Helmut Newton : The Bad and the Beautiful

Helmut Newton’s work has been variously described as erotic, voyeuristic, shocking, or even feminist. He was “the King of Kink.” Gero von Boehm’s new documentary Helmut Newton: The Bad and the Beautiful focuses on the sexually provocative photographer, who became famous in the ’70s for his innovative fashion campaigns and magazine spreads. The film features home videos and other never-before-seen footage of Newton’s life, along with interviews with the likes of Anna Wintour, Isabella Rossellini, Claudia Schiffer, Grace Jones, Charlotte Rampling, and his wife June Newton (who photographs under the name Alice Springs).

 Newton once claimed, “If a photographer says he is not a voyeur, he is an idiot.” Though he is known for stark, dark, often erotic photographs of women, the documentary also highlights his sense of humor and playful energy. When asked to photograph a chicken for Vogue, he responded, “I’ve always wanted to photograph a chicken wearing high heels,” and did just that. Hyperallergic spoke to von Boehm over email about perusing Newton’s archives and what made his images so striking.

 Hyperallergic: Can you describe your relationship with Helmut Newton and how you first saw his photographs?

 Gero von Boehm: I met him in 1997 at dinner in Paris. We liked each other immediately, and over the years, a friendship developed. But it took years to convince him to be filmed. June also had to be convinced; she was very protective of him. But then they agreed that I could film him at shoots and in private situations in Monte Carlo, Paris, and Los Angeles. But the most important scenes were shot in Berlin. He loved the city where he was born, and he went back quite often — a great and generous gesture for someone who had to flee the Nazis.

 I first saw his photos in the early 1970s, when I was 16 or 17. I was fascinated by the way they told fragments of stories, sometimes quite mysterious ones, and how they inspired my own fantasies. It was up to you to imagine what had happened before and after the moments the photos showed.

 H: Can you explain why you put Newton’s upbringing in the middle of the movie instead of the beginning?

 GvB:  It came naturally. I always go with the flow, never work with a fixed script. In the first part of the film, Helmut unfolds his personality, and you learn about his way of working and seeing the world. And then you want to know the roots of all of that. This is why the film has this structure. I never intended to do a chronological biopic, because I think that’s rather boring.

 H: What was it like going through his archives? Did you work with June or any other family members?

 GvB: It was absolutely exciting to work with the Helmut Newton Foundation in Berlin, where the whole archive is now. There are hundreds of thousands of pictures, contact sheets, and notes. I had full access to all of that, and June let me use her own footage she took at shoots and in private situations. It was a great blessing.

 H: In their time, Newton’s images were controversial. If he emerged today, do you think he would be widely accepted by the commercial fashion industry, or would he be limited to gallery shows?

 GvB: It was extraordinary that Helmut was accepted by the industry, because he was much more dangerous and ambiguous than Richard Avedon or Irving Penn. One has to see the photographs, especially the nudes, in the context of the late ’60s and early ’70s. The Sexual Revolution had just happened, and the naked body was no longer a taboo. And everybody was waiting for a revolution in fashion photography. There were marvelous pictures by Avedon, Penn, and others, but they were icons of beauty and loveliness — what Anna Wintour calls “stoppers in the magazine.”

 Then there was Helmut, who was a provocateur, even sometimes an anarchist. His way of showing women revolutionized fashion photography. There is this famous diptych series by him [Dressed and Naked]. In the first photograph of each piece, you see the model dressed in haute couture, and in the second photo, it’s the same girl in the same pose, but totally naked, as if a magician had taken off her clothes. What does this tell us? Strong women are strong even without haute couture. They don’t need it. And then there is the groundbreaking picture of a naked woman and one dressed in a Yves Saint Laurent tuxedo, on a deserted Paris street at night — there is a strange kind of sexual suspense there.

 I think that today, no magazine would commission a photographer to take pictures like that. We live in rather prudish times. There’s a certain danger in the freedom of art and expression.

 The Documentarian Who Secured Rare Footage of Helmut Newton at Work. By Deana Bianco. Hyperallergic , July 23, 2020.

 

Over the last few years, we've increasingly and very publicly questioned our behaviors, our politics, our history, our heroes, our statues, and our art. It's only reasonable that we question our photography idols. Where do Helmut Newton's hyper-erotic photography and his ruminations on power fit into our new world?

 (A bit of a disclaimer, I am a long-time fan of Newton; in fact, I first fell in love with photography through his imposing images.)

 Gero von Boehm's new documentary, Helmut Newton: The Bad and the Beautiful, has something for those who are interested in the cultural aspects of Newton's work and for those interested in his creative process.

 Von Boehm takes no time in getting to the crux of the matter. While Newton's work certainly changed the very nature of editorial and fashion photography, he did so while pushing the bounds of how power dynamics and the erotic friction within those dynamics were represented in photography. For many in the mainstream, he often went too far.

 With most theaters still closed, you can find the film now streaming through a variety of local theaters. Check out the following link for more info.

 Although von Boehm's work is too subtle to mention it, he seems to be asking how Newton's work might fare in light of the #metoo era.

