A Writing Lesson With Paul Auster

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava.

December 3rd, 2018. The evening brought, perhaps, the worst rain storm I’ve seen since Hurricane Sandy. Yet, I decided to go out. On tap was something very special. Something I am now so glad I didn’t pass up. It seemed the gods were in my favor, as when I got outside into the full force of the gale, though instantly soaked, something miraculous happened. Something every New Yorker knows is impossible.

I got a cab in the rain!

I guess conditions were so bad that no one was out. I don’t know. I wasn’t about to look a gift cab in the mouth.

I climbed into the back seat and we headed south, I couldn’t see a thing out any of the windows- including the front windshield. Somehow, the driver found his way to Broadway & East 12th Street, and pulled up in front of The Strand Bookstore. The occasion: Paul Auster was releasing his New York Trilogy Manuscript, a fittingly oversized, slipcased limited edition, and speaking about it. I was interested because I thought it might provide insights into how he worked, and how such a distinctive set came to be. 

I got out and dashed from the cab to the door, then started the long process of drying off and out as I made my way to the 3rd floor and the Rare Book Room. I stood in the back as the proceedings got underway with writer Luc Sante handling the interviewer’s role. 

Paul Auster takes questions from the audience, with Luc Sante, left, at The Strand Bookstore, December 3, 2018.

I was transfixed as Mr. Auster spoke in a very low key manner with seemingly total recall taking my mind off my soaked pants. His road to the creation of the Trilogy was fascinating for any creative person to listen to, a real lesson in believing in your Art and perseverance. I related to his story about being told to “change the end.” When I was shopping a Jazz album I produced featuring the late, great Thomas Chapin, one label head offered me a very sizable sum if I agreed to let him change the drummer. It was a record recorded live in the studio. The drums bled into every mic in the room! You can’t change the drummer after the fact, I recalled feeling Mr. Auster’s pain. He turned down that ending change request (as I walked away from big money refusing to make the drummer change), and the book remained unpublished for so long that he began to feel that he would remain an unpublished author…

As it turns out, luckily, what transpired that evening was recorded! You can see it here-

Reliving it this evening, 2 days after Mr. Auster’s passing on April 30th, hearing him say “…part of me feels that I’m already dead…” about the book’s release, was chilling. It was just a year ago, in March, 2023, Siri Hustvedt, Mr. Auster’s wife, announced he had been diagnosed with lung cancer.  

After the talk, questions from the audience and the video ends, there was a signing. Both signed a paperback copy of the then current, umpteenth printing of Mr. Auster’s New York Trilogy paperback for me, with a cover by the great Art Spiegleman, and I sprung for the $200.00 Manuscript, which he also signed for me. In the intervening years, his 4 3 2 1, in 2017, and his final book, Baumgartner, released late last year, also impressed me with their singularity. Paul Auster’s ability to create such unimaginable scenarios with each book, while retaining familiar themes thrilled me, as Sir Salman Rushdie’s books do. I come away feeling that though Paul Auster is respected and lauded around the world, he is still underrated. 

Paul Auster, just to the right of center, after the event. December 3, 2018. My last look before I headed back out into the storm. It would be my last look at him, too. .

Whether he is, or not, is now up to the future to decide. Luckily, his books are here and all in print for us to explore, enjoy and be inspired by right now. For my part, hearing him speak so insightfully about his work, and briefly meeting him are indelible. 

The signature page of a signed copy of his last book, Baumgartner, released in November, 2023.

Book signings are special events. They present the chance to bring you closer to the author and his or her work in more ways than one. Like this one, a number of them have lived long in my memory. Don’t pass one up the next time an author you’re interested in is having one. 

*- Soundtrack for this piece is “Watching the Detectives” by Elvis Costello from his classic debut, My Aim Is True-

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November 22nd- Sixty Years On

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava (*- unless otherwise credited)

“Yes, I’ll sit with you and talk, let your eyes relive again
I know my vintage prayers would be very much the same”*-
“Sixty Years On,” by Elton John & Bernie Taupin

November 22nd, 1963. It’s a day that probably doesn’t mean much to many who weren’t born yet. But, if you were living on that day, I think it’s a day none of us have forgotten.

I remember it all, from a safe distance of 1,370, or so, miles away as the owl majestically flies from Dallas, TX to NYC. As it turned out, it wasn’t a safe distance at all. As horrific as all the events of the weekend of Friday November 22nd, through 24th, 1963 were. It included watching a man being killed for the first time in my life. John F. Kennedy being assassinated is an event that, 60 years ago today as I write, just hasn’t gone away. I’m not talking about the who-done-the horrible deed, the endless conspiracy theories, or the circus surrounding the events. I’m talking about something much, much bigger that rarely gets mentioned, lost in all the other talk that, frankly, just doesn’t matter any more. If Lee Harvey Oswald didn’t kill JFK, whoever did is most likely dead by now as is anyone he might have been involved with. 

He, or they, are no longer the point. What matters now is what’s happened to everyone else. 

Cornell Capa (Robert’s brother), JFK During a campaign event, NYC, USA, October 19, 1960. Click any photo for full size.

Set the way, way back machine to the beginning… I remember when JFK ran for President in 1960. He was so very well-spoken and it sure sounded like it came from the heart. Then there was his incredible feat of saving his crew after the PT boat he was commanding in the Pacific during World War II was hit and sunk. I came to admire him.

From Four Days by the UPI & American Heritage Magazine

Fast forward to Friday, November 22nd, 1963. There I was in the school nurse’s office, due to after-effects of a bad accident I suffered a few months before when I was hit in the head by a baseball bat. Accidentally, I hope. I was out cold before my face hit the concrete. No one came to help me for about 40 minutes as I lay unconscious. I finally got up and staggered home. I was out of school for a month, and still having problems with the cuts healing, etc. At 12:30pm, as I sat there waiting her attention, I heard the radio report coming over the speaker above me: JFK had been shot in his motorcade in Dallas.

There are other, more graphic shots of this, but this grainy still from a Film speaks to me much more. Jackie was the first one to feel our pain. Though none of us could imagine her’s. She would be an incredible model of class & strength from this moment on. *-UPI Newsfilm image from Four Days.

What???????

There really are just no words for the feeling I had. It was completely unfathomable. 

I can still hear that radio report…

Even for a little kid- everything stopped. People just looked at each other with their mouths open, unable to speak.

A short while later they announced he was dead.

The New York Times, November 23, 1963

To say it was beyond belief is cliche, but true. It was beyond anything anyone could imagine. I had never experienced anything like this. It was something I had never even considered- that a man in such a position could be killed, outside of war.

My copy of Four Days, the 1964 “historical record,” as it says, published by the UPI and American Heritage Magazine. Copies trade on eBay today for about $3.

I don’t remember getting home, but I do remember that everyone was glued to their TV when I did from then on, and continually, for the better part of four days: Friday through Monday, when JFK was buried. It became the title of the book American Heritage Magazine & the UPI published later as a, mostly, visual record. There he sits in the cover Photo taken mere minutes before the tragedy, in the prime of life, in a Photo that, unbeknownst to everyone at the time, marked the end of the world as we knew it. Meanwhile, back in the moment, everyone & everything in the country stopped to watch and to mourn. As the day wore on, nothing changed that initial feeling of utter disbelief.

SIXTY YEARS later (I shook my head in amazement as I typed that) it still feels unreal. 

From Four Days

I watched all the rest of it unfold live. Most memorably, Sunday, November 24th. 

From Four Days

After lying in state at the White House on Saturday, on Sunday, a long procession and ceremonies took his body to the Capitol in a strangely stark light, as the pictures above show. At least it appeared that way on black & white televisions and how it is burned into my memory. It was like an other-worldly and very powerful spotlight was being focused on the procession. Then, a little after 11am, as I was sitting in my living room, watching TV with my mom, who was in and out of the room, Lee Harvey Oswald, JFK’s accused assassin, was brought down to the basement garage under the police station by Dallas Police for transfer to a larger prison. All of a sudden, on live TV, a man lurched out from the right and shot him in the mid-section!!! A short time later, Oswald, too, was dead.

Oswald is shot by Ruby as I watched on live TV. *-UPI Newsfilm image from Four Days.

It was the first murder ever broadcast on live television.

As a little kid watching this happen in front of him, it was just one more thing on the pile of unbelievable things that had gone on the past 3 days. Somehow, it didn’t register as a separate event, as horrific as it was. I wonder about that now. My mom didn’t say a word. 

At that point, in late November, 1963, I was, already, no stranger to fear. A few years earlier, we were pushed to the brink of the unthinkable- nuclear war- during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Adults figured Washington D.C. and NYC would be the first targets of missiles fired from Cuba or submarine. People were glued to radios and TVs then to learn of the latest developments until tensions finally lessened after what felt like forever. It was, perhaps, the peak moment of terror in the entire Cold War which was raging in full effect during my childhood and beyond.

Students being taught to hide under their desks in the event of an atomic explosion nearby(!) *-Still from Duck & Cover.

In “response,” I was among the millions of kids being taught to “Duck and Cover” under our desks at school to “prepare” for a nuclear bomb going off in the vicinity- at any time! We were also taught where the Fallout Shelters were. There was no mention during either of these instructions about meeting up with our families. I didn’t think about that at the time I was under my desk, staring at the floor. Can you imagine what the “fallout” would be if this worthless nonsense was taught to little kids today?

A vintage Fallout Shelter sign. I had to shoot it with the flash because the sign is so old and rusted only the reflective paint has held up. I didn’t bother to ask if there was still a fallout shelter there. Hopefully, I won’t need to find out. West 18th Street, November 27, 2023.

All of a sudden, my quiet childhood had been turned upside down by the insanity of world politics. 

Out of everything that happened during those years, did JFK being murdered have the biggest effect on the country and the world?

His death effected my life in the way few presidents have either during their lives or after their deaths, in countless ways I couldn’t imagine as a little kid in November, 1963. (None of this is said politically. One of the casualties of November 22nd was my permanent loss of interest in politics.) For instance- Some years later, I was in the Vietnam Draft Lottery. Luckily, my birthdate came up too high and I wasn’t called. If I had been called, there is no doubt in my mind, with what I know now, that my name would be with the other casualties up on that wall  in Washington instead of writing about the following 60 years here.

It’s possible JFK might have gotten us out of it before my number came up, but, we’ll never know. Luckily, November 22nd, 1963 didn’t indirectly cost me my life as collateral fallout, but that fallout has covered the world in countless ways- if you look for it. It turns out there is no such thing as being a “safe distance” from the events of that day. I’ve often thought the country has never been the same since November 22nd, 1963. I’ve heard a number of others say that, too. But, that’s hard to quantify. It’s something no one who was born after can really understand. The world would have been different had John F. Kennedy lived, but we’ll never know how. We’ll also never know if “different” would have been “better.” 

JFK never got to grow old in his beloved rocking chair. I wonder what he would have made of the country & the world as he did. Bruce Catton writes, ironically, “The future sets us free. It is our escape hatch.” From Four Days.

On the 60th Anniversary of his death, that’s what I think about. Not the distracting noise about bullet theories. I think about the world those bullets fired sixty years ago today have given us, and how JFK’s death has effected me and everyone, whether we know how, or not. And, how it continues to.

