Rainer Fetting

In a comment about my photograph of Roald Dahl (posted December 3, 2009), Heather recently asked me if I would say what was the most flattering and the most offensive remark made to me when a subject saw the picture I had taken of them. Here is my answer:

I liked the German painter Rainer Fetting's comment on seeing his picture. "Some kind of sexy," he said. Or from Stanley Kubrick on the set of "Dr. Strangelove" after I had been there a few hours taking pictures of him for a magazine, he asked me if I would like to work for him. He had not actually seen any of my photographs but said, "You seem to stand in the right place."

Then the withering ones: "The carapace of an aging turtle - sub Avedon," from the British actor Dirk Bogarde. On second thoughts this is not actually offensive, just a description from a good writer.

Offensive? What about this from the writer William Styron? "I do not care for the photograph." (Now in the permanent collection at the Smithsonian.) But the most offensive answer I have received to a request to photograph somebody was made at a London tennis club in the mid seventies when I asked John McEnroe if I could photograph him. He replied, "What's in it for me?" I don't think McEnroe is like that now. (Except he is still funny.) I am a great fan of his commentating and playing.

Dirk Bogarde

See above for commentary.

Steve Martin

Because a number people have asked about him, I am posting my picture of Steve Martin.

Time: the late eighties. Place: our loft on Lafayette Street, New York City. The buzzer rang. I answered it. "It's Steve Martin", the voice said.

"Please come up. Ninth floor."

I waited at the entrance to the loft, wondering nervously what the size of his entourage would be. How will I get them all out of the way. Out stepped Mr. Martin from the elevator, dressed in a trilby hat, tie and blazer... alone. No agent, publicist, friend, lawyer, body guard, or wife.

Once I asked a writer who came to a shoot not to talk to the subject while I was photographing him, but he persisted, so I asked him to wait, please, downstairs, in the coffee shop. He was furious. I like not a soul present when taking a photograph. After all, I wouldn't interrupt the writer if he was writing or interviewing.

Mr. Martin drank some coffee, liked it, made polite conversation, telephoned his wife about the purchase of a painting and never made a funny remark or told a story. He disappeared to the bathroom three or four times. He complied with my directions from behind the camera with absolute exactness.

As we saw Mr. Martin off at the entrance to the elevator, one of us asked if he liked cats. "Oh! I love them, why?"

"We weren't quite sure what to do." Caroline said. "We have three. But in case you didn't like them we put them in the neighbor's apartment for the morning.