracle of 29th street had done it again, and all the rays of light embraced this moment of celebration.