 Early, and often, von Boehm sets up the ongoing debate. On the one side, Newton is a creative genius, a provocateur, as Isabella Rossellini calls him, responsible for bringing controversy and conversation to fashion and editorial photography. He elevated fashion and editorial photography to a form of cultural analysis. On the other, Susan Sontag calls him an outright misogynist to his face. Newton defends himself as a lover of women, a feminist even. Sontag holds her ground and retorts that all masters adore their slaves. Where, then, do Newton and his work fit?

I'll leave you to von Boehm's film to watch the nuances of the debate for yourself. It's interesting to see that many of his female contemporaries view Newton as a genius and collaborator. Anna Wintour points out that women were the driving force in Newton's photography. And, more so, not just women, but strong women, women in charge. As Grace Jones calls them: unattainable women. When talking about Newton's images, it's mentioned again and again that the women he photographed are often looking down on the viewer or on the men present. When men are present, they are typically nothing more than accessories in the scene, not that much different than the handbags or jewelry he was paid to photograph

 Newton's work inspires debate. Did he do this intentionally? Asked by June Newton if he is nothing more than a naughty boy, Newton responds that he's also a bit of an anarchist. He was the provocateur that he set out to be. Newton himself claims the old saying "the more enemies, the more honor" as a kind of mantra. His goal was to shake up the system, to force his audience to rethink the roles, relationships, and power dynamics they took for granted.

 Despite the inherent problems at the confluence of the male gaze and the female body, the film manages to tell a story of a photographer whose images have sparked wide-spread public debate about eroticism, power, sexuality, and gender relations unlike any other.

 Later in the film, Wintour dismisses the criticism of Newton's work by pointing out that making thought-provoking work means that you're eventually going to upset someone. There is no way to push widely-accepted community boundaries without rubbing someone the wrong way.

 In the end, it's the conversation with Grace Jones that helps me understand not only my own appreciation of his work but why his work may never fall out of step with current culture. Jones explains that she got along well with Newton because "[h]e was a little bit perverted, but so am I." I can't help but think that Newton's popularity comes from the fact that we all are, at least a little.

 Outside of the cultural conversation, von Boehm's film also provides a look behind the curtain of Newton's process. Having photographed long before the advent of the current BTS craze, this peeks into Newton's world is gold.

 There are print evaluations and pages from notebooks that show just how detail-oriented Newton was, how dedicated he was to the worlds he created. Even more interesting is the use of Newton's contact sheets to introduce each photograph that the film focuses on. Here, we get to see what images made the cut and what didn't. Last, we're given a bit of true BTS when we get to see Newton interact with a few of his subjects. It's quite interesting to hear him provide direction. Not just the typical physical direction that you can find in any run of the mill BTS mind you; Newton provides emotional direction as well. My favorite might be:

 ‘’There’s a kindness in your look… which is the last thing I want’’

 Fitting for a photographer who was driven to explore his themes, regardless of the criticism.

 What do you think of Newton? Is his work the product of the male gaze or, is it more than that, a rumination on power and the erotic?

 The Bad and the Beautiful: Where Does Helmut Newton Fit Into Our New World? By Mark Dunsmuir. F Stoppers. July 24, 2020. 

Nicknamed “the king of kink,” it’s surprising that the first posthumous documentary exploring the work of the wildly famous photographer Helmut Newton, who died in 2004, was only released last week. Helmut Newton: The Bad and the Beautiful by Gero von Boehm, a close friend of Newton’s, unpacks the man behind the controversial fashion photography, who would have been 100 this year. Now streaming via Film Forum and Kino Marquee, the documentary includes interviews from some of his favorite subjects like Grace Jones, Claudia Schiffer and Isabella Rossellini, along with Anna Wintour and his wife and creative partner June Newton (also a photographer, who exhibited her work under the pseudonym Alice Springs).

 A controversial figure who’s hyper-erotic photography was called misogynistic by some and empowering by others, the film is a testament to his ability to be a provocateur. While undeniably treating the women he photographed as sexual objects through the male gaze and extensions of a vision of machismo, the film explores his ability to spark public debate about power, eroticism and sexuality. Here’s what it taught us about one of the 20th century’s masters of photography.

 As a German Jew who escaped to Singapore then Australia in 1938, we hear archived footage of Newton himself acknowledging the influence his work has from growing up around nazi propaganda. His biggest influence was Leni Riefenstahl, the German director hired to create highly stylized Nazi propaganda that idealized white, blonde, athletic German bodies. It’s not hard to draw comparisons to the mostly white work from Newton who, like Riefenstahl, never shot somebody who wasn’t traditionally “beautiful” for the time. Though the film only touches on this at the midway point, it provides much-needed perspective for how his work explores power. It leaves us to develop our own takeaways about the connection between beauty and violence in his work, through the lens of grappling with an aesthetic influence that was used to oppress Newton and his family.

