Amy Arbus - Interview by Erica Wright Recently TakeGreatPictures.com contributor Erica Wright was able to sit down with Amy Arbus to find out more about her work. Article rating: 7.50

Takegreatpictures.com (TGP): Is photography just in your blood or did something spark your interest?

Amy Arbus (AA): I never intended to be a photographer because both my parents were photographers. It seemed like that was already taken care of. But I didn't think of being anything other than an artist. Let me qualify that: I knew I wanted to be in the arts.

When I was in ninth grade, I took a photography class. We were assigned to photograph an apple with a brownie box camera, which was the simplest camera they made at the time. It just exposes. I'm known for my big mouth. I don't mean I talk a lot; I literally have a large mouth. So I took a gigantic bite out of the apple and photographed it. The background was a very dark sky; the clouds were rolling in for a horrible storm. The photograph was haunting. When I developed the image, everyone acted like I was the second coming, and I found that very intimidating because I wasn't aware of the effect I had created. The photograph made me rather than me making it. And I didn't take another photograph for seven years.

In the interim, my father changed careers, and my mom died when I was seventeen. The loss of her was tremendous, as was the loss of the photographs. I considered her photographs both a social and a personal document. After her death, there was no personal diary of my life, and that I missed desperately.

All of my friends knew that I was photographer before I did. I was studying music in Boston, and a friend who was studying photography took me out to photograph one day. I knew the moment I put the camera to my eye that I had some sort of innate sense about it. With music, I didn't have enough innate talent to achieve the kind of greatness I wanted.  I started studying photography, but I had no intention of being a great photographer. I had watched my mother, and I thought that photography was a license to have an interesting life. I wanted to be an adventurer. I was terribly shy as a kid, but once I started photographing I had a perfect excuse to talk to people.

TGP: Were you always drawn to shooting portraits?

AA: Yes. The reason to photograph, for me, was not to take great images; it was to get to meet and talk to people. Rarely do you have access to people in such an intimate way, and then it's over. That kind of contact is very different from other kinds of contact—meeting people at a party or professionally—it can be very magical.

TGP: You photograph many Broadway actors in costume and in character; what do you find compelling about those shoots?

AA: None of my projects have started as conceptual ideas, they've always just happened. I start doing things I'm drawn to, and they morph. I follow my instincts. I photograph a lot of events—people in costume, in uniform, in period clothes. I spent a summer out in Montauk with The Hamptons Shakespeare Festival, and I was photographing all these outdoor performances. I would photograph the actors who were living and performing in a state park. They lived in little cabins and washed their costumes out and hung them out to dry on clotheslines. During the performances, they would appear seemingly out of nowhere in the woods. They were like fictional characters living among us.

Two years ago I was visiting my parents [Arbus's father and his wife] in California. I asked to photograph a production of Guys and Dolls during a matinee performance. The actors came out of their trailers, and I had them stand in front of a blank wall before they went on stage. It was a perfect situation. I was really excited about the pictures because they weren't the typical pictures of actors. They weren't glamorized; they weren't anything like 8x10 glossies or production stills. It was as if these were real people from another time and place. The response from the actors was tremendous; they adored the pictures. So, I thought to myself, 'how can I figure out how to do that here [in New York]?' I finally figured out a way.

Constraints are also what make photographs challenging and captivating. There's something that happens when an actor is no longer within the confines of the play, but retaining some of the character—the look and walk and feeling and gestures— and the real person is seeping through. It's a strange sort of limbo that they're in and fascinating to watch.

TGP: I definitely see that quality of fictional characters coming to life. I am completely mesmerized with your photograph of the lizards.

AA: Those costumes were made by Cathy Zuber, who is one of my favorite costume designers. When I was working on my first book, No Place Like Home, I got sidetracked into architecture. This project has really gotten me into costume design. They do so much research. It's a lot more interesting for me to photograph an actor in character than in their street clothes. I just photographed one of the lizards in another show. The more that happens, the happier I am. I get to see the actors in different incarnations.

TGP: What was it like being profiled by Richard Avedon for Aperture?

AA: He was the most incredible man. I just feel lucky to have been part of his life for a short time. When he taught that workshop in 1992, he was so generous. It was a master class; there were 16 of us. It profoundly changed my life in that he gave me a license to be an artist, and up until that point, I thought of myself as a photographer for magazines. There was a huge change in how seriously I took myself and my work. And he was such a passionate, tireless person who took everything so seriously. It was amazing to watch him. When he made lunch that was the most important thing to him at that moment. And every job was the end of the world if it didn't turn out right. That's why he was very difficult and amazing to be around. What he wrote about me was so moving and so beautiful! A couple of things have happened to me in my life where I think, 'it doesn't get any better than this; I can stop now,' and that was one of them.

