![]() Dick moved like a dancer, so I remember him run-dancing straight for the huge, perpetually ready, dark studio in the back. He leapt into action: “Follow me! Right now!” And I said, “Yessir,” dropped my bag, and scooted after him. ![]() I remember the day this image was shot: Dick was doing something near the front door and looked up when I breezed in. I always said that when it got too cold to wear my Sperrys, it was time to leave New York for an adventure in a warmer climate. This was my standard uniform: my hair twisted up under a World War II GI hat so it fell out coiffed, white shirt, blue-jean miniskirt, and my only pair of shoes, white Sperrys. I worked with Dick often, and I’m always drawn to this image. He would say, “How do you like that, Pat?” And I would say, “I like it, Avedon.” ![]() He would become happy when he looked through the contact sheets it was like a treasure hunt for both of us. That was magic! I’d be there, in the dark, watching the images come up in the chemical trays. Avedon also let me come with him into the darkroom when he’d develop the photos. He was quick, I was quick, it was like two gazelles running back and forth, trying to catch the perfect image. I was in front of the camera, no seam, the cement floor curved into the wall, and it was all painted white, and Avedon would say, “Pat, jump!” I tried not to look like a frog, so I sort of leaped, keeping my eye on him for the next instructions, trying to keep up. He was agile, like a gazelle, and so was his assistant, who leaped along with him while holding on to an umbrella that reflected the light. At the time, there weren’t cameras with rapid-speed shutters that could easily catch an action shot. I was always so happy to work with Avedon because he allowed me to move and not be rigid or still. I remember the day this image was taken as wonderful. Included in its pages were his images of figures like Marilyn Monroe, Allen Ginsberg, Malcolm X and members of the American Nazi Party.) (Together with James Baldwin, a friend of his from high school, Avedon released the book Nothing Personal in 1964, exploring “the contradictions at the heart of American experience”. “He is one of the greatest portraitists in history, as important to his time as Holbein and Gainsborough were to theirs.”ĭuring his long career, which stretched from the mid-1940s until his death in 2004, Avedon would create some of the defining fashion images of the 20th century for Harper’s Bazaar and Vogue, as well as important portraits of civil rights activists, politicians and outsiders of all kinds. “Avedon’s unflinchingly frank aesthetic has become so much a part of the conventions of photographic portraiture it is easy to forget that he invented it,” Larry Gagosian writes in the splendid exhibition catalogue for Avedon 100, the sprawling centennial celebration now on view at his 21st Street gallery. Born in New York City just over 100 years ago today, Richard Avedon was a singular force in fashion and art photography, pioneering a visual style that privileged both formal innovation and a sense of theatre – whether he was working in the studio or out on the street.
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