 In the film, Isabella Rossellini credits him with being responsible for bringing controversy and conversation to fashion and editorial photography. Provoking cultural analysis in the fashion world, Grace Jones notes in her interview that “He was a little bit perverted, but so am I.” While Newton made a name for himself exploring the female form, his work was always subject to criticism, which the film suggests he thoroughly enjoyed. Anna Wintour notes that he always loved hearing feedback from readers letters, “the worse they were the better,” positing that his work was more than just a representation of macho culture, rather that he loved the debate around how he presented women. On the other hand, we hear American writer and activist Susan Sontag call him a misogynist on camera, to which he counters: “I love women.”

 One of the more interesting topics that the film explores is the assumptions that were made about Helmut because of his work. While his photography was rooted in male fantasy and often violence, we hear model after model give testament to him being respectful to work with, even while asking the male models to grab their asses on camera. While Grace Jones also says his work with her never felt racist, when recalling a story from her early modelling days with Newton, it’s clear the photographer did approach the models with an emphasis on their bodies: “He loved my legs, and he is actually the one who got me to like them. Also he was asking me to come regularly to castings. Every time I came, he told me, ‘Oh it’s true: I forgot you have no boobs.’” Aside from a few cringe-worthy moments, in the film Newton comes across as much less controversial than his work in person, touching on the idea that someone can create, work that is problematic for many, without those involved in the process feeling disrespected (according to the interviews in the film).

 ‘’His photography wouldn’t be possible at all today,” says director von Boehm. “It was a revolution at the time: a revolution really needed because there was Richard Avedon and Irving Penn but it was just loveliness.” While the film presents Newton’s work as something that refreshed fashion photography in the ’60s and ’70s, it’s also evident that there’s no need for the same particular exploration today. Anna Wintour described Helmut’s women as “powerful,” but also as almost always being blonde and tall. While watching, it’s clear his work was a mirror to a society and fashion industry that has evolved and, therefore, his white-washed depictions of conventional, hypersexualized beauty standards for women are less engaging today as they were perceived as being at the time. This, along with his work exploring a macho culture that touches on the edges of loving and also hating women,  makes the film an interesting exploration of one specific pivotal moment in photography. While watching, there’s an awareness of the many voices that were not only being left out of his work but also being left out of the wider fashion industry conversation during that time and today: BIPOC, queer voices, and the representation of “powerful bodies” that aren’t a size 0.

 

Helmut Newton’s Controversial Fashion Photographs Are Reevaluated in a New Documentary. By Laura Pitcher. The Observer , July 28, 2020.

 

When you look at the photographs of Helmut Newton, with their spectacularly cold and severe Amazon-women-on-the-moon erotic shock value, and you try to imagine the man behind the camera (it’s sort of hard not to), you tend to picture him as a figure every bit as kinky and forbidding as the outrageous things he’s photographing. There’s a famous shot of Newton: the clowning-around photograph of him wearing high heels (pictured above), which only enhanced his image as a Eurotrash decadent who turned his fantasies into flesh.

 But in “Helmut Newton: The Bad and the Beautiful,” an engaging and surprisingly playful documentary about the man who was arguably the most transgressive photographer to emerge from the 1960s and ’70s (and that’s saying something, since this was the grungy golden age of Larry Clark and Nan Goldin), Newton emerges as friendlier and more “normal” than you’d expect — though he does have a mischievous twinkle that suggests a lot.

 The documentary was shot when Newton was in his early 80s, and he’s disarmingly ageless, with floppy thick hair and circular glasses setting off a face that grins easily in a rubbery Teutonic Leslie Nielsen sort of way. The Newton we meet is casual, funny, and direct. During a night photo shoot on the roof of the Chateau Marmont in L.A., he addresses a naked model by saying things like “There’s a kindness in your look…which is the last thing I want” and “Now don’t look poverty-stricken…look incredible!”

 There’s an ambivalence — a fantastic double vision — that runs through the work of Helmut Newton, and “The Bad and the Beautiful” dives into it with captivating zeal. In the ’70s, Newton, who started out as a fashion photographer (and never stopped being one), turned commercial magazine art into a form of rough trade. He made his models into dominatrix vamp goddesses, diamond-hard and demonic in their icy surreal glamour, and in doing so he created one of the paradigmatic contemporary expressions of the male gaze.

 And yet…

 Even as Newton controlled every aspect of his centerfold-from-hell visions, the true subject of his photographs, as rooted as they were in male fantasy, was the awesomeness of feminine power. You might say that he pushed the allure of the femme fatale to the nth degree.

 In the documentary, Isabella Rossellini, who was captured by Newton in the ’80s in a haunting shot with her then-partner David Lynch (the one where he’s holding her head as if she were a puppet), describes the effect of his pictures perfectly when she says that they’re really touching the depths of a certain male fear. The photographs, she says, are saying: “I like you, damn you! I shouldn’t like you, because you’re a weapon!” Grace Jones tells a story about how Newton posed her, naked, holding a knife, and how he waited until the sunlight hit her just so, silhouetting her with prison bars, and that what he was really doing was telling a story — and then we see the image, and indeed, as brutal as it is, it’s like a still from a movie that sets the imagination on fire.