TGP: Tell me about your first book, No Place Like Home.

AA: That actually did sort of start with a concept, although the finished product wasn't the exact concept that we started with. I interpreted the series I did for The Village Voice ["On the Street"] as people expressing their personalities through the way they dress, and I wanted to change that element of people wearing their personalities to people living within their personalities. I came up with the idea literally in my editor's office, and it was commissioned. That doesn't happen anymore; that was pure circumstantial luck. Originally I was thinking of photographing people who lived in boats and cars and things that weren't traditionally considered homes, and what Doubleday ended up wanting was an urban book. It turned out to be a book about interior design with a lot of artists, furniture, and interior designers. It changed a lot. I shot everything in a year, and that's a speedy way of working. Most book projects take a lot longer both to photograph and to publish.

TGP: Why was the project done so quickly?

AA: I had a commission, and it wasn't much money, but it was money enough to travel. I was staying with friends and doing work for magazines. We had to get it done to make it financially worthwhile. I love the book, but I definitely would do it differently now. I think if we were doing it now, we would want a whole series of photographs on each house.

TGP: And this fall, your work for The Village Voice is coming out as a book. Did you always want to turn that monthly column into a book?

AA: Yes, I've been wanting to do that ever since the mid-80s. Making books can be a hugely satisfying. They can take forever, but books and shows are the ultimate way to have your work seen. Five hundred pictures were published from that series, which means there are thousands that weren't included. So I was thinking of it as a book all along. People would say to me, 'In 15 or 20 years this is going to be a really valuable document,' and I was thinking, 'who can wait that long?' And here we are. I tried to sell it at the time, and then I forgot about it and worked on many other projects. Everybody loved it, but they couldn't sell it. Then a couple of years back, as is the case with many photography books, two people wanted it at once. I had the happiest experience working with Welcome Books. They're wonderful people, and they did such a nice job. Each of their books is made in the way that it should look; none of the books resemble each other. Each project demands a certain kind of technique that's in sync with the work. It was an absolutely perfect match for me.

TGP: Who were your major influences? Avedon?

AA: Yes, he was an enormous influence, though not in any direct sense. My work doesn't resemble his. One of my favorite books of his is called Alice in Wonderland about a production of a play, and the images are intensely emotional. It's one thing to see portraiture done in the August Sander style—regal and at a moment of rest—but to see Avedon's people screaming, gasping, and doing somersaults is really exciting. And I adore Irving Penn, early Annie Leibovitz, and of course my mom's work is a great influence because it got in by osmosis. Sylvia Plachy who worked at the Voice for many years. The list of photographers whose work I admire would be a long list.

TGP: What equipment do you use?

AA: Nikon and Hasselblad. I use film exclusively, although I just got a lesson in digital photography. There are things that you can do with digital that you can't do with film and vice versa. For me, it's like film versus video. They're so different that you almost can't compare them, yet.

TGP: What advice would you offer aspiring photographers?

AA: I give a lot of advice because I teach. I've had a great support system, and that's what I try to create for my students. Tenacity is one of the most important things. Talent is great, but talent doesn't make you a great photographer, and it doesn't help you succeed. So sticking with it is important. I think what young photographers don't know is how long things take, and that's the hardest thing to tell them. Honestly I didn't know how challenging it would be to make a living as a photographer, but I don't dwell on that. I've tried to change professions but like a magnet I am always drawn back.

I give my students a lot of technical tips. I'm not a great technician, but I give them simple advice about how to make their subjects feel comfortable, how to gain control over techniques so that you can let go, how to approach people on the street without intimidating them. A friend of mine, Greg Miller, makes a joke that if you walk onto any subway car in New York, someone one there has studied with me. Teaching is rewarding because my students can do things I can't do.

TGP: Is it fair to say that your work is New York-centered?

AA: Well I'm definitely a New Yorker; there's no question about that. I photograph here because I'm here. But I often teach to travel. I go to Tuscany every other summer, and I did a series in eastern Sicily. I flew to California recently for a job, and I travel a lot around the area. New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maine, Vermont. But basically I'm a New Yorker, and a lot of my work has that feeling. We've gotten a lot of interest from British publications about my street work. Much of the fashion was inspired by London designers.

TGP: Is the Rites and Rituals project what you're mainly working on right now?

AA: I am primarily working on the theater photographs. I've been working on the Rites and Rituals since April 2001. I have been photographing public ceremonies all over the world, and now I'm moving into private ceremonies—Sweet Sixteen parties, bar mitzvahs, and such. It's a much longer-term project than the actors. I'm hoping to publish the actors soon because although those images will last forever; it's great for people to remember the plays. It would be nice to make that book timely. I love doing this project so much that I am hoping to do many books, an entire series.