If all of its ramifications could possibly be tallied, World War II is possibly the most significant event of the previous generation. If ALL of their ramifications could possibly be tallied, it feels to me that (through the year 2000) the JFK Assassination and the Moon Landing, which he committed the nation to achieving before the end of the 1960s, were the two most significant events of my generation.

*- Soundtrack for this piece is “Sixty Years On,” by Elton John & Bernie Taupin from Elton John, his classic 1970 debut album, performed above Live at the Royal Opera House in 2002.

Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited. To send comments, thoughts, feedback or propositions click here. Click the white box on the upper right for the archives or to search them. Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.

Scott Ross (1951-1989): The Modern Ancient

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Written by Kenn Sava (Photographs from Discogs.com)

Today, as NYC Pride Parade goes on outside, the late Scott Ross has been on my mind. For those who may not know him, Mr. Ross was a harpsichordist who was one of the great interpreters of Baroque Music of our, or any, time. He almost single-handedly, using two hands, brought the harpsichord back into the conversation from decades of neglect in Classical Music.

Scott Ross died of HIV/AIDS-related causes in June, 1989, but it never defeated him.

Born in Pittsburgh in 1951, he moved to France with his mother after the death of his father in 1964, Living in France the rest of his life, he never became a citizen, and had stopped making U.S. Social Security payments, a combination that conspired to leave him not eligible for medical care. He was forced to look to his circle for support and to care for him at home until he died.

Scott Ross appeared on the Music scene at a perfect moment. Beginning in the 1960s, a group of dedicated Baroque Musicians and scholars had been making waves in the world of recording by performing the Music of the Baroque masters on instruments that existed at the time they wrote their Music. This upset the apple cart of tradition where the world had gotten used to hearing this Music played on modern instruments, including the piano (and the modern orchestra for that matter), which didn’t exist at the time of the earlier composers. They had written their Music for the “Klavier,” usually a harpsichord. As the piano was perfected over hundreds of years it assumed the central place in Music-making, leaving the harpsichord to museums, until the synthesizer came along to make the piano take a back seat. So, Scott Ross, at once, continued this “original instrument” movement in Baroque Music, and was, again, something entirely new. Most modern listeners had little, if any, experience with hearing the harpsichord. The surprise was furthered by his “natural” appearance at his concerts. He showed up dressed as he was, as you can see on his album covers shown in this piece.

Beyond all of this, however, Scott Ross always put the Music first. He was a brilliant interpreter of every composer he turned his talent to, whose recordings stand up against anyone else’s- before, during, or after his lifetime. Even those of Glenn Gould, who I love, and Mr. Ross had problems with.

“When all you do is play music from morning till night you end up unable to hear it properly. It is extremely important to think about other things, to have other interests, in order to bring a new vision to your work. Discovering new things gives meaning to my life and when I become interested in something there are no half-measures. For example, the interest I had as a child in pebbles goes back as far as my interest in music, and it has never left me,” Scott Ross quoted in the liner notes to The Art of Scott Ross, CBC Records.

In addition to his Musical gifts, Mr. Ross was a passionate grower of orchids who was fascinated with “strange ones,” not the type you’d see in a flower store. He created an early computerized database of those he cross-bred. He was also a Photographer with his own dark room, an authority on edible mushrooms; volcanoes and minerals, cooking and home renovation and carpentry, were among his many other interests as something of a true “renaissance man.” 

Today, and for much of his life, he was and is, perhaps, best known for his first-ever recording of the complete Sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti. After first showing symptoms of HIV in 1983 (just two years after the identification of the virus and in the infancy of treatment), he realized that he had a fatal illness. Yet, he kept working and producing remarkable results. Somehow he found the strength & fortitude to enable him to achieve something never before done. He undertook ninety-eight recording sessions, producing 8,000 takes, between June, 1984 and September, 1985 in Paris, Avignon and Château d’Assas recording the first-ever collection of Scarlatti’s compete keyboard sonatas which were released on THIRTY-FOUR CDs.

“An heroic achievement,” BBC Music Magazine. Seen here is the cover of the 2014 Erato reissue.

That’s just staggering to consider- for someone in perfect health. We’re talking about FIVE HUNDRED FIFTY-FIVE sonatas! Today, almost 40 years later, they are still widely considered “definitive” recordings. In the time since Mr. Ross recorded his cycle only one other complete cycle by one Musician is known to me. (One other cycle features different pianists on each disc.) Even more remarkably, he revealed in an interview- “When I suggested this marathon undertaking to Erato and Radio France, I simply did not know most of the 555 sonatas. I had to work like a madman. I was anxious to make the recordings quickly, not only because of the three-hundredth anniversary (of Scarlatti’s birth in 1685) and the broadcasting requirements of Radio France, but also in order to stay in the spirit of Scarlatti. It is very likely that al the sonatas were written quickly1.”

Mr. Ross was notorious for breaking boundaries and doing things his own way. His “natural appearance” at concerts was something never before seen in an austere classical concert hall: be it in a leather biker jacket, or wearing flannel, looking  a bit like John Lennon, or in a knit cap, as he is below in his final concert, the Soundtrack for this piece, performing Rameau’s “La Livri” in Rome on April 6, 1989, just 8 weeks before he died.

It’s absolutely amazing to me that his skill remained undiminished right to the end in spite of all he was going through, as you can see and hear below in one of his few video performances, which is also evidenced on every one of the recordings he made. A true testament to his strength and perseverance. Even AIDS couldn’t overcome his brilliance.

 

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  1. Interview in the booklet in the Scarlatti CD set

Remember The Light- On The Passing of Wayne Shorter

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava.

I was very deeply saddened to learn of the passing of the incomparable Wayne Shorter at 89 on March 2nd. As a saxophonist, a composer, a band-leader…as a Musician, he was one of the supreme Musical talents in any kind of Music, ever. I am confident that is how posterity will come to think of him.

A classic Francis Wolf Photo from the 1960s of Wayne signed by him in London in 2008. From my collection.

I wrote about Wayne’s oeuvre and recommended a few of his albums in my 2018 piece celebrating his 85th Birthday, here. His body of work is so deep, so full of richness, surprise, endless innovation, exquisite taste, awareness and humanity, it defies categorization as “Jazz” or even Music. It’s aural Art. In thinking about Wayne, a word continually comes to my mind: teacher- one who shone his light on others. A very deep thinker, Wayne endlessly explored an extraordinarily wide realm of life: from physics & cosmology to literature, to science fiction, to Buddhism, and of course, Music of all kinds. He was a personal witness to much of Jazz history. His stories could make your jaw drop. He saw Charlie Parker and countless other earlier legends. He and his friend(!) John Coltrane spent hours practicing together. The night Bud Powell came to his hotel room very late when he was in Paris for a festival. And of course, the Miles Davis stories….

Wayne’s one-of-a-kind brain knew no boundaries or limits. Of course, this is demonstrated, for all time, on his records. It’s not a coincidence, or in passing, that one of his pieces was titled “On the Milky Way Express.” Concepts like space-time regularly appeared in his interviews.

When asked for his definition of “Jazz,” Wayne’s famous answer “Jazz means I dare you,” defines more than Jazz, in my opinion. It characterizes how he lived his life. Wayne dared continuously throughout his career. He dared to defy the expectations (earning the wrath of critics of his brilliant album High Life who wished he’d continued remaking his classics), broke boundaries by guesting on other Musician’s records in an extremely wide range of genres-  from Carlos Santana, Norah Jones and Steely Dan, to Don Henley and Joni Mitchell, one of the first Jazz Musicians to do so, and by writing and performing with so-called Classical ensembles, culminating with his opera, Iphigenia, which debuted in 2021. 

Wayne performs “In a Silent Way,” with its composer, Joe Zawinul, for the last time the two friends & legends would perform together before Joe’s passing in 2007. They cofounded the legendary band Weather Report. Joe wrote “In a Silent Way” for Miles Davis, who made it a classic on an album of the same name. I was lucky enough to meet Joe in the 1990s when my friend, the late Mark Ledford, was playing in his band. I can still feel his strong hand shake.

One never knew what to expect from a Wayne Shorter album or performance- except the unexpected. Without a Net is the apt title of one of his later albums, and that sums it up. In the spirit of the immortal Miles Davis Second Great Quintet, of which he was a key member, he and the Wayne Shorter Quartet always “went for it:” in the studio or live in concert. Along with the unexpected, one can trace on his recordings how he continually evolved over his long career.

Here is one example of his evolution over 40 years in 3 versions of his composition “Children of the Night,” of which I am certainly one, perhaps the Wayne composition I’ve played more than any other. The richness of its lines never ceases to amaze me, and different details emerge on each version. Originally written for Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers, it appeared on their 1962(!) album, Mosaic

Note Wayne’s tenor sax playing. He would leave Blakey a few years later and join Miles Davis in Miles’ Second Great Quintet, one of the greatest groups in Music history. (My “shortlist” of recommended Miles Davis albums is here.) As a result of his time with Miles, the ultimate master of using space in his playing, Wayne’s own playing became sublimely tasteful. 33 years after Mosaic, Wayne reprised “Children of the Night” as the opening track on his 1995 classic High Life, which Marcus Miller brilliantly produced, completely remaking it!-

Then, in 2002, “Children of the Night” was heard in an arrangement for big band on this wonderful live performance with his now immortal Quartet (with pianist Danilo Pérez, bassist John Patitucci and drummer Brian Blade, who Wayne performed with for about 15 years of this century), and the NDR Big Band, shown below, 40 years after the original version was released1. This version strips away the production to reveal the intricacies and gorgeous counterpoint of his composition. Note the difference in Wayne’s playing on this version compared to that in the 1962 original! That sublime economy gained through 45+ years of experience and performing live at that point; the knowing what NOT to play…a hallmark of a Master. He starts out playfully until things get serious at 1:45…I also love how, at a number of points, he can’t resist joining in and playing some of the section parts (parts he wrote for the ensemble). Something you never hear a soloist do, and something I can’t recall Wayne doing elsewhere. In fact, he does relatively little soloing on this version (mostly at the end), especially compared to the 1962 version. Throughout, Danilo, John and Brian follow him like the fingers of a glove…

After the Wayne Shorter Quartet stopped performing live around 2014-5, the other members, Danilo Pérez, John Patitucci and Brian Blade continued touring, calling themselves “The Children of the Light.” I tip my hat to whoever came up with that name. There are countless other non-members of the group out there, like me, who now consider themselves members of that family.

Imagine the sound. Moments before I took this, as everyone around me was standing and applauding, the Wayne Shorter Quartet had just finished lifting the roof off of Lincoln Center’s Rose Theater in 2012. John Patitucci’s Bass rests on the floor behind Wayne’s soprano & tenor sax.

Though in all of his Art there are riches to last lifetimes, these past few weeks since his passing, I’ve thought as much about the lessons of Wayne’s life and example…

“I dare you,” I can hear him say, “to break out of the expectations and boundaries in your life.”

*- The soundtrack for this piece is “Children of the Night” by Wayne Shorter.

For Benjamin J. Arrindell

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  1. My guess is that Wayne Shorter arranged what we hear in this concert, perhaps based on the charts for High Life, but no arranger is credited in the video.

