I was asked to moderate a talk last week at the Conference for World Affairs with the French Photographer, Maurice Sherif. I knew nothing about Maurice and had to do my research. I found one article on the loneliness of being a photographer which really rang true (“if love belongs to the poet, and fear to the novelist, then loneliness belongs to the photographer”).
Maurice and I decided to meet before his presentation. I picked him up in one of the gorgeous houses up at Chautauqua – pointy French leather shoes, dusty pink shirt, black vest, herringbone blazer- nice cologne.
The first thing he does is sign the most beautiful handmade B/W gravure print over to me. A haunting image from under a bridge somewhere in Paris.
We talked about the ideas around leaving a legacy…prints…books…evidence of our work.
So I’m starting to experiment more with prints.
Yesterday, Stephie, the kids and I all looked at photos of the moments just after the kids were born. We had never looked at them together before. Both boys were a little bit taken aback by their very younger selves that had been hiding hard drives all these years. Asher asked, “Are those good memories for you? Were you happy when I was born?”
It is time to blow those pictures up, too.
George