 “Helmut Newton: The Bad and the Beautiful” is content, for much of its 89 minutes, to be a meditation on Newton’s work, and on that score it both reveals and celebrates him as an artist who hated “art” and “good taste,” and who pushed the envelope of a culture that was still reeling from the sexual revolution. There’s a clip of him appearing on a late-’70s French talk show along with Susan Sontag, who though clearly charmed by the man himself insists that his work is “misogynist.” At times (images of a woman wearing a saddle or being consumed by an alligator), there’s no question that it was.

 Yet even as Sontag condemned his work, you could make a case that in teasing out the culture’s darker undercurrents, Newton created images that were progressive in their very danger. He revealed the lower depths of what was out there. Charlotte Rampling, who collaborated with him on a stunning series of hotel-room shots in 1973, says, “It’s great to be a provocateur. It’s what the world needs — because it stimulates thoughts, it stimulates ideas, and it stimulates all sorts of conversations.” Anna Wintour, who gave Newton a platform at Vogue, defends him as someone who bracingly undercut the rules of beauty.

 The director, Gero von Boehm, interviews many of the stars and models who Newton turned into icons, and he makes catchy use of songs like Steve Harley’s “Make Me Smile” and the Cure’s “Pictures of You” (“I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you/That I almost believe that they’re real”). Mostly, he allows us to hang out with Newton at the Chateau Marmont, where he lived during the four months he spent every year in Los Angeles — and where, in 2004, he died in an automobile accident, when his car sped out of control on Sunset Boulevard just after departing the Chateau.

 Though based on footage shot nearly 20 years ago, “The Bad and the Beautiful” is a very present-tense documentary. Ultimately, though, it goes back into Newton’s life, and what it finds there is the source of his perversity as well as what you might call his perverse morality. Born in Berlin in 1920, he was Jewish, which meant that when Hitler came to power Newton’s days in Germany were numbered. But before his family fled, in 1938, he apprenticed himself to Yva, the dream-vision photographer who become one of the world’s first fashion shutterbugs. (She died in a concentration camp in 1942.) Newton learned his craft from her, and also from studying the work of Leni Riefenstahl — especially “Olympiad,” in which Riefenstahl was arguably the first film artist to treat the human body as a piece of sculpture.

 You could say that Newton’s obsession with tall strapping valkyrie “perfection” descended from his Teutonic background, even as he infused it with a dissolute kind of cover-girl porno chic. Yet his experience growing up also shaped him to be deadly serious about his provocations. He married his wife, June, in 1948, and in the last third of the documentary she comes into the picture, and we see what an extraordinary figure she is: a partner who was his model, muse, mother, boss, and aesthetic collaborator. Their relationship is a love duel of equals. In her highhanded way, she kept him honest. And when you see how devoted he was to her, it casts his photographs in a different light. Yes, they were his fantasies, but not in some overgrown-dirty-schoolboy way. They were who he was inside. And maybe they were a little bit of all of us too.

 ‘Helmut Newton: The Bad and the Beautiful’: Film Review. By Owen Gleiberman. Variety ,  July 21, 2020

 

In celebration of the reissue of Newton’s famed Sumo exhibition, AnOther talks to three of his assistants about working with the legendary photographer

 In 1995, German publisher Benedikt Taschen approached the legendary photographer Helmut Newton with the idea of collaborating on a vast art book. Armed with a model of what the gargantuan tome would look like, replete with five pages of Newton’s images that showed off the exceptionally high quality of the digital printing techniques he would employ, Taschen convinced Newton to embark on this monumental task. The resulting book, titled Sumo and published in 1999, was limited to 10,000 editions, each signed and presented on a sleek, specially designed metal stand by Philippe Starck. It was received to widespread acclaim, an instantly coveted collector’s item. In 2009, 10 years after its publication, and five years after Newton’s death, his widow June suggested the book be presented as an exhibition at the Helmut Newton Foundation in Berlin, with all 464 framed pages hung side by side in rows in the order of their appearance in the book. Now, to mark Sumo’s 20th anniversary, the exhibition is back – a wonderful opportunity to marvel over Newton’s indelible legacy, as well as this iconic publishing feat, all over again.

 Sumo includes many of Newton’s most beloved works – from a nude Pina Bausch, half consumed by a crocodile, to his inimitable campaign for Yves Saint Laurent’s Le Smoking suit, as well as his various, brilliantly characterful celebrity portraits. It spans Newton’s entire career until 1999, taking us from his native Berlin to Paris to Australia to Hollywood – where, from the early 80s onwards, he would capture some of his most celebrated fashion imagery and powerful nude studies. It was in California that Newton encountered the three bright young photography students – Mark Arbeit, George Holz and Just Loomis (dubbed by June, the “three boys from Pasadena”) – who would come to assist him with much of his work over the following years, forging close friendships along the way. Here, in celebration of the latest edition of the Sumo exhibition, which runs alongside three smaller exhibits of Arbeit’s, Holz’s and Loomis’ own works, the former assistants share with us their memories of the singular image-maker and the invaluable lessons he instilled in them at the dawning of their own careers.