William Klein- A Thousand Times YES

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Show Seen- William Klein: YES @ ICP

William Klein, who passed away at 94 on September 10th, was a big name for so long, creating legendary and hugely influential PhotoBooks, Films, Fashion Photography, Paintings, Photograms, and on and on, that it seemed to me he was somewhat taken for granted over what turned out to be the last decade of his life. Case in point- I can’t remember the last big William Klein show in NYC. So, the International Center of Photography’s career retrospective, William Klein: YES, June 3rd to September 15th, was not to be missed. Due to circumstances out of my control (i.e. my new life), I managed to see it on its closing night, day 5 after the Artist passed.

Untitled (Blurred White Squares on Black and Orange Gel Sheet), c. 1952, Gelatin silver print with transparent orange filter, top, and Untitled (White and Yellow Moving Lines), c. 1952, Gelatin silver print with yellow paint.

Paintings, Collage, Photograms, bodies of b&w Street Photographs in NYC, Paris, Rome, Moscow and Tokyo, Fashion Photography, Film, color Photography, Painted contact sheets filled both gallery floors of the International Center of Photography’s fairly new Essex Street building. The show felt like it was the work of 6 or 7 Artists. Perhaps that’s why they named the show William Klein: YES Photographs, Paintings, Films, 1948-2013- as a reminder that ALL of this sprang from one unique Artist.

The earliest works on view. Untitled (Gymnasts), c. 1949, Untitled (Still life, lamp, and vase), c. 1949, Oil on wood- the others are all oil on canvas, Untitled (Gymnasts), c. 1949, and Untitled c. 1952, from left to right.

After studies with Fernand Léger, William Klein temporarily ignored his advice to get into Photography, Film and publishing, instead embarking on a career as an Abstract Painter during the height of the first wave of Abstract Expressionists. He managed to carve out a style that had elements of Mondrian but also showed an affinity for multi-layered compositions that would also be seen in his later Photography. It’s interesting that the two Gymnast Paintings, above, feature monochrome figures, also presaging his b&w Street Photography.

In 1952, an architect saw William Klein’s Paintings and asked him to adapt them to a room divider made of rotating panels. While Photographing the panels, Klein’s wife spun them. Fascinated with the effect, hep down his camera,  went into the darkroom and began experimenting with Photograms, like Man Ray before him, holding cards with cut out shapes over photo paper during long exposures.

While Photographing a piece he’d been asked to paint, William Klein was inspired to put his camera down and experiment in the darkroom with light on photo paper using long exposures. Man Ray had been among the first to explore Photograms, and Robert Rauschenberg would a few years later, but neither’s look like Mr. Klein’s. They found admirers among graphic designers, who featured them on magazine covers and record covers.

William Klein’s Photograms on the covers of Domus Magazine from 1955, 1959, and 1952, left to right.

His Painting turned out to open a door to his future when Alexander Lieberman, art director of Vogue saw a show of them in Paris and, impressed with his strong vision, saw a Fashion Photographer in him. William Klein, who was born in NYC before moving to Paris in 1946 to become a Painter came back to the City to work for Vogue. Along the way William Klein became Klein, and he broke as many rules shooting fashion as he did in his Art. He took models out of the studio and on to the streets and collaborated with them on shoots. Possibly as a result of this, Mr. Lieberman also funded William Klein’s desire to shoot the streets of NYC. The body of work that became Life is Good came into being, as did the Photographer being christened, “the angry young man of photography1.”

A wall of prints from the classic Life is Good & Good for You in New York, 1956, taken between 1954 and 1956. Almost all of the work in the show was from the William Klein Studio, and the prints were spectacular.

Filling two floors, almost all of the work on view was provided by the Artist, himself, most likely marking the final time he would be directly involved in a show of his work. The quality of the prints on view, many “printed later,” were of the highest order. The black & white prints were unforgettable- black could never be blacker, and many of the color Fashion Photos were printed at a large, even huge size, which made them even more stunning.

A timeless image of NYC, Selwyn, 42nd Street, New York, 1955 (printed 2016), Gelatin silver print. The play of light and shade in this incredible print is a subject all its own. I’m not sure black can be blacker than this.

The late Robert Frank is, possibly, the most influential Photographer of the past 60 years, but a very strong case can be made that William Klein is in that discussion. His Life is Good & Good for You in New York: Trance Witness Reveals, was published in 1956, 2 years BEFORE Mr. Frank’s seminal The Americans. Seen alongside the Frank book, Life is Good is a fascinating counterpoint, showing a different America than that seen in The Americans. Mr. Frank got a lot of grief for showing America as he saw it. Mr. Klein’s Life is Good shows gritty NYC as the melting pot it has long been where anything could happen at any moment. But it is his style and technique that ruffled many feathers. Rough, raw, out of focus, as dark as night, off kilter, lacking coherent compositions, grainy…were among the criticisms of those who were perhaps thinking that Henri Cartier-Bresson had discovered the only “true way” to take Street Photographs. But, there was method to his madness, and his methods resounded with many viewers right up to today.

The avant-garde William Klein. Another multi-layered composition. Atget, then Walker Evans took Photos of similar scenes before William Klein, and Richard Estes has spent a good deal of his career Painting them, as I showed a few months back.

Looking through Life is Good is always surprising, even when you’ve seen it before. Quite a few people smile, indicating life was, indeed, good for them, in spite of the rough and tumble settings. A number of others (upwards of 50% of his subjects?) look at the camera and many of those seem to be in cahoots with the Photographer. Many images work in multiple layers from foreground to back. Many show fleeting moments that in Mr. Klein’s hands become intriguing, if not “decisive.” There is a section of urban landscapes in the middle that show a bit of the influence of Walker Evans, but mostly serve to give the book a decidedly avant-garde feel that it retains today. His Photographs down through the years from the b&w shots of NYC of the mid-1950s up to his color work in Brooklyn in 2013 show the universality of modern human existence. Whereas Mr. Frank observes masterfully, Klein often interacts.

Flat Plan for Life is Good & Good for You in New York, 1955, Ink, pencil and colored pencil on paper.

Whereas The Americans remains hugely influential here in the US, and perhaps not as much in the rest of the world, Life is Good & Good for You in New York: Trance Witness Reveals, has been hugely influential around the world. It singlehandedly rewrote the possibilities of Street Photography. Perhaps its influence was felt nowhere more than it was in Japan. Daido Moriyama, a great Street Photographer in his own right, has created an important career exploring some of the ideas & techniques William Klein used in Life is Good, which served as an influence and a catalyst2particularly his high contrast, motion blur and unusual angles. So have any number of other important Japanese Photographers from the late 1950s, on, not to mention numerous others everywhere else. Nakahara Takuma, with Mr. Moriyama one of the Photographers who produced the legendary Provoke Magazine beginning in 1968, wrote a lengthy article on William Klein in 1967. In it, he said about the reaction to Life is Good, “…its impact was unprecedented. The reaction could even be called panic.” And, “…(a number of) photographers…thought of Klein’s photography as an ‘impudent ‘ amateur game, as mere technical experiment. Immediately after New York was published, critical opinion was polarized; rather than photography, it was advocates for the other related genres, such as painting and film, who supported it most positively3.” A case could be made that a good deal of Japanese Photography since its publication bears its influence. “It is not so surprising, therefore, that his photography, as something so new, became extremely popular, especially among the young,” Nakahara Takuma said in the same piece. Pretty remarkable for the first PhotoBook by an untrained Photographer. 

Atomic Bomb Sky, New York, 1955 (printed 2012), Gelatin silver print. Of the millions of images I’ve seen of NYC in my life, I’ve never seen one like this.

It should also be noted that Life is Good & Good for You in New York: Trance Witness Reveals has never been published in the USA4! Early on, every publisher rejected it. The first edition was published by Editions du Seuil in Paris in 1956. William Klein followed Life is Good with books on Paris (2002), Rome (1959), Moscow (1964) & Tokyo (1964. It was reported that Klein took 50,000 Photos for it5.), each of which got a section in the show, each of which remains out of print and highly sought after. 

Antonia and Yellow Taxi, New York, 1962 (printed 2016), from Vogue, Pigment print. When I saw this shot at AIPAD in 2017, I realized I needed to do a deep dive into William Klein. I’m still exploring his huge oeuvre. A bit reminicient of Saul Leiter, perhaps?

Meanwhile, Klein had become a top Fashion Photographer.

Installation view. Paris, 1964-83, in the lower foreground and to the right, Life is Good/NYC behind, Painted Contact Sheets above, and a sliver of the large video projection screen, left. I remain no fan of “holes” in museums, including this one which spans the width of the entire floor, except for 2 narrow walkways on the sides. For me they are just expensive wasted exhibition space. I’m not sure they add anything to the show-going experience. In William Klein’s case, quite a bit more work could have been shown.

The second floor was largely devoted to Mr. Klein’s Film work, which is equally revered and important.

Filmstrip montage from Muhammad Ali: The Greatest, 1964-74, Directed by William Klein.

I will leave that for others who have studied it closer than I have to cover. One thing about them that stands out is that Klein repeatedly focused on important Black figures of the time- Little Richard, Muhammad Ali and Eldridge Cleaver among them. 

Tramway, Capellona, Rome, 1956, (printed 2013), Gelatin silver print. It’s just me, but my mind juxtaposes this with Robert Frank’s Trolley-New Orleans, 1955, when I see this work.

In the end, William Klein proves impossible to pin down. Each time I look through Life is Good, I pick up on a different thread and see things I didn’t notice previously. That’s true of much of his work.

Kiev Railroad Station, Moscow, 1959 (printed 1997), Gelatin silver print.

Breaking the rules was easier for him because he didn’t know all of them. William Klein shows that, even without training, an Artist’s creativity and vision can be enough to create important, lasting and influential Art.

6 Gelatin silver prints from Tokyo, 1961, including Tokyo Stock Market and Yoyogi Hairdressing School, Tokyo, upper far right and lower far right, printed later.

WK:YES will serve as a testament to his accomplishment over his sixty-five year career and a benchmark for all future William Klein shows. Most likely its soon-to-be-published 400 page catalog will serve as a beacon to influence still more people and aspiring Artists, adding to the incalculable number Klein already has. 

R.I.P.

*-Soundtrack for this piece is “All Blues” by the Miles Davis Sextet from Miles’ immortal Kind of Blue, 1959

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  1. Gernsheim, A Concise History of Photography, 1986, p.131
  2. https://time.com/3792413/william-klein-daido-moriyama-double-feature/
  3. Nakahara Takuma, “William Klein,” 1967, reprinted in Provoke, Art Institute of Chicago, 2016, p.362
  4. A facsimile version with every page Photographically reproduced, some reduced, in a smaller size book was published by Errata Editions, NYC in 2010. When I bought a signed copy of it, the seller reported that Mr. Klein looked at it curiously before signing it having not seen it previously. An indication that it was not an “official” edition of Life is Good.
  5. Nakahara Takuma, “William Klein,” 1967, reprinted in Provoke, Art Institute of Chicago, 2016.

Remembering 9/11

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Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Preface- I lived in Manhattan through September 11, 2001 unscratched. I lost no one I personally knew in the attacks (as far as I know), but we all lost 2,713 irreplaceable New Yorkers. 20 years later, 9/11 remains one of the most unforgettable days in my life. My days in the World Trade Center area go back to before the construction of the Twin Towers. Then, the weeks after the attacks were equally gut-wrenching. In Remembrance of the victims on the 20th Anniversary of the 9/11 attacks I decided to share my experiences and the pictures I took of the World Trade Center before, on 9/11, and after, for the first time, not because I think they are anything outside of the ordinary, but because they are just that- the memories of one average person living in Manhattan on September 11th, 2001, of the World Trade Center, the attacks, and the weeks immediately after. 

