No Smoking

Pure joy.

The undistilled, unalloyed pleasure of a new book is one that remains a perennial source of excitement. But until now I confess I have never opened a book with such an immense grin on my face as this one.

You see, the whole thing looks like a giant carton of cigarettes and you have to find the peel strip on the cellophane to get into the book – just like opening a pack. Then when you finally get the wrapper off, the book emerges from the box in much the same way a cigarette would. Brilliant!

Let’s get the moralizing out of the way, first. In no way is this piece remotely adulatory of one of the more dangerous drugs around. However, it’s a free country and if you want to smoke go ahead. I own cigarette stocks now and then so have at it. Your lungs are my dividend. Just don’t blow the smoke in my direction or exhale in my home.

This book is all about how cigarettes were the glamor accessory over much of the twentieth century in Western culture, especially in the movies. It also shows pictures of how tobacco became increasingly demonized as that century drew to a close and how inept the advertising to curb consumption of the addiction that is nicotine really was.

The photographs span the century as do the many graphic illustrations and there’s something for everyone her – great photography, skilled drawings, exceptional advertising. Too bad that the frisson one gets from peeling the cellophane wrapper can be enjoyed but once!

And when you have had enough, rush out and get Thank you for Smoking with the wonderful Aaron Eckhart as the tobacco industry lobbyist who could sell cigarettes to a terminal lung cancer victim. Wonderfully acted and very on topic for our image obsessed and sound bite fixated society with its negligible attention span.

Smoke away. Just don’t make me pay for your cancer and coronary.

Harvest time!

An annual ritual.

The crew arrives at 6:30. It’s still dark.

For $7 an hour these great people work insanely hard and by noon we will have twenty of these bins containing 10 tons of the finest Zinfandel grapes in the world; the area where I live – the Templeton Gap in Central California – is renowned for its Zinfandel varietals above all else.

Then the vines will gracefully shed their leaves, the crew will return to prune them to a nub and another growing cycle is complete.

So, I find myself wondering, as a great American farmer, where’s my government subsidy?


A final check of Brix (sugar content)

The wine grower is required, by contract, to provide grapes with a certain Brix level – 25 to 28 for Zinfandel. I’m at 26.5 which is just about right. The tool in the picture is a refractometer, a nice optical device as old as Sir Isaac Newton. A drop of grape juice on the lens, a peek through the eyepiece and Brix is determined.

Back to the regular topics tomorrow. Now please excuse me, I have to go tread on some grapes….

Regina Relang

A fine German fashion photographer.

The words “wit” and “photography” are rare companions when the photographer in question is German, but Regina Relang is an honorable exception to the rule that has it that humor has yet to be discovered in Germany.


The Elegant World of Regina Relang, by Esther Ruelfs

Relang’s career spans the immediately pre- and post-WW2 periods, the latter perhaps the greatest outpouring of great fashion and photography we have yet seen.

Her oeuvre is both light hearted and witty and never less than totally sophisticated. And while many of her German models look as if someone took a floor brush to them to reveal a new layer of perfect, unblemished epidermis – what else to expect of the Master Race? – that detracts little from the charm and beauty of her photography.

The book is frustratingly written in both German and (stodgy) English, with the English version in very light print on a light background (conspiracy theorists can have at it here) but as it’s the only monograph out there on Relang, I’m going to button my lip. No book on photography should have a ‘must read’ text and this one certainly more than espouses that dictum. The writing, or maybe it’s the translation, is beyond pedantic.


Wit, class and sophistication. Suzy Parker photographed by Regina Relang, Berlin, 1954.

Relang was also a fine photographer in the more general sense and a selection of her non-fashion work is also on display here. Some of her later work is in color and she has as fine a sense for a simple color palette as she does for monochrome.

A few points of technical interest. Reading between the lines I conclude that Relang was mostly a Rollei twin lens reflex user. What makes this remarkable is that while the small size and low weight of the Rollei liberated the camera from the studio, nothing could suit a waist level Rollei less well than Relang’s style. Relang, you see, was all about motion and action, movement blur and so on. If you have ever tried using a TLR Rollei to follow action (in her time the eye level frame finder was not yet available, being introduced on later models) you will know why I say this. It’s near impossible as the image in the viewfinder is reversed.

Unlike her contemporaries Avedon and Penn, who typically adopt an “everything must be sharp” style, it is rare to find a Relang picture which does not use selective focus. The varied use of this technique in the many pictures in this book speaks to a very high level of technical skill on the part of the photographer. With the depth of field equivalent to a 75 or 80mm lens on a 35mm camera, (but with the field of view of a standard lens), selective focus is easily available at larger apertures, of course.

I highly recommend this book for anyone interested in beautiful photography, gorgeous women, haute couture or great technique.

In my case that’s all of the above.

Don’t waste your money at Amazon – get a remaindered copy. Mine ran $20 from Edward G. Hamilton.

Gertrude Käsebier

A great American photographer.

I’m certainly no fan of filmy, soft focus, photography on the whole, but that’s not to say I don’t like it when it’s well done.

Gertrude Käsebier (1852 – 1934) was an American photographer who did most of her best work around the beginning of the twentieth century. Her work is distinguished by soft light and great warmth and charm.


Portrait Miss N. 1903


Portrait by window light. Date unknown

It’s unclear whether the general fuzziness of her work is the result of poor technique, deliberate manipulation or simply caused by the technical limitations of the time. No matter, the results work.

While the standard writing on Käsebier is that she was a member of the Photo Secession movement headed by Stieglitz, stylistically she was very much her own person.

A timely reminder that not all that is sharp is good, and that not all that is blurred is bad.

1929 Redux

“Those who deny history are doomed to repeat it”. Santayana

In 1907, the crash immediately preceding the one prior to the 1929 Depression, John Pierpont Morgan is credited with personally saving the financial system when he led a band of capitalists in infusing private capital into a doddering stock market. The loans were repaid and America went about its business in due course. Since then, various US governments have repeated his actions but, sadly, using your money and mine to bail out crooks both on Wall and Main Streets.

So after yesterday’s greatest ever one day percentage decline in the Dow index, it seems only appropriate to recall how Wall Street (or, more correctly, Broad Street) looked back then.


A magnificent picture of the limits of greed. Photographer unknown.

The building at left – 23 Wall Street – served as J. P.Morgan’s headquarters until the 1990s when it was sold and converted to residential housing. It’s at the corner of Broad (where you can see the Stock Exchange) and Wall (not visible, Wall is behind you). Morgan purposely limited its height to two stories as the ultimate statement of WASP wealth and power.

I was lucky that the Morgan Bank was my client in the 1981-1983 period but less lucky with my assigned seating in the Board Room, which has to have had one of the longest tables ever made. For some reason the usher always insisted on seating me right opposite the glowering, mutton chopped oil of JP himself, staring down on me from Protean heights. To this day all I can remember of those tedious and boring meetings is Morgan’s censorious glare. We could use him today.

If you continue west a few yards on Wall Street you come to Trinity Church, burial place of America’s first and greatest Treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton. I used to visit it often. Each time I would pass the shoeshine boy outside the Church and was always reminded of the (perhaps apochryphal) tale attributed to financier Bernard Baruch who, upon receiving a stock tip from the boy in early 1929, promptly went out and sold all his shares. He survived the Depression and prospered mightily. When asked his secret, Baruch honestly responded “I made my money by selling too soon”.

In January 2008 I followed Baruch’s advice.

Schadenfreude? No. Santayana. “Those who deny history are doomed to repeat it”.

Strange that many years later I would end up working for America’s other great Treasury Secretary, Bill Simon, but that’s a story for another time.