 George Holz

 “Mark, Just and I first met Helmut back in 1978. We were students at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. Mark knew that Helmut was coming to a store to pick up a cheque from a mutual client, who’d told us that if we waited, we’d see him. We waited in the store’s basement all day and finally Helmut showed up and we introduced ourselves. We told him we’d love to assist him some time and he said, ‘OK, come by the Beverly Hills Hotel tomorrow’. So we did. We knocked on his door and June stuck her head out and said, ‘He’s busy boys’. But we sat outside the door and waited like stalkers, and then we knocked again. She looked out again and said, ‘Helmut they’re still here!’ Then Helmut appeared and told us to meet him at the Polo Lounge later. When we met we said, ‘We’ll be your drivers, your assistants, anything...’

 “A few weeks later he called us to do our first job with him in Los Angeles. I remember I had this old beat up American car that he loved riding in – when we pulled up to the Beverly Hills Hotel everyone would have their Maseratis and Rolls Royces and we’d be in my old muscle car. He loved everything camp and American! He seemed very excited about our enthusiasm; I think he liked that youthful energy. And I just learned so many things from him. The biggest lesson was how he dealt with people – whether it was a celebrity or a model, editors, make-up artists. He could talk people into doing anything he wanted, because they had so much respect for him. They trusted him, and that was something he instilled in me: the importance of winning the trust of your subjects and clients.”

 Mark Arbeit

 “Helmut never put himself on a pedestal. He talked to us like he talked to anyone else, even though we were just the little students and he was the grand master. But when it came to work everything was serious. He was Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He required very deep concentration from you – the lighting had to be perfect, everything had to be right. It was a good lesson for us to learn. I loved Helmut’s spirit about the business, especially his approach to fashion. He would always say to me, ‘Never forget why you’re there. You’re there to show the clothes.’ And it’s so true – you think he’s doing these out-there, wild shots but if you look at his pictures, you can see every button.

 “I moved to Italy after I finished school and every time Helmut was in Italy, he’d call me to help on jobs – ‘I’m going to Rome to shoot for Valentino, want to come?’ – or hang out. Then after Italy, I moved to Paris and again, when we were both in the same city we saw each other. One of my favourite memories was assisting him in Paris when he was shooting the cover for his film, Frames from the Edge. I took some great pictures of Helmut and June after the shoot, really intimate ones of them looking over the Polaroids. She was his editor. She’d always say, ‘Try this,’ or, ‘Push it a little more that way...’ Of course she was a brilliant photographer in her own right – and they were an amazing couple, personally and professionally.”

 Just Loomis

 “Helmut had a very strong influence on me when I was young. At photography school I learnt how to be a commercial photographer but working with Helmut was so different. It was much more intellectual – thinking out the photograph – and technically it was so freeing because he worked so simply: one camera, one lens, very little lighting, a lot of daylight. I was also so in awe of the choices that he made: the models, the locations, the make-up, the hair, the clothes. I tried so hard to absorb that – he’d mention a movie or a book or a location in Europe, a bridge or something, and I’d go off and try to find it – but of course I could never absorb it all because it was a personal, highly developed, very cultured sense of taste.

 “One of my favourite anecdotes was going shopping with him to style latex sex dolls for a shoot I helped on in 2003, the year before he passed away. It was a job for Playboy at a factory in California that manufactured these life-sized dolls. Because they were the ‘models’, there was no make-up or styling so we went to Target together and he chose all the elements for the shoot himself. I’m walking around with him and he’s picking up purple lacy underwear here, a pair of shorts there! He styled the whole thing – it took about 45 minutes and it was wonderful. Everything Helmut did was so hands on; he did things himself – no need for five assistants, a big studio – and that was part of his ability to create such a unique look. He would have a complete vision in his head beforehand, and on set it was about pinning that down, and getting it completely right.”

 Helmut Newton, Sumo; Arbeit, Holz, Loomis: Three Boys from Pasadena and the Photo Collection of Helmut and June are at The Helmut Newton Foundation until November 10, 2019.

 

Helmut Newton, as Remembered by Three of His Assistants. By Daisy Woodward. Another Magazine,  June 7 , 2019. 

 

 

 It’s a joy to contemplate the photography of June Newton, a.k.a. Alice Springs. The Australian-born Springs is the 95-year-old widow of the provocative fashion photographer Helmut Newton, but that’s the least interesting thing about her.

 Under Springs’s gaze, world-famous actresses like Catherine Deneuve, Charlotte Rampling, and Audrey Hepburn look like people, not icons — conversational, intent, their eyes telegraphing depths beneath. Springs respects their beauty, but doesn’t accept it as a mask. There are shadows beneath Deneuve’s perfect features; Hepburn looks gorgeous, but her age.

 Vivid personalities leap from Springs’s portraits, which depict not just her subjects but her dialogue with them. Early on, Springs decided to forgo studio portraits and photograph people on their own territory, peeling back the protective facades that prominent people — especially the famous and beautiful — often construct.

 “She quickly realized that photographing people in situ, their situ, was more revealing than bringing them into the studio,” says her longtime agent, Tiggy Maconochie. The resultant photos, while artful, convey a feeling of frank exchange. “[Alice] does not use any tricks,” her husband Helmut wrote.