Facing south, looking up at Tower 1 on the right, Tower 2 on the left over World Trade Center 6, the black shape, right, and a piece of World Trade Center 5, on the left. Vesey Street, June 20, 1998. Click any picture for full size.

1- Witness to Unspeakable Horror

September 11th, 2001 marked the first of the “life will never be the same” moments that have characterized the first century of the new millennium, the latest of which we are all still living, wherever we are. Wherever we were that September morning 20 years ago as this was happening here, in Washington DC, and in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, I doubt many of us had any idea what was really happening and how all of our lives would change.

I didn’t.

Just unimaginable. The view from my window shortly after 9:05am on 9/11/2001 showing the North Tower, 1 World Trade Center, on fire.

I woke that morning at 9:05am. I switched on NY1, the local news station to get the weather, as was my habit each morning. When the set came on, I saw a stunning image through my waking eyes. Smoke coming out of the top of the World Trade Center! What? HOW is that possible? They were saying “a small plane” had crashed into it. As we know now, at 8:46am, hijacked American Airlines Flight #11 had been purposely crashed in to the North Tower.

Dwarfing everything. The Twin Towers and 7 World Trade Center, the taller brown building in front of them, seen on June 20, 1998. I remember the neighborhood before the WTC, and the white College of Insurance in front of it, were built. It all looked like the rest of the buildings in the picture. For a look at the destruction of the area to build the WTC check out Danny Lyon’s PhotoBook The Destruction of Lower Manhattan.

A little over 8 months earlier I had been to the Windows On The World Restaurant at the top of Tower 1 (the North Tower, the first to be hit on 9/11, the Tower on fire in the picture earlier) for a company holiday party, the second time in 3 years the company had held it there. For those who never set foot inside either Tower of the World Trade Center, I’m sorry. You really can’t begin to imagine it. From a distance, the WTC is the highest thing in sight, visible in almost every picture of the NYC skyline. It was visible for almost an hour away on various roadways approaching Manhattan. As you moved closer and closer to it on the street, it’s height went from gigantic (above), to overwhelming (as in the first picture in this piece) to impossible, as in the following picture-

Standing at the base of World Trade Center Tower 2 with Tower 1 looming above on June 28, 1998. If I lowered my head, at eye level was a magnificent Tapestry by Joan Miro on display right beyond the girders in the lobby. Created in 1974 by the great Spanish Artist himself by hand for the building, it was also destroyed on 9/11.

Each building contained 110 stories! Looking up, you couldn’t see the top. As if 110 stories in each Tower, wasn’t enough, each floor was an acre in size. That fact still staggers me.

Riding up to the top was a special experience, even here, in the land of very tall buildings. With “local” and “express” elevators, it was a little like taking a vertical subway. When I got to Windows On The World, of course, I had to look down from those windows, though I’m deathly afraid of heights. I never made it to the roof, but this was close enough. Looking down, at night, was like being in an airplane and looking down on dots of light far below you. I really couldn’t make much else out. 

The World Trade Center and I went back a long way, to before there was a World Trade Center when it was “Radio Row.” My father had an office two blocks from the WTC for 45 years. He used to take me to work there on Saturdays and in the summer as a kid, which I absolutely hated. We used to park under the old West Side Highway at Vesey Street and I’d walk along the site of the WTC as the towers and the complex were being built after the area had been demolished to make way for it. I went to work, two blocks away, the day of Philippe Petit’s incredible walk between the two Towers on August 7, 1974. Over the years, I frequented the legendary J&R Music World on Park Row, one block east of the WTC, and I was there two and a half weeks before 9/11. I lived about a mile and a half from the Trade Center.

That morning, after seeing the smoke on TV, I opened my curtains and, sure enough, I could see from my windows the North Tower was on fire! After dressing, I walked out of my building heading east. As I got to 7th Avenue, I asked someone what happened. He said a plane had flown down 7th and crashed into the World Trade Center! So much happened that day, and the weeks after, that thought didn’t really hit me right away. Later, as I put the whole thing together, I got it-

The first plane (American Airlines Flight #11) on 9/11 had flown down my block!

People frozen in their steps in disbelief, unable to tear themselves away from the horror unfolding in front of them to the left on 6th Avenue around 9:30am on 9/11.

In the months that followed, somehow my sleeping mind grasped this thought my conscious mind had forgotten and concocted a nightmare in which the passengers of the first plane, Flight #11, realized in those final minutes what was going to happen, and jumped the hijackers (no doubt influenced by what really happened to Flight #93 in Pennsylvania) causing it to crash early- into my building!

On the corner of 6th Avenue, there were crowds of people looking at the Towers directly down the street. I pressed on to get to work. On 5th Avenue, that scene was repeated with many more people who lined the Avenue on both sides as far as I could see down. 

The view down 5th Avenue with both Towers on fire just before 10am on 9/11.

By now, it was close to 10am and BOTH Towers were on fire, the second plane having hit the South Tower, a bit lower than the first had hit the North Tower. 

On 5th Avenue, people strain to watch a tiny TV set perched on the widow of a truck, just visible beyond the woman’s blue blouse, as the horror was unfolding to their left at about 10am, 9/11.

I checked in at work. Other staff members were there but most were listening to the radio. Nobody was working. I went back out to 5th Avenue to watch again. When I got there, I immediately realized the South Tower was gone! It had collapsed!

The South Tower had just collapsed leaving something I could never imagine seeing- only one Trade Center Tower standing. Seen on 5th Avenue.

As I said, unless you’d been to the WTC, you have no idea how immense they were. HOW could one collapse?? As it turned out, most New Yorkers, including the first responders, apparently had no idea the Towers being about the biggest thing in NYC could ever collapse. It’s hard to articulate the feeling of seeing something impossible right in front of you. The fires looked like terrible fires, but I’m sure most people felt they would be put out. But, no! That MASSIVE building had collapsed! 110 acres of steel, glass and people were somehow just gone. That was the first realization that our long-held unassailable assumptions were assailable. I remembered hearing someone say years ago that if one of those buildings ever fell it would destroy everything for blocks around in that direction. Having lived for must of my life with those Twin Towers defining the famous skyline of Manhattan. Now, there was only one!, it too was on fire, and had been for longer than Tower 2 was!

A few minutes later, as I stood there in a crowd of fellow New Yorkers, I saw THE most horrific thing I’ve ever seen in my life happen right in front of my eyes.

Tower 1 collapsed.

The North Tower, World Trade Center 1, in the midst of collapsing at 10:28am.

It looked like it happened in slow motion. A huge, eerie, grey cloud slowly rose where it had stood, and kept rising. I stood there open-mouthed watching in utter horror. How many people did I just watch die? 

After watching Tower 1 collapse, my immediate thought was – What’s gong to happen next? I immediately turned around 180 degrees. There, 13 blocks behind me, straight up 5th Avenue, stood the Empire State Building. In 1945 a B-25 Bomber, a large plane indeed, had accidentally crashed into it. Yet, it remained standing after that, and it was still standing now.

The scene after both Towers had collapsed around 10:45am leaving billowing clouds of smoke that would last for days.

Numb, and in a state of shock, I headed back to my office. We closed for the day. Some of my co-workers began the walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. I headed back across town. I dropped my bag off and headed back out with my camera. 

West Side Highway at Houston Street as far as the NYPD was letting pedestrians go on the afternoon of 9/11.

I walked over to the Hudson River, where you could see the WTC all the way down. As I started walking along what is now Hudson River Park, a steady stream of Emergency & construction vehicles sped past me on the Highway. At Houston Street, a bit north of Canal Street, all pedestrian, and non-emergency related traffic was stopped. I stood there for a few hours, most of which was spent watching the biggest cloud of smoke I’d ever seen rising up then bending over east towards Brooklyn (which was a lucky thing, for me, at least, as it turned out).

7 World Trade Center collapses at 5:20pm. Seen from Greenwich Street, September 11th.

Finally, I headed inland. As I reached Greenwich Street, it was now 5:20pm. Just as I got there, 7 World Trade Center collapsed! 7 WTC was a nondescript brown square building across Vesey Street from the Twin Towers. It would have seemed to be a fair distance away from them, but given the immensity of each Tower, not far enough. There was also a huge shopping center under the Towers and other, lower, buildings and a hotel I once stayed in, as part of the main complex. ALL of it was destroyed in the 9/11 attack. 

Wow. I had personally witnessed TWO of the three main World Trade Center complex buildings collapse! 

I found out later, 7 WTC had been evacuated. Unfortunately, as we all know, that wasn’t the case for 1 or 2 WTC, the Twin Towers. 

After watching 7 World Trade go down, I began making my way home. I walked through Greenwich Village. There, I came upon an incredible sight that has stayed in my mind along with the collapses as indelible.

The heartbreaking scene outside of Saint Vincent’s Hospital. Doctors, nurses and staff wait for the arrival of victims. Before 6pm, September 11th.

As I came upon Saint Vincent’s Hospital, the closest hospital to the WTC, I saw their side of 7th Avenue lined with green hospital scrubs, with a few white coats mixed in, doctors, nurses and hospital staff, all of who were standing alongside empty, clean gurneys. 

It took me a moment to realize what that meant. And that moment was the moment I lost it. 

NO ONE was coming to be treated. 

EVERYONE was dead. 

2- Union Square

That night, I went to my local watering hole and commiserated with friends and neighbors. As the hours and days passed, you could not go anywhere around here and not see “MISSING” fliers posted on every available space. These were often unlike most of the typical “MISSING” fliers that pop up from time to time. Many of these went beyond the basic stats needed to identify a missing person, into the realm of biography & memorial. A few days after 9/11, I walked with 2 acquaintances heading south. We passed through Union Square. I was stopped dead in my tracks. The central lawn area is rung with a brick wall all around it, and there was a fence inside that protecting the grass. There, on every square inch of this wall and fence were MISSING fliers! In front of them, spontaneous memorials, with thousands of candles burning bright at 3am. I parted from the couple and went home to grab my camera then walked back. I stayed until after 7am. It was just overwhelming to walk among so much loss, to get a tiny sense of who someone was, from a smile, from a few words, from someone else’s pain who was left behind.

Blurry night photo of Union Square, September 19, 2001. The entire Park was blanketed with MISSING fliers, candles and remembrances left by the constant stream of visitors, here ringing the entire lawn to the right and all the way in the back. Never, before or since, have I seen such a huge outpouring of love, loss and incalculable pain.

I found out in the week following 9/11 that two people I knew had been in the Towers that day. Both got out. To this day, I’m not aware of anyone I personally knew who died. Of course, many, many “MISSING” fliers were NYFD, NYPD, PAPD, EMTs, and other first responders. Those that got me hardest were those seeking everyday people. People who either just happened to be there, or who worked there.

MANY of the MISSING fliers were so poignant they stopped me in my tracks, like this one. When they talk about 9/11 heroes, and there are many, people like Mayra Valdes, who served as a Fire Warden for her company on the 103rd floor of the South Tower, deserve to be counted highly among them, “…last seen screaming to her co-workers to get off the floor, to get out…” Ms. Valdes left a 12 year old son. Union Square Subway Station, September 19, 2001.

