A photographer from New Jersey.

One of the more treasured books in my photography library is this small monograph on New Jersey photographer George Tice (b. 1938). Tice is perhaps best explained in his saying “If I were given the choice of traveling to China or Missouri, I’d probably pick Missouri. I want to be known as an American photographer.”

It shows in his work which is calm, restrained and clearly imbued with a love for his country. There is none of that denigration of the worst that can be America so often seen in Cartier-Bresson’s pictures taken on this side of the pond. Rather, there’s a gentle, insightful approach of one who clearly loves where he is.

One of my favorites is of the interior of a seemingly deserted barber’s shop in Paterson, New Jersey, whose window sign proudly proclaiming ‘Joe’s Barber Shop’ is missing several letters (p.53). There’s no need to replace them, you can hear the proprietor thinking. Every one knows where the local barber shop is. It’s been there for ever, after all. A lovely memory of the best that small towns bring.

The book remains available from Amazon and you can go there by clicking the picture above.

A woman conquers a man’s world.

It’s hard to imagine being successful at any one of Lee Miller’s callings, let alone all three.

I don’t mean dilettante dabbling. I mean as good as it gets.

Famous model, surrealist artist, war photographer. Miller (1907-77) did all of these with aplomb and was at all times in the center of the action. Whether posing for Genthe and Stieglitz in her modeling days, making a career as a surrealist artist when married to Roland Penrose and living with Man Ray, or being the only woman war correspondent to set foot at the scene of the crime waged on mankind in Dachau, whence she reported and photographed for Vogue magazine, Miller was as good as they get.

This is a splendid book and highly recommended. When you read that Sir Roland’s son, Anthony, did not learn of his mother’s many accomplishments until shortly before she passed away – she didn’t care to speak of any of them – your sense of wonder and admiration for this very special woman only increases.

Her beauty needs no words. Her originality is there for all to see in her art works. And her heartbreaking reportage from the death camps is the sign of a supreme professional. After witnessing the SS torching Berchtesgaden, Hitler’s retreat in the mountains, she was among the very first to enter his Munich rooms and proceeded, in true surrealist fashion, to take a bath in his tub. As she explained – and there’s a picture of her in the act – she was washing away the evil which she had witnessed and photographed just hours earlier. Just ask, which of us would have had the courage to do that, given the chance?

All of this is expertly set forth by experienced art curator Mark Haworth-Booth in this simply splendid book. The extracts of her searing prose for Vogue are almost as powerful as her pictures, many of the latter so horrific that they never saw publication. Seldom have I read such a clear eyed exposition of the German people’s utter complicity in the crimes of their leaders.

A woman for the ages. Any photographer or historian with an interest in Miller’s era should read this.

For Beaton fans.

An exact contemporary of Cecil Beaton, the great Welsh photographer Angus McBean chose to specialize in the theater whereas Beaton chose the more lucrative world of fashion and film. Yet a viewing of the less famous McBean’s work shows a level of sophistication and skill Beaton could never equal, whether it’s in the complex sets, creative posing or theatrical lighting.

On the cover – Dorothy Dickson, 1938

This splendid book of McBean’s work shows not only his studio work but also includes an extensive collection of his self portraits which became his Christmas cards. It’s said that his picture of Vivien Leigh was the calling card that got her the role of Scarlett O’Hara and I can believe it. Adjusted for inflation, Gone With the Wind is still the top selling movie ever.

McBean died in 1990 and you can find a fine review of his life and work in the London Times here.

The book is splendidly illustrated; you can get a sense of the man from this Jake Wallis portrait of McBean in his very severe looking library, complete with some 40,000 glass plates of his life’s work:

Another Parkinson for the library.

If I make mention of Norman Parkinson yet again it’s for the simple reason that a friend gave me her copy of Parkinson’s first book, Sisters under the Skin, for Christmas.

The sensationalist cover notwithstanding, the contents show Parkinson at his very best. Simply stated, Norman Parkinson is the Renoir of the camera and, mercifully, there is no recourse to black and white for its own sake. I increasingly think of black and white as an excuse sought out by photographers who are struggling with mediocre color material. When Parkinson uses monochrome it’s because it’s the right thing to do.

You see women in all their glory and infinite variety here. Iman with an impossibly long neck, a slutty/sultry Bianca Jagger, Elizabeth Taylor – never more beautiful, an equally lovely Lesley-Anne Down rendered in pastel tones, and a simply charming portrait of the Queen Mother, warm and tender. There’s Twiggy at the height of her fame, Princess Anne very much in charge of her (charging) steed, and that fabulous Van Dongen out-of-focus book cover you will see if you click the link above, from Parkinson’s book ‘Portraits in Fashion’.

This book is enhanced with short stories for most of the pictures, my favorite being the Marisa Berenson one where some crass git remarks “Goodness, your backside is collapsing like Mahtma Gandhi’s dhoti” to which the superb Marisa replies “Who’s she?”.

Wenda Rogerson (Mrs. Norman Parkinson) makes a spectacular appearance in perhaps the warmest photograph in a book suffused with warmth – you can also see her by clicking the link at the start of this piece and, yes, she hangs on my wall to this day. My, even Barbara Cartland looks half human in Parkinson’s hands, layers of make up or not. The only question which constantly comes to mind is how could an Englishman be, well, so Italian?

Very worthwhile searching out on the used market as it’s no longer available new.

A driven man.

Angel Rizzuto lead a troubled life. Despite substantial wealth he spent the last years of his life in a seedy single room apartment in New York, whence, from 1952 through 1966, he emerged daily to record the city and its people. Returning, he would put up the window blind, get out his chemicals and process his pictures. Twelve pictures a day for fifteen years …. he had found his calling.

His legacy consisted of nearly 1,700 contact sheets, some 60,000 images in all, which he left to the Library of Congress along with $50,000. Michael Lesy has done an outstanding job reprising the life of this troubled man and his strange quest for immortality.

It’s hard to know how you decide which one hundred or so pictures to present from a lifetime’s output so huge, but the ones beautifully reproduced here are seldom happy. Troubled people on the street, mostly women, and recurring self portraits of the unsmiling photographer. There are occasional bursts of lyricism like the small girl with her poodle (p. 83) or the painter in Central Park (p. 63) but by and large this collection will make you frown rather than smile.

Imagine living and processing all your pictures in this:

Angel Rizzuto’s home and darkroom.

Simultaneously troubling and inspiring, a great tale of one photographer’s odyssey, this book is highly recommended. A related New York Times article appears here.