 Springs’s earlier career as an actress in her native Australia surely informed her sensitivity to character and personality, but it was Helmut who introduced her to photography. The couple met in Melbourne in 1947, when Springs was 23, and were married a year later. She followed his career, first to London, then Paris for 20 years, and later Los Angeles and Monte Carlo, where she lives to this day.

 It was in Paris that Springs launched her own photographic career, on a day in 1970 when Helmut was too sick with the flu to shoot a Gitanes cigarette ad. Perhaps sensing an opportunity, Springs convinced him to let her go in his place — and after a quick tutorial in how to operate his camera and light meter, she went off.

 As it turned out, she was a natural. The photos Springs took that day, of a model smoking, launched her decades-long career in both commercial photography and portraiture. She adopted the professional pseudonym Alice Springs after a town in Australia (chosen by randomly sticking a pin into a map of her home country).

 Throughout the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s, Spring’s work documented the heady world she shared with Helmut: the upper reaches of European art, fashion, society, even royalty. Under her gaze, though, these iconic, powerful, and often gorgeous people look human and approachable.

 Springs captured the “shock” of the individual — that electric current you feel when you really connect with someone. And she invited us to share those connections. Look at her portrait of Yves Saint Laurent model and muse Loulou de la Falaise and Nicole Wisniak, publisher of the magazine Egoiste, both lounging on a beach in white robes.

 Loulou looks glamorous even in terrycloth, with stacked bangles, dark manicure, and cigarette. Nicole, hand covering her face (in keeping with her more “behind-the-scenes” profession), looks toward Loulou, and a third figure forms the triangle’s apex — the bottom half of a man wearing a similar beach robe. He strides toward Nicole, whose head moves toward Loulou, who gazes toward us. The circuit of energy moves through them, then out, inviting us to sit down in the sand.

 Such a pattern occurs also in Springs’s portrait of the designer Kenzo, leaning lovingly toward his look-alike mother who gazes outward with similar warmth — affection streaming from son to mother, through Springs, to us. We see an oddly similar dynamic with artist Anna Mahler, who mirrors the downward gaze of her own sculpture (a giant face) which hangs above her.

 Springs was especially sensitive to artists’ hands. Bella Freud stands resolute, hands clasped on hips with an odd intensity that punctuates her defiance. Betty Jackson holds a cane in one hand, while the other makes a fist–balancing fragility with strength. Sonia Rykiel’s graceful fingers cast shadows echoing the sculptural planes of her cheekbones. Diana Vreeland’s fascinating hands wrap around the complicated wrap she’s wearing. And a regal Vivienne Westwood has one black-and-white glove on, and clasps its mate upward, as if holding a third, ghostly hand.

 Most startling are Spring’s unsentimental portraits of mothers and children, which upend expectations by refusing any trace of a beatified Madonna-and-Child motif. These women and children are fully separate, distinct beings.

 Model and actress Brigitte Nielsen, in glamazon, not maternal mode, stares impassively, peculiarly hoisting her limp, sleeping infant to shoulder-height. Princess Caroline’s toddler son twists away from her as she stares straight ahead.

 Some portraits are quite witty: Margot Werts, owner of the trend-setting L.A. boutique American Rag, holds her baby who looks like a miniature drunken sailor, cap askew. Artist Mirène Le Floch’s infant might be performing a modern dance contraction. And Tiziana Zanecla’s tiny son resembles a Hollywood gangster — with spiked hair and tough-guy stare.

 A similar wit runs through Spring’s socialite portraits — Mica Ertegun merges into the painting behind her, to odd Surrealist effect. Judy Peabody holds up her pampered brown dachshunds breast-high, before a painting that depicts … a brown hunting dog.

 Springs never sought the limelight, content to let her husband be the famous half of their couple. But right now seems like a perfect time to shine new light on her work. With a wave of American women flooding into the political arena at all levels, Hilma af Klint at the Guggenheim, and a Frida Kahlo exhibit opening at the Brooklyn Museum, we seem surrounded lately with striking examples of women’s talents and power. What better way to keep up this momentum than by drawing inspiration from Springs’s humane and insightful portraits of these complex, gifted, and grown-up women.

 The Electric Intimacy of Alice Springs.  By Rhonda Garelick. The Cut , February 5, 2019. 

Generation Wealth

“Generation Wealth” is a multi-platform project that Lauren Greenfield has been working on since 2008, and is being released in 2017 as a museum exhibition, a photographic monograph, and a documentary film. Lauren Greenfield’s “Generation Wealth” is an extraordinary visual history of our growing obsession with wealth.

Through riveting first-person interviews, Greenfield’s journey starts in Los Angeles and spreads across America  and beyond, as she documents how we export the values of materialism, celebrity culture, and social status to every corner of the globe. We embark on this journey with Greenfield as she travels the world – from Los Angeles to Moscow, Dubai to China –  bearing witness to the global boom-and–bust economy and documenting its complicated consequences.

We hear the stories of students, single parents, and families overwhelmed by crushing debt, yet determined to purchase luxury houses, cars, and clothing. We visit the homes and observe the rituals of the international elite—from Bel-Air to Monaco, Russia to China. We gain intimate access into the lives of those that rose to extraordinary wealth and then lost “big” during the global economic crash of 2008. And we encounter the A-list celebrities we follow on reality TV and social media, the same influencers who shape our consumer desires and sense of self.