Imagine just going to work on a Tuesday morning only to be the target, and the victim, of the biggest terrorist attack on US soil since Pearl Harbor, and the biggest targeting civilians? I thought back to the staff members of Windows On The World, who would have had ZERO chance of getting out if they had been there when the 1st plane hit1, and those others I’d seen who worked at the WTC. 

3- Christmas at Ground Zero

Having no family, I’m alone most holidays. It’s never easy when everyone else is with someone. Hell, no one had called me on 9/11 to see if I was ok. Christmas, 2001, was particularly hard because of what had happened that September day and after. Starting to feel depressed Christmas afternoon, I realized I need to stop that in its tracks. I decided to walk down to the World Trade Center site, by then, commonly called Ground Zero. 

I walked down along the West Side Highway, revisiting my youth when I had to park the car there often in gale force winds whipping off the Hudson. This was a particularly cold night. I was frozen to the core, but I was determined to get there and meditate on what had happened and those lost. I walked along the highway and as I approached Vesey Street, I saw some faint lights in the distance. No one was around. My only companion was the wind, the coming dark, and the cold. 

A Christmas Tree installed by construction workers on the West Side Highway at Ground Zero with the Overpass to the World Financial Center behind, the severely damaged World Financial Center to the right. Christmas Day, 2001.

As I approached Vesey Street, I could make out a Christmas Tree with some lights on it. I imagine the construction workers had set it up. No one else was around. Whoever had put it here was off somewhere else with his or her others. It was fitting it was here. Off to my 10 o’clock “the pile” of debris from the collapse sat, the smoldering finally ended, containing the remains of who knows how many in complete stillness in the dark. I stood there letting ALL of this wash over me for a few minutes, staring over at the dark emptiness that had been the World Trade Center complex. I had stood on this very spot before the World Trade Center was built. I was here when they were being built. Now, I am standing here after they were gone, something I never imagined possible. Though there was a lot of damage and destruction to the surrounding buildings, it always felt like if the WTC Towers had ever fallen over entire City blocks would have been taken out by them. But no. It wasn’t like that for the most part. Most of the buildings right around them, including 3 landmarks, were still there. It struck me standing there that what happened was like a giant hand had come down and lifted the Towers clean out the damage from two such immense collapses was so confined. While it was happening, then as I stood there on Christmas, and to this day 20 years later, when I look out of my window, it’s still very hard to believe they’re gone. But it happened, largely right in front of me.

A woman walking around keeping the candles lit. Union Square, September 19, 2001

I said a silent prayer for all of those we lost, and realized that things could ALWAYS be worse. Then, I turned around and walked home.

The view from my window, tonight, September 10, 2021, with the Tribute in Light just behind where the Twin Towers stood.

This Post is dedicated to all those lost on September 11, 2001, and those who continue to be lost since the attacks due to related illnesses.

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “Life In The Air Age,” by Bill Nelson of Be Bop Deluxe and recorded on their classic Lps Sunburst Finish, 1976 and Live! In The Air Age, 1977, below-

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded & ad-free for 9 years, during which 330 full-length pieces have been published! If you’ve found it worthwhile, PLEASE donate by PayPal below to allow me to continue. Thank you, Kenn.

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  1. It turns out the Restaurant was open at the time, and the staff members and guests who were there all died.

Don’t Call Chuck Close A “photorealist”

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

“Nothing irritates Close more than referring to his early portraiture as ‘photorealism’…” New York Times, 2016.

The last time I saw Chuck Close, I ran into him while we were both out making the rounds of gallery late one Thursday eve in October, 2017. Here, in a small basement gallery in Chelsea, he studies a work past my left shoulder. It was fascinating to watch him study Art he (or I) had never seen before and hear his comments. The work was by the same Artist who created the work behind him, who’s name escapes me.

I met Chuck Close, who died Thursday, 3 or 4 times over the years. He and I shared a distain for the term, photorealism. My problem with, beyond a disdain for virtually all “isms” and boxes in the Arts, it is that it has been used to categorize Artists without their consent, thereby potentially limiting and possibly damaging their career and livelihood. Further, I don’t find it fits the work of a number of those so boxed, as many other boxes and isms don’t fit those included in them. It’s high time the entire range of isms in Art be done away with!

Does this look like a photograph to you? Chuck Close, Detail of a Self-Portrait, seen in 2012.

In fact, Chuck Close was the only Artist who managed to have been so boxed early in his career that managed to escape it as his style changed and evolved numerous times over his long career. Even quadriplegia in 1988 didn’t stop him. Virtually nothing he Painted after 1988 could be construed by anyone as being “photographic.” His late work positively burst with surreal and Day-Glo color

Or, so I thought…

I was extremely disheartened to see these as the titles of his obituary in various newspapers and even the Art media, who you would think would know  better!-

“Chuck Close, Artist of Outsized Reality, Dies at 81. He found success with his large-scale Photorealist portraits…” New York Times nytimes.com

“Chuck Close, renowned photorealist painter, dies at age 81 news.yahoo.com

“Chuck Close, artist known for photorealist portraits, dead” nypost.com

“Artist Chuck Close, known for photorealistic portraits,” UPI.com

“Chuck Close Dead: Photorealist Painter Dies at 81” artnews.com

“Chuck Close, renowned photorealist painter, dies at 81” NY Daily News nydn.com

It just goes to show how few of these people actually paid attention to how the Artist himself saw his work. 

WHO approves this stuff? What are their qualifications? The New York Times published that quote expressing Mr. Close’s irritation of having his work referred to that way, yet THEY used that term in the banner of his obituary!! Seriously? 

Chuck Close was one of the most famous living Artists in the world. If he, with his resources, wasn’t able to manage the conversation around his Art better than this, what chance does almost any other Artist have? 

Portrait of Philip Glass, seen in 2012. The way the white rectangles stop at the shoulders strikes me. It’s something you’d never seen in a photograph. Mr. Close Painted the same subjects, especially himself, repeatedly. Yet, no two are alike, as his style continuously evolved. This is best seen, perhaps, in his amazing Prints, which are done in more media than, perhaps, any Artist before him. His work looks completely different at arm’s length, and again from 25 feet away. Something I find endlessly amazing.

These isms are generally coined by people who had nothing to do with creating the Art. All they really serve to do, in my view, is prevent viewers from seeing the Art for themselves. “Oh…this is ‘Pseudoconceptualexpressionism.’ I know what that is.” So, they don’t look at it for themselves.

“Don’t believe the hype
Don’t—
Don’t—
Don’t—
Don’t believe the hype*”

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “Don’t Believe the Hype” by Chuck D & Public Enemy from It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, 1988.

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
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December 8th, 1980-2020

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava

Tales from Isolation. Day #322

Two Days In My Life

After my early young adulthood as an Art lover, and before I focused on Art, again, I spent about 15 years in Music. Early on, I was on the road with a band, based out of Miami, Florida, for five years. Towards the end of 1980, things were getting really bad in South Florida, inspiring the TV show “Miami Vice,” which after having lived through the reality, I found hysterical. It got so bad, the word was that there so many murders the only cases that were being investigated were when a cop was killed.

My Axe. My blonde 1976 Fender Jazz Bass. The color darkened from 4 years of playing in smoke-filled clubs, rests on my way worn Gig Bag.

Around this time, we took a gig playing a party in Coconut Grove. Not something we ever did- before or after, but it was for a friend of a friend who loved the band, and we liked the idea. “Hey, I’m having a big party and it would be so great if you guys came and played” kind of thing. He made it worth our while to take our gear off the stage of the club we were house band at on Miracle Mile, so what the heck. It was an afternoon outdoor job, and we were up on a hill looking down over the large lawn on a road between us and a row of houses lining the water. Suddenly, a group of police cars descended on the scene across that road. It was a raid. A drug bust. Then the host/our boss for this gig, came over and said “Keep playing.” When trouble starts in a club or a bar, the boss ALWAYS comes over and says “Keep playing,” (like I imagine the boss did on the Titanic) while everyone else is falling all over themselves rushing to get to the exit. “Keep playing.” Like when a riot broke out in a biker bar we were playing in. But that’s a different story.

My blonde 1978 Fender Fretless Precision Bass. I went Fretless after I met the late, great Jaco Pastorius, the genius of the Bass, and a Fretless player, in 1977.

It’s funny how the guys from the union, the AF of M, are never around at those times- only when someone playing was not a member. We looked at each other, the girls dancing in bikinis in front of us, glanced at our cars parked behind us, and then at the unfolding drama going on across the street in front of us. Don Johnson’s got nothing on me. I’m living vice in Miami. 

If gunplay broke out, we might well be in the innocent line of fire, like too many others, before or since. 

Luckily, it proceeded without bullets, a line of cops escorting suspects emerged, and that was the final scene on a long and eventful road trip, full of  unexpected turns, on my journey into full adulthood. Time to go. It so happens that Paul, a friend in another band I had worked with, called to say he was leaving and moving to NYC. He offered to take my stuff with him if I wanted to get out.  

Hmmmm…After some thought, and discussion with my then girlfriend, a local, I decided to take him up on it and move back. Paul and his girlfriend, who went from being a waitress a few years earlier, to being a member of an internationally known band (not her boyfriend’s) a few years later, pulled up with a large trailer hooked to their car and the three of us loaded all of my belongings into it, and off they went. 

A few days later, I got into my Porsche 914 and drove it from Miami to Orlando and we both got on the AutoTrain. I had made the complete 27 hour nonstop Miami to NYC drive too many times to do it once more. The ride was pleasant enough, though I didn’t get much, if any, sleep, and woke early on Monday, December 8th, 1980. After detraining near Washington, DC, I drove the rest of the 5+ hours to NYC, where the rest of my life would begin.

Shortly after I arrived at my parent’s house I heard the news that John Lennon had just been shot and killed in Manhattan, outside his home at The Dakota. 

WHAT??????!

Bob Gruen, John Lennon- Statue of Liberty, 1974, Magnum Photos.

It was just unfathomable. It still is. Even for someone who lived through JFK’s assassination, and saw Oswald get killed, live, on television. Someone who had heard RFK’s assassination live on the radio. Someone who had lived through the assassination of Martin Luther King. Someone who remembers Malcolm X getting murdered. Murder is not something you ever “get used to.” Murder of such great men, each cut down in their prime, is a crime against humanity.

And murder was exactly why I left Miami!

So began the rest of my life…

December 8th, 2020

I took the C train uptown and got off at West 72nd Street to go The Dakota to pay my respects. Arriving, I was greeted on the platform by Yoko Ono’s transformative Sky mosaic mural. The north side of the station, ironically, is directly underneath The Dakota, where Yoko still lives, I believe1.

Yoko Ono, Detail from Sky, Tile mosaic, West 72nd Street B,C Station, underneath The Dakota, December 8, 2020.

After admiring it and its “Imagine Peace” section, and thinking, “Gee, countless millennia of war hasn’t worked out so well, maybe it IS time to give peace a chance…?,” I headed up the stairs and was greeted by a sky that looked remarkably like the mural.

“…above us only sky…” Exiting the 72nd Street Station at Central Park West, with The Dakota looming on the left, December 8, 2020.

I turned the corner onto West 72nd Street and was greeted by no one. The sidewalk was empty. Down the block, in front of The Dakota, where it happened, stood two uniformed building employees, as usual. I stood for a few minutes on the sidewalk, taking in the scene, and thinking about what had happened 40 years ago today.

