In a lot of ways, my very first photography class was my favorite. Everything was new to me. Though it sounds trite, the first time a photograph I made emerged on a sheet of paper in the darkroom, it was magical. The photograph itself was nothing special, just a picture of some tombstones in the Grove Street Cemetery. But I was hooked. Instantaneously.
After floundering for a few weeks in search of subject matter, I started taking photographs of my roommates and friends. Needless to say, I had no problem finding willing collaborators, especially when I started focusing on nudes. We hadn’t gotten to contemporary color photography in class yet, sticking mainly to more traditional artists. So I was making pictures in the style of Bill Brandt and Harry Callahan.
One of my roommates was always happy to model for me. I think I photographed her the most that year. At the end of term, as I was going through my contacts, she asked me if I could give her all the negatives I took of her. I was surprised. Why would you want those? I asked. Because, when I’m famous I don’t want naked pictures of me floating around, she replied. Seemed like a reasonable request, so I gave her the negatives.
And now she IS famous. So there. At the time, my sophomore-year self thought she sounded arrogant (when I’m famous? not if?) but I guess she clearly knew where she was headed. Of course I would never publish photographs of anyone naked if they didn’t want me to, so she needn’t have worried. But I’m amazed that an 18-year-old could have that kind of assuredness, especially when the rest of us were so green. I wonder if she still has my negatives?
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