Provoking serious reflection, “Generation Wealth” is not about the rich, but about the desire to be wealthy, at any cost.

Generation Wealth website

You’ve said that Generation Wealth is not about the rich, but about the influence of affluence. Can you tell us more about what that means?

LG : It’s really about the aspiration to wealth and how this has become part of the American Dream, as well as how that dream and those values have also been exported internationally. I say it’s not about wealth for two reasons. One is, a lot of people in the book are not actually wealthy. The project is very diverse and that’s kind of the point – to see how these similar behaviors and influences are affecting everyone, from children to old people, from LA to New York, from Iceland to Ireland to Dubai to Russia to China. And secondly, it’s really about the addictive quality of consumerism, which is a kind of striving that happens at any level.

What was the most significant change that you observed over these 25 years of work?

LG : One of the things that happened over this time was that people started having a vertical reference group rather than a horizontal reference group. So, people used to compare themselves to their neighbors, and that was kind of the root of “keeping up with the Joneses,” the notion of comparing yourself to the neighbor that had a little bit more than you did. Then we started spending more time with the media and with people on TV than with our neighbors, and actually feeling like we knew those people better than our neighbors, so “keeping up with the Joneses” literally becomes “keeping up with the Kardashians” in the age of reality TV.

The effect of seeing affluent lifestyles on television has been proven to a) make people think more people have that kind of lifestyle than really do, so it’s a distorted view of what’s normal but b) it also stimulates desire for those things. Mix that with the ability to get credit without regard to your ability to pay it back, and you have a situation where people are living out these fantasies.

But, back to your first question, the rich are also in Generation Wealth and they’re important because they have a disproportionate influence, but the meat of the book is the fact that this is what we all want. It’s not limited to the 1% which is this very small group. In America, people don’t resent the rich because they always imagine that it will be them someday. It’s about aspiration.

Your book does serve to de-glamorize the rich and pursuit of riches, and yet, we’re all still hypnotized by looking at your images. Does that say something about the extent of our fixation?

LG : I like using laughter as a way in for storytelling. I like the surprise or the unexpected journey of thinking it’s going to be one thing and then realizing it’s another. For example, the viral spot I made #likeagirl. It starts out with laughing, as the way people imitate girls running or girls fighting, and it’s kind of funny, because it also feels low stakes, like, what does it really matter? But then as the spot progresses, you start off laughing and end up crying and I think it allows you to get in and engage, and also want to take the time to have the experience. Then, you see it for what it is, and that has another effect.

With Generation Wealth, the book is bound in gold silk, so it’s like this beautiful, luxurious object that you want to have, which is ironic. I’ve always kind of worked that way, and I like black humor. I’ve worked with very bright, saturated colors and used the language of the popular culture – whether that was sexy bodies or bright lights or provocative, dynamic pictures – to bring the viewer into the story.

But part of the reason why I also include the interviews in the book is because sometimes the text belie the images. For example, Mijanou, who’s the girl on the cover of Fast Forward. She’s this beautiful girl, there are all these convertibles at the beach and, especially for Europeans, it’s kind of like the Californian dream. But then when you read her interview, you see that she’s struggling to keep up in that world because she doesn’t have the money that the other kids do, and she actually uses beauty in a way as currency to get into that popular crowd, and that has a kind of traumatic effect.

So, I think it’s good that people are drawn and repulsed by the images, and I hope that inspires the same examination of our own attractions to things. Like when I go into a store, I’ll be attracted to the posters or the packaging or the bags – those things are made to have that effect. What I’m trying to do is to also have the ability to see that, and deconstruct what’s around us and the effect that’s having on us… But of course that doesn’t take away that effect.

The Influence  of affluence : an interview with Lauren Greenfield. By Katherine Oktober Matthews. Gup Magazine,  March 15, 2017.

On the book :  The Photographer Behind an Unflinching Study of Wealth. By Gemma Padley. Another Magazine ,  May 22, 2017

This is one of several documentaries at the festival trying to deal with this new moment that we’re in with regards to Internet/Instagram celebrity and the societal shift away from hard work toward this anxiety and “hard work” about projecting the right image. Your practice isn’t exactly Marxist, but how would you describe that you’re looking at this , 

L G : Well, I want to see what movies you’re talking about. I did see Eighth Grade, which I loved. I think this work is very critical of capitalism. I studied economics and sociology and anthropology, and some of my perspective on this comes from that, but it’s a little bit more of seeing over the last 25 years how our form of capitalism has become an addictive quality of consumerism, which I guess Marx did sort of predict in the continual expansion. I’ve looked at it from a more psychological perspective, comparing it to addiction and addiction being something that comes from trying to numb pain. So I think at the heart of it we’ve lost sight of our values and, in a way, our connections to other people. Our families, our communities, what matters. I’m not really prescribing anything else. I don’t know what the answer is, except that I do think we need to wake to the forces affecting us, which we’re not always conscious of.