The Dakota, West 72nd Street, December 8, 2020.

It almost seemed like I was there on the wrong day. Then, I spotted one small bouquet left by a family.

Across Central Park West, looking into Central Park, I could see a long line of visitors waiting to enter the Strawberry Fields section of the Park, but no one else was here, allowing me a private moment in a place where many people live, but which has always reminded me of this day 40 years ago whenever I’ve passed it.

I walked down the street until I came to the spot. I stood there, briefly, alone with the 2 Dakota staff members.

The Dakota, West 72nd Street, December 8, 2020.

In NYC, particularly in Manhattan, everywhere you look and everywhere you walk, you’re walking on history. And the place is not nearly as old as any city in Europe or many other cities elsewhere. Here is one such spot. Passing it now, you’d have absolutely no idea something horrible and world changing happened right here, because it happened 40 years ago. 40 Years. John Lennon was born on October 9, 1940, during the Nazi Blitz of Liverpool. He had just turned 40 when he died. He’s now been dead for almost as long as he was alive.

My thoughts turned to another fact, as what had happened in all that time raced through my mind. Each and every time something’s happened, like 9/11, and all the rest, sooner or later, I wondered- “What would John Lennon say right now?” In addition to everything else he was, Liverpool’s John Lennon was one of our most prominent, and proud, New Yorkers, and a citizen of the world.

Bob Gruen, John Lennon, NYC, 1974. Magnum Photos. NYC in 1974 is light years from the NYC of 2020. It speaks volumes to me that he was so proud to live here then. This t shirt has been on sale here to this day, probably because of this Photo.

On December 8th, 1980, we were all denied knowing

for the rest of time. 

Now, as I sit here after getting back from West 72nd Street, I’m left to wonder- How would the world have been different? 

If you think that’s a questionable question, consider this- There are some who believe that The Beatles played a roll, perhaps the KEY role, in the collapse of the USSR2, in spite of all the countless billions spent to do it by other means, as seen in the PBS Documentary, “How the Beatles Rocked the Kremlin,” from 2009. A grainy video of Part 1, is below (Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5)-

If that’s not helping “give peace a chance,”  I’m not sure we’ve seen much else that is. It’s something that needs to be more closely studied, I think. If it’s true, then we’ve VASTLY underestimated the achievement of the Beatles, already the most revolutionary cultural force of my lifetime. And, we’ve completely ignored the lesson.

Even still, there are hundreds of millions who would have been very interested in what John Lennon had to say on any topic had he lived. Like there would have been to hear what JFK, RFK, MLK or Malcolm X would have said had they lived. 

If all of them had lived, I think this world would be quite a different place today. Along with John’s loss, today I mourn that. Again. 

Yoko Ono, Another detail from Sky, Mosaic, West 72nd Street B,C Station, underneath The Dakota, December 8, 2020.

December 8th, 1980 was a day my life, and the world, changed. Neither have been the same since. It’s up to those who remember those we’ve lost to keep their memory & their messages alive.

*- Soundtrack for this Post is “Imagine” by John Lennon.

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  1. I greatly admire Yoko Ono, for many reasons, not the least of which is the supreme grace with which she handled John’s passing publicly. As an Artist, I believe she is still under-appreciated. My pieces on her work to date are here and here.
  2. Here,

On Painting & Photography

Written & Photographed by Kenn Sava (except *)

Note- Robert Frank has been mentioned in many of my pieces over the past 3 years of my “deep-dive” into Modern & Contemporary Photography, a realm that he had a seminal role in creating with the publication of  The Americans. When the sad news came that he had passed away at 94 on September 9th, I was finishing yet another piece that he is a part of- one that summarizes some of my thoughts on Painting & Photography these past three years, and also marks the 60th anniversary of the American publication of The Americans. Too far along to change, I’ve left it as it was, and added this as my “R.I.P.”  That Robert Frank was, and remains, one of the most influential figures in Art of our time was already testified to within.

Subtitle- “On Rembrandt’s 350th, and Robert Frank’s 60th”

Rembrandt, Self-Portrait, 1660. The Artist is seen here in the last decade of his life. Seen on March 26, 2015 in The Met’s former European Paintings galleries.

When I look at Art, sooner or later, my thoughts involve Rembrandt for any one of a myriad of reasons. I do my best, however, to keep my thoughts about his death to a minimum, so this is going to be purposely short. Rembrandt was pretty poor the last decade of his life. His prior fame had deserted him as if he were a fad, or a “mania,” like tulips were in 1637 when he was 30, and combined with an extravagant lifestyle1 that he could no longer maintain, he lived in housing for the poor at the end2. When he died, at just 63, he was buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave. 20 years later, his bones were destroyed, as was the custom with the remains of such unfortunates. The church, where his unmarked grave was, finally got around to erecting a plaque, inside, in 1909. It redeemed itself some 30 years later when a young Jewish girl who was in hiding nearby from the Nazis took solace in the sound of the church’s bells. Today, there’s a statue of Anne Frank outside the church. His Art largely fell into eclipse, except for a few artists he influenced, for about 100 years, as hard as that is for us to imagine today. October 4, 2019, happens to be the 350th anniversary of his death.

Seen in situ. One of the glories of New York. Five of The Met’s Rembrandts seen in the European Paintings Galleries on June 10, 2017, before the current skylight renovations caused their relocation to the Robert Lehman Collection galleries. When I think of “home,” this gallery comes to mind.

I’ve remained passionate about the work of Rembrandt van Rijn since I was in my early teens and he is one of very very few Artists I can say that about. Almost no where else have I found the humanity, and the depth and range of humanity, I find in Rembrandt. Because of this, I find his Self-Portraits particularly fascinating. In the end, they show me that the Artist, himself, was every bit as human as anyone he ever depicted.

Rembrandt after Leonardo da Vinci, The Last Supper, ca.1634-5, Red chalk, 14 x 18 inches, From The Met’s Lehman Collection. Seen in 2016.

Few other Artists I’ve seen have the power to say as much with just a few strokes as can be seen time and time again in his Drawings- like this one, in which Rembrandt manages to capture the entirety of Leonardo’s masterpiece (and add some additional elements that may have come from a print of the Painting he saw- Rembrandt never left Holland) in so few strokes, you can almost count them.

Self-Portrait in a Soft Hat, 1631, Etching completed with black chalk. The Artist was about 25 at this point at the beginning of his career. Seen at the Morgan Library in September, 2016.

Today, he’s honored as Holland’s favorite son. Public places have been renamed in his honor. (“Rembrandt Square,” etc., etc.). In 2015, the country paid a record price for 2 portraits by the Master, 180 million dollars, splitting the cost with France (for the Louvre and the Rijksmuseum), partially (largely?) because of their value to tourism, (i.e. so they can continue to cash in on him). Pretty ironic given how he was treated near and at the end of his life.

The most Rembrandt Self-Portraits in one place I’ve yet been in were these five etchings seen at Rembrandt’s First Masterpiece at the Morgan Library in September, 2016. I was shocked to see them when I walked in. I had no idea they were included.

So, to me, his end is one of the most unfortunate, and saddest, chapters in Art history. I’m not so sure it’s a cause for all that much celebrating. The world of Art seems to agree. There’s only one museum (as far as I know) anywhere in the world mounting a show of Rembrandt’s work that might be construed as honoring/memorializing it anytime close to that date, with that one actually opening on October 4th3.

Nonetheless, the chance to put a big round number on the front of a marketing campaign seems to be all that’s required for Taschen to leap into the breach with three new volumes in their XL (aka “HUGE!”) series of books. Well? In 87 years, for the 400th anniversary of his birth in 2106, actual physical paper books may be a thing of the past4 Whether they arrive as physical books, ebooks, or whatever form books will take in 87 years, I won’t be here to see them. As I write this, the first of Taschen’s “trilogy,” Rembrandt: The Self-Portraits (R:TSPs, henceforth) is out and in wide distribution. It’s a handsome volume, with a nifty cover image that displays one of 6 different Rembrandt Self-Portraits depending on the angle you look at it. I picked it up in a store and passed, even though nothing Rembrandt did has held me more spellbound for so long as his Self-Portraits have. So, why did I pass on this complete collection of them?  I was extremely disappointed that the great Rembrandt scholar Gary Schwartz wasn’t involved in it, and from what I understand isn’t involved in the other two volumes either. That statement will serve as my protest since I subsequently bought R:TSPs. With all due respect to the scholars chosen, no one will replace Gary Schwartz for me when it comes to Rembrandt- or any other Artist he turns his unique skillset to (Dear Mr. Schwartz, If you happen to see this? Jan van Eyck, Please?). Suffice it to say that the renowned Professor, Simon Schama, host of the PBS series, The Power of Art, dedicated his own Rembrandt biography, Rembrandt’s eyes, to Gary Schwartz.

“I regard Rembrandt’s self-portraits less as assertions of a strong personal identity than as a means to help the artist, like Saint Paul, become more like other people. Behind them lies a man who depended on his art to offset imbalances in his life and his relations with others.” Gary Schwartz.

Focusing on what we do get, the book itself is large, oversized as they say in the trade, a full 10 x 13.5 inches and weighs about 4 1/2 pounds, very light for a true Taschen XL which generally weigh in around 20 pounds. Its 176 pages contain a succinct essay and the rest of the book is Rembrandt, in my view, at his best. The reproductions are very good5, with many being reproduced in actual size.

A publicity shot by Taschen. Rest assured the copies sold in the USA are in English.*

Rembrandt was the first Artist to create a body of Self-Portraits. Yes, the cheap headline is “Rembrandt Invented The Selfie,” which, without looking, I’m sure has already been used to death. That’s not true. He was not the first to do a Self-Portrait, just to create a body of them among Artists known to us today. And what a body of work they are! We don’t have his diary, but, though it’s dangerous to read too much into the SPs (unless you want to), they are not really “pure” autobiography beyond the fact that yes, they do indeed depict the Artist, and we get to see his famous visage evolve as the years and decades go by. Exactly what is going on in each of them has been the subject of much conjecture, and I suspect will continue to be for as long as people look at them. He created them in oil, in ink, and with an etching needle (in Paintings, Drawings and Etchings). Though I love everything the man did, for me, they have been THE supreme body of Art since I saw my first one, shown up top, at The Met way back when. If I had to live the rest of my days only being allowed to look at one work of Art (oh jeez), it would be a Rembrandt Self-Portrait. But, please don’t ask me which one. Right now, I would select his Self-Portrait with Two Circles in England, but that choice is often a factor of which one I’ve looked at last. I’d take any of them- Painted, Drawn or Etched. And in R:TSPs, we get to see every one of them (they say).

Two pre-release copies of Rembrandt: The Complete Paintings, left, flank a copy of Rembrandt: The Complete Drawings & Etching, which complete Taschen’s “trilogy.” As close as I’ve gotten- so far.

While I am very much looking forward to seeing Rembrandt: The Complete Paintings (TCP, henceforth), it should be mentioned that though The Rembrandt Research Project issued its latest volume of what it calls the “Corpus” of the Master’s Paintings in 2016, the controversy around what that body “should” consist of shows no signs of ending, and so? Buyer beware! What’s agreed upon as his complete Paintings will, very possibly, change in the near future. So, even 350 years after his sad demise, this will most likely not be the “final word” on the subject.

Still, there’s so much of what RvR has accomplished in his other work that can be seen in his Self-Portraits. You can trace a good deal of his development as an Artist in this work. And then? There is the incredible Painting! No matter how much Painting I’ve seen in the 40 year (next year6 I’ve been going to shows, my mind always comes back, for a variety of reasons, to “how Rembrandt Painted it.”

Ok. So, you’re wondering- What does all of this have to do with Robert Frank?

Robert Frank: The Americans, my copy of Steidl’s 50th Anniversary edition, 2008.

Questionable timing aside, for me, the real value of RvR:TSPs coming out now has been the bath of the icy cold water of “reality” it’s thrown on my deep dive into Modern & Contemporary Photography, by which I mean post-Robert Frank’s The Americans, the most seminal PhotoBook of our time. 2019 marks the 60th Anniversary of American publication of The Americans (and there’s been almost no fanfare about that- as far as I’ve seen thus far)7. This fall/winter marks 3 years of my “deep dive” into this realm of M&C Photography that I consider The Americans the first bookmark in, a beginning of, in a sense. I started from the place of believing that Photography had not, as yet, earned its place with Painting, Drawing and Sculpture. Looking at R:TSPs? I realized that after everything I’ve seen, I can’t say my mind has been changed all that much. For one thing, though, it’s still a very young medium- particularly when compared to thousands of years of Painting. After all, they’re marketing the 350th anniversary of Rembrandt’s passing, and he’s thousands of years after Artists started Painting. Jan van Eyck was one of the first to use oil paint in the early 1400’s. Photography (with chemicals) has been around since Sir John F.W. Herschel coined the word in his paper “On the Art of Photography; or the Application of the Chemical Rays of Light to the Purpose of Pictorial Presentation,” on March 14, 18398– 180 years. But, the more I look at both, there’s one thing that strikes me as a major difference between Painting and Photographs-

Time.

It takes time to create a Painting. Even if the Artist does one quickly. In most Paintings, it takes longer to apply one brushstroke than it does to create most Photographs.

I think I can see that. And, I think it’s telling.

I’m not the only one.

David Hockney, Don & Christopher, Los Angeles, 1982, Polaroid collage “Joiner.” Seen at David Hockney, The Met, January, 2018.

Earlier this year, while I was formulating my thoughts on this subject, before I saw R:TSPs, I came across 2 books by David Hockney, Cameraworks, 1984, and Hockney on ‘Art,’ conversations with Paul Joyce, published in 1999. In both of them, Mr. Hockney 9, a man who has created both Paintings and Photographs (since 196710), and innovated in both realms, put into words much of what I was thinking- uncannily. “During the last several months I’ve come to realize that it has something to do with the amount of time that’s been put into the image. I mean, Rembrandt spent days, weeks, painting a portrait. You can go to a museum and look at a Rembrandt for hours and you’re not going to spend as much time looking as he spent panitng- observing, layering his observations, layering the time.” “My main argument was that a photograph could not be looked at for a long time. Have you noticed that?,” David Hockney, Cameraworks, P.9. There. He just said it for me.

Recently, in these very pages, without any question from me or the knowledge that I was working on this piece, the Photographer Fred Cray said– “One of the concerns I’ve always had with photography is the way it holds up on the wall with paintings and other media. Photography often seems thin and quick compared to painting.”

Anytime I see a Photographic portrait, my mind (at times, unconsciously) always turns to Rembrandt’s Self-Portraits (though, much of what I’m saying here could also be said for almost all of his portraits, as Mr. Hockney inferred). Not as a way of qualitatively comparing them. As a means of gauging the impact. They are the benchmark for me. Most of the time, the impact of the Photography in question isn’t the same. I wondered why for most of the first two years of this dive. Early in 2019, it hit me. Time. Time is a key element in Painting. In so many ways. From the time each stroke takes to apply, to how long it takes to complete the work to the rendering of time, itself, in the work. These are not questions most Photographers have to face. They deal with questions of light and setting before the fact, then they’re finished- unless they modify it later in printing, or digitally.

Unknown Artist seen Painting on 7th Avenue, NYC, September, 2019. Yes, he got a parking ticket. Many Street Photographers would have been done long before this gentleman got set up.

Of course, Painters have ways of dealing with this question to ensure whatever level of consistency in the lighting they want. They can work in their studio, or they can work from a live subject, a still life, a Photograph, a Drawing, or what have you. Even au plain air, as the Artist above, is doing. Time is effecting the result in other ways. My feeling is it’s this passing of time, in this multiplicity of ways, that it takes the Artist to create the work that is manifesting itself in the work in subtle ways, maybe some of them are so subtle as to be subconscious, but that are nonetheless part of what the viewer experiences. With each brush stroke, time is passing, and in a real way, time is being layered on to the canvas. Time is absolute in a Photograph- it’s the same time at the top as it is at the bottom, unless you’re shooting with a time lapse, like Stephen Wilkes.

All of this also serves to remind me, again, of possibly why great Contemporary Painters, like Richard Estes, John Salt, Rod Penner, and David Hockney as well, among many others, use their own Photographs as part of their working process, but the reason they are Painters and not Photographers is because of what they find lacking in Photography- what it can’t present of their vision that Painting can. They’re not alone. The list of great Painters who also took Photographs at some point is long- ranging from Thomas Eakins, Edgar Degas and Edvard Munch, through Ralston Crawford and Robert Rauschenberg, and even Picasso. I find it telling that not a single one of them identified himself as a “Photographer.” Only Charles Sheeler was dually identified and that might be because his Photography earned him money to support his Painting.

Then, in the midst of all of these thoughts, a terrific new book was released by Steidl, Dave Heath: Dialogues With Solitude, the catalog for a show at LE BAL, Paris in 2018. It gave me pause for thought.

My copy of Dave Heath: Dialogues With Solitude, Steidl, 2019.

WHO is Dave Heath?

From Dave Heath: Dialogues With Solitude, Steidl, 2019. *Photo courtesy of Steidl.

It turns out that Mr. Heath was, not is, unfortunately, but his work struck me every bit as hard as any I’ve seen in this 3 year deep dive. Particularly, his portraits, and specifically his portraits of one subject not looking at the camera.

Dave Heath’s earliest body of work are Photographs he took while serving in Korea in 1953-4, including this one. From Dave Heath: Dialogues With Solitude, Steidl, 2019. *Photo courtesy of Steidl.

It turns out that he was not only a master with a camera- a master of the Portrait, he was, also, a master printer. To the point that no less than the aforementioned, esteemed, Robert Frank paid Mr. Heath to print his work for what I believe was his first solo show at no less than the Art Institute of Chicago in April, 1961, a byproduct of The Americans’ release here two years earlier. That says it all.

My copy of Dave Heath’s A Dialogue With Solitude in the 2000 Lumiere Press edition. The books is on the right. The print is in the sleeve to the left.

Captivated by what I’d seen in the Steidl book, which is very well printed, in my opinion, though, unfortunately, Mr. Heath, who passed away in June, 2016, was not involved in it, I learned that Dave Heath’s “masterpiece” is the PhotoBook, A Dialogue With Solitude, 1965, a subject I am quite familiar with. I hunted down a “reasonably” priced copy of the 2000 Lumiere Press limited edition reprint with a signed & numbered print. The reprinted edition includes a letter from Robert Frank. The print in my set is “Washington Square, New York City, 1958.”

Washington Square, New York City, 1958. A Photograph that leaves me speechless, and turns my thoughts to Rembrandt.

It’s one of the very greatest accomplishments in PhotoBooks I’ve yet seen. Given what I said about his printing, the inclusion of a signed & numbered print in the Lumiere Press edition is a key. When I saw it for the first time I had a feeling that was closest of any Photograph I can think of to that I get while looking at a Rembrandt Portrait. Of course, as always, your results may differ.

For some reason that I can’t fathom, the word is that “Mr. Heath’s work went out of style.” Well? Rembrandt, too, “went out of style,” for well over a century, as hard as that might seem to believe to us now. Now, with Steidl’s Dave Heath: Dialogues With Solitude, it seems to me that a show or a book that returns a great, overlooked or forgotten Artist to the world has done that world a great cultural service. I can’t think of a higher purpose for either.

David Hockney, Perspective Is Tunnel Vision, Outside It Opens Up, 2017, Acrylic on two canvases. David Hockney shows how the camera sees in “tunnel vision,” single point perspective,” versus how humans see with what he calls “reverse perspective,” with infinite vanishing points, born of driving through a 10 mile long tunnel in Europe then suddenly coming into the great outdoors in 198511.

Reading David Hockney further, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in Photography, he speaks time and again that cameras, while being great at reproducing two dimensional objects12, do not see the way humans do. He has devoted much of his subsequent Painting career (as seen in his fascinating recent shows) to challenging traditional perspective and exploring the innovations of both Renaissance masters and the masters of Cubism.

David Hockney, Grand Canyon I, 2017, Acrylic on canvas, 48 x 96″ hexagonal, seen in April, 2018. Outside, it, indeeds, “opens up.” The Artist has also begun cutting the corners off his canvases to reinforce his ideas.

In 1999, Mr. Hockney asked, “How many truly memorable pictures are there? Considering the millions of photographs taken, there are few memorable images in this medium, which should tell us something. There have been far more images made this way than the sum of all previous images put together.” (Paul Joyce, Hockney on ‘Art’, P.43.) One thing that’s changed since Mr. Hockney said those words is that there are now more cameras in the world then there are people. It seems to me that that’s going to be a factor in this. The sheer number of Photographers versus Painters is, and is likely to remain indefinitely, skewed incredibly. Incalculably. It makes the odds of a “great” Photograph out of the billions being taken incrementally greater. “Quality only comes with quantity,” legendary Photographer Daido Moriyama said explaining why he takes so many Photos, in How I Take Photographs, page 7313.

I’ve noticed that the rise of Photography has coincided with a relatively ”quiet period” in Painting, in some ways. While this has lasted a few decades, more recently, I don’t have to look any further than my own 200+ piece Archive. I’ve said a number of times that one of the reasons I decided to focus on Photography the past three years was the lack of Painting shows that spoke to me sufficiently to undertake the work these pieces require. I wonder how much longer this will last- Is this an anomaly, or is this the beginning of the way things are going to be? Will we see the number of painters going forward that we’ve seen for the past 500 years? Of course, sheer numbers, or the lack of them, don’t guarantee masterpieces or geniuses. Greater numbers only serve to increase the odds.

At the three year mark, I’m still not convinced that Photography will come to be seen as Art in hundreds of years when that question is decided, IF anyone still cares about Art then. But? If they do, my bets are that Rembrandt’s will still be among the work most highly appreciated.

A work like Dave Heath’s Washington Square, New York City, 1958, gives me hope that Photography may still get there. Is it, as Mr. Hockney said, an image in a billion? Or is it an indication of what might be possible in the medium? I will continue to look…

Meanwhile, on October 4th? I’ll just light a candle. To go with the one in memory of Robert Frank. While I continue my dialogue with Davids Hockney and Heath…

*-Soundtrack for this Post is “Grace,” written by Jeff Buckley and Gary Lucas from Jeff’s immortal album, Grace. I worked with Mr. Lucas, and I booked Music into the now legendary NYC Music Club/Cafe, Sin-E in 1993, shortly after Jeff had played and recorded there. And then? He was suddenly…gone. I never met him or heard him perform in person. One of the great regrets of my life.

BookMarks

My copy of The Rembrandt Book, (THE Rembrandt Book, or TRB, as I call it), by Gary Schwartz. In my opinion, it’s a model of everything a truly great Art monograph should be.

In addition to the books I referred to above, if someone were to ask me to pick one book on Rembrandt? I would choose The Rembrandt Book, by the aforementioned Gary Schwartz. It’s a book designed for readers both new to Rembrandt or expert on the Dutch Master, and so, it’s a book for a lifetime of enjoyment and research. Published in 2006 by Harry N. Abrams, it’s the SECOND full length monograph on Rembrandt by Gary Schwartz, and they couldn’t be more different (In a world where ANYone else would be thrilled to write one magnificent book on Rembrandt? HOW incredible is that?) or compliment each other better. TRB is oversized at 10 x 13 and weighs 6 pounds, but it is my bible on Rembrandt, and if I can’t find what I’m looking for there? I go to his prior monograph, the equally highly regarded, Rembrandt: His Life, His Paintings, 380 pages and 3.6 pounds, published by Viking in 1985 (and I believe this book has been reissued at least once). Both books can be found very reasonably (for less than they were originally published for) in very good condition. Along with my Sister Wendy books, they are the foundations of my Art library.

Another book that’s very relevant to this discussion, and has been essential for me- one I don’t see recommended nearly often enough, is Believing Is Seeing (Observations on the Mysteries of Photography) by the renowned Errol Morris. 

My prior pieces on PhotoBooks are here

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Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
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  1. You can still visit the beautiful, large, expensive house he bought at Jodenbreestraat 4, in Amsterdam.
  2. Excuse me for seeing a lesson for today’s Art world in this, but I do. If this could happen to one of the greatest Artists who ever lived? It can happen to anyone.
  3. The Wallfar-Richartz-Museum, Cologne, Germany is having a show of Rembrandt’s Graphic Work that opens on, yes, October 4, 2019. The Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, is hosting a Rembrandt-Velazquez show that opens a week later.
  4. Gary Schwartz says there are some documents that raise the possibility that Rembrandt may have actually been born in 1605 or 1607  (Gary Schwartz, The Rembrandt Book, P.15). I don’t think a year on either side of 2106 is going to make a difference regarding my being around to see it.
  5. My one caveat being that they chose to reproduce only the detail of the early works in which RvR Painted himself as an onlooker in a crowd, denying the viewer the full context and setting.
  6. I consider the incomparable 1980 Picasso Retrospective at MoMA the real beginning of my “looking career” at shows. Looking at Art books predates that by about a decade.
  7. The Americans was first published in 1958 in France by Robert Delpire, and in 1959 by Grove Press in the USA.
  8. //iphf.org/inductees/sir-john-frederick-william-herschel/
  9. Who, in addition to being a world-famous Painter, has also authored two important books on Art & Art History- Secret Knowledge and A History of Pictures
  10. David Hockney, Something New Exhibition Catalog, 2018, P.6
  11. David Hockney, Something New Exhibition Catalog, 2018, P.5
  12. Afterall, what we have in Rembrandt: The Self-Portraits, and every other mass produced book of Paintings, are Photographs of Paintings.
  13. For much more on how Daido Moriyama feels about whether Photography is Art, see P.205-6 in the chapter titled “The Real Daido Moriyama,” in this same book, How I Take Photographs.

R.I.P. Sister Wendy

Written by Kenn Sava

Terribly sad news reached me that Sister Wendy Beckett passed away earlier today at 88. As one of the countless millions who watched her religiously on TV and video, I loved the new style of Art criticism she brought based on her surprisingly open-minded insights and decades of study. As one got to know a little about her, her life as a cloistered nun made it seem incongruent that she would be able to discuss earthly Art so openly. But, she did, and in the process enthralled countless viewers, and readers, with her insights and passion. She was so dedicated to living a life of denial she didn’t go to museums! She learned about Art through books.

Sister Wendy outside the trailer she lived in on the grounds of the Carmelite Monastery in East Haring, England. Photographer unknown.

To know the works only through books where even in the best ones you’ll see a given work from one, maybe two Photos, and then to finally SEE all of them in person?

Sister Wendy in New York harbor circa the late 1990’s with the World Trade Center in the background. The opening shot of PBS’ Sister Wendy’s American Collection- The Metropolitan Museum.

Think how incredible it must have been for her to finally go to The Met, for example, having suddenly become a most unexpected television star, first for the BBC and then for PBS, when she made the terrific documentary about it for Sister Wendy’s American Collection. It makes me feel a bit guilty for having been to The Met a thousand and a half or so times since 2002.

Sister Wendy seeing Rembrandt’s Aristotle with a  Bust of Homer, 1653,  in one of the European Paintings galleries on the 2nd floor from Sister Wendy’s American Collection- The Metropolitan Museum. Before it was moved, I stood there many times looking at it and thinking about what it was like for her to stand here and see it in person.

Isn’t it ironic, and strangely fitting, that for someone who discovered and learned so much about Art through books, so many others have discovered her and learned so much about Art through her books and videos?

It was a huge learning experience for her, too. I first discovered Sister Wendy through her articles in Modern Painters magazine. The name “Sister Wendy Beckett” at the top stopped me. Who? Her articles there are different than her books and magazine. They are text with few illustrations, but her “magic” shines through. Yet, as good as they are, these pieces were a drop in the bucket of Sister Wendy’s vast knowledge of Art and Art history, as we were to soon find out. Whoever chose her to be on television was brilliant. Becoming the host of video series on the BBC and PBS here in the US, she found herself having to explore Art in realms outside of her favorites. She said of this, “…one also has to remember that if I’m to do encyclopedic museums and give a fair idea of what’s in them, I have to move outside medieval art, Oriental art, ceramics, and the Old Masters. If I had stuck just to what I myself love best, every program would have been exactly the same, because each of these museums has superb holdings in my four favorite areas. But nobly, self-sacrificingly, thinking only of the good of others, I forced myself to investigate areas of art into which perhaps I had up to now taken little interest. As always happens with self-sacrifice, I was blissfully rewarded.” This is something I always keep in mind when I come across something new that doesn’t speak to me right away. I’ve learned to keep looking.

Sister Wendy, seen in the Egyptian Galleries at The Met around 1999, with Fragmentary Head of a Queen, 18th Dynasty, c1352 BC, a personal favorite of hers in all of The Met’s collection. I was astounded when I found that out- It’s such a small work, usually displayed in a small room, off the court leading to the famous Temple of Dundur that I’m sure most visitors to The Met miss it. Yet, Sister Wendy, somehow, found it, and spoke about the beauty and tragedy of this work and what it means in our time, 3300 years later, brilliantly. Just remarkable.

To this day, I can’t look at it without thinking about her. These two Photos are stills from Sister Wendy’s American Collection- The Metropolitan Museum.

As you watch, it’s hard to tell which areas are new to her and which aren’t, she speaks so passionately about all of them.

On the grounds of the Monastery. Photographer unknown.

After she completed the televisions series and wrote a number of books she retired from Art History and went back to the seclusion she lived in ever since. To her trailer, seeing or speaking with no one, save the nun who brings her meals and collects her laundry.

Though I’m not religious, Sister Wendy has been a huge influence on me, and I’m sure many, many others. She, and Lana Hattan, are the two reasons NighthawkNYC exists. While I begged her in these pages almost three years ago to come back to us, it was not to be. Now, I’m eternally grateful to her for creating the large body of videos and books she did, which is extraordinary given her beliefs and dedication to living a cloistered life.  It’s endlessly interesting to me that she chose to venture into the world this publicly for these few short years, but she gave the world a blessing that I hope will live on and inspire others for as long as Art does.

When you take it all into consideration? It’s remarkable we had her at all. Today, I give thanks that we did.

Her legacy will live on in the sheer joy of discovering Art that she inspired in others, and as a result, through all of those who’s lives she touched. Including countless people she never even met.

Sister Wendy gave a huge gift to all of us. 


BookMarks-

This is not a posed photo.

Without doubt, my favorite Sister Wendy book is Sister Wendy’s The Story of Painting. In my opinion it is the place to begin a Western Art History library. Book #1. The first one to get. Though out of print, copies are still to be found at reasonable prices. If you are getting it to be a cornerstone of your Art History library, get the hardcover version, since it will hold up much better than the paperback, which is too big for its binding in my experience. She covers the entire canon, through all it’s periods, in all its many styles. Right up to the fairly recent past. It’s surprisingly thorough for an overview. And? Her choices can be, well, eccentric, but almost no one can make a case for ANY work of Art like Sister Wendy. If a work spoke to her? She shows it. It doesn’t matter if the Artist is a household name, or not. That’s something that has been at the forefront of my mind ever since- Let the Art speak to you and pay attention to what does. All these years later? There’s no greater lesson to be learned in studying, or enjoying, Art than that. 

Sister Wendy’s 1000 Masterpieces  is every bit as good though it doesn’t follow the trail of time that Story of Painting does chronologically. Masterpieces is arranged alphabetically by Artist, so it moves all over time and periods as you turn the page. I recommend it for those who want to read her thoughts about works not included in Story of, which anyone taken by her will want to, and to those who can’t find Story of It’s done in almost exactly the same style as Story of Painting, but? If it ain’t broke…

Sister Wendy’s Story of Painting is also my favorite Sister Wendy video series. Luckily, it’s still available as part of Sister Wendy – The Complete Collection (Story of Painting / Grand Tour / Odyssey / Pains of Glass)For me as an Art lover? Sister Wendy’s Story of Painting is among the best things I’ve ever seen on television. It deserves to be as popular as Seinfeld. For a while there when it was originally on, it got to be about as close to it as might be possible for an Art History show. It’s still the best series of its kind there is. 

After that,Sister Wendy’s American Collection is an extraordinary chance to visit six of the greatest American museums with Sister Wendy. Virtually every moment of them is a wonder, the revelations are constant, thought-provoking and timeless. As I wrote three years ago, I was flabbergasted that she was able to visit “my Museum” and point out things that almost no one would know. She made it seem “new” to me and that’s something I found shocking from someone who had never been there, and I still do. 

I long felt that I would have given anything to have gone to a museum with her. This was as close as I got. Here’s your chance- to go to six of them with her. As with any Art she spoke or wrote about? You’ll learn something new- every single time. 

*- Soundtrack for this Post is “Grace,” written and performed by Jeff Buckley on Grace. About it, Jeff said, “It’s about not feeling so bad about your own mortality when you have true love.” I chose this because though she was a cloistered nun who lived as a hermit, Sister Wendy well knew of and felt deeply about the trouble, the “fire” in the world, which she said is “not what it should be. It’s an aggressive, unloving world,” in her comments about the Fragmentary Head of a Queen, 18th Dynasty, c1352 BC, seen earlier, which had been broken by forces or people unknown to us. And? Because she had true love…

NighthawkNYC.com has been entirely self-funded and ad-free for over 6 years, during which over 250 full length pieces have been published. If you’ve found it worthwhile, you can donate to keep it going & ad-free below. Thank you!

Written & photographed by Kenn Sava for nighthawknyc.com unless otherwise credited.
To send comments, thoughts, feedback or propositions click here.
Click the white box on the upper right for the archives or to search them.
For “short takes” and additional pictures, follow @nighthawk_nyc on Instagram.

Subscribe to be notified of new Posts below. Your information will be used for no other purpose.