I feel like so much of it is this begrudging acceptance: “I hate Facebook, but I’m on it anyway.” What you’re trying to do to with this film is think about it critically and constructively and not just go along with it. Because it is tied to a large, career-spanning retrospective and book also titled Generation Wealth, at what point did you decide to insert yourself and your family into the film Generation Wealth?

LG : I started with the project of the book. When the crash happened, it become a morality tale about the way we had been living and seemed like the consequences were the natural result that we were going to learn from. Then we didn’t really learn from it. So, I started going back through my work and feeling like I needed to process it in a different way. When The Queen of Versailles was finished in 2012, I threw myself into that full time and started the process of going back through my work and also making new work to tell the story of “generation wealth,” and how we have changed. When I went back, I realized at the time I had worked and the subjects I had covered were not just my own personal trajectory but were tied to these seismic shifts in our culture, which I’d been there to document without fully knowing what they meant. I felt like I needed to put this journey in a historical context and bring it all together.

At the same time, I was the connective thread because I was hopping from eating disorders to Russian society to new wealth in China; if you just looked at all these subjects you would not think they were connected. But I really felt like there was a connection about where we had come to in this end-of-empire kind of feeling, like the fall of Rome. It seemed like we were on an unsustainable path. I started bringing it together as a narrator, but along the way the personal started to become relevant. I think it’s because I want to be honest and transparent about my own process as an artist, that I’m somebody that is also in the culture and interacting with it in different ways.

I would talk to someone like Florian Homm [an investment banker charged with $200 million in fraud] who would tell to me about how he destroyed the relationships with his family by five hundred [business] phone calls a day. An extreme example, much more extreme than my own, but I could relate. I was on four-week trips away from my own family regularly, so it just started a process of me looking at that as well. So it evolved in a way I didn’t want to include in the beginning, and I just started seeing it as important to the storytelling.

What do you think work means at this point in history? You bring up someone like Florian Homm, who sometimes seems like he’s actually repentant and other times it’s so obvious that if he could go back to that life by pressing a button, he would do it.

LG : That’s a really hard question because work really brings meaning to my life. I think that’s what I learned from my parents: that work was a passion and was a privilege. I think that to get to do work that you like is a huge privilege and something that is a rarity. I think part of what makes work meaningful is feeling like you’re making a difference and that was also really important to my parents—doing something for the common good. I think what was so soul-killing about Florian’s work is that it was predatory. Like he said, “I made a lot of enemies.” I think work is really important, but I also show how addiction to work has consequences and that addiction to anything always have to do with numbing other pain. For me, work is also a feminist statement. I feel like we still live in a world where a lot of women don’t work. I just got an email about grad night at my son’s school and 100% of the committee members were moms. For my mom, work was also a feminist act or statement. I think it’s connected to voice. A lot of my work is looking at voice, female voice, or lack of voice, and eating disorders. One of the most poignant points when I was making Thin, there was a woman who said she didn’t feel like she knew how to use her voice so she used her body instead and that when she saw her interview in my book she realized she had a voice. I think, for me, my work has been a voice, and that has been really empowering, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences, too.

There’s this feeling now—most obviously when someone gets shamed online—that everyone must abide by this ideological purity. You can’t exert your ideals perfectly at every moment and still be a member of society.

LG : For me, the key is men. Most men in careers travel and focus on their work and compartmentalize and can still be great dads because of this unsung hero at home. In my case, my husband has been really supportive of my work and not letting my being a mother or a wife get in the way of helping me do it all. And it’s not just my husband. It’s also my mom. It just takes a lot of other people along the way. Even just the kind of introspection I went through in this film. In terms of the consequences, I don’t think you would see a man do that. It’s just normal life. Hopefully that part can start to become a little more balanced.

Speaking of context, out of anyone who could of spoken about the ideas in your work, why did you choose Chris Hedges? He’s the only person in the film who isn’t one of your previous photographic subjects.

LG : I actually did interview a lot of economists and experts, but in the end I felt that the film wanted to be more personal and character-driven. They all ended up on the cutting-room floor, except Chris Hedges, whose work was so inspiring to me and so tied into ideas I was trying to bring together but in a voice so different from my own. When I read his book Empire of Illusion, it just really brought together a lot of the ideas I was thinking about with pornography and money and where American society was going and capitalism. I really loved what he said about culture and authentic culture getting destroyed by capitalism, but also authentic culture being the thing that gives us the capacity to criticize ourselves. For me, that really spoke to what I was trying to do: make critical work that allows us to deconstruct the culture that we’re in and see the matrix that is affecting us every day.

At the beginning of the ’90s, there was this idea of being at the end of history, in this postmodern moment when we were going to surpass racism and sexism—even though everyone had a reminder in November 2016 that we’re not even close. In the film, it’s intimated that when our society falls, we’re going to take the world with it. Do you really feel like that’s true, or is there a way in which things can turn around?

 LG : In Generation Wealth, we’re stuck with a lot of stuff we inherit but we also have a lot of agency and the possibility for change. Using the analogy of addiction, this idea of hitting rock-bottom, the economic crisis, can also lead to insight and can also be moments that create possibilities for change. We would not have #MeToo without Harvey Weinstein, and maybe it takes Trump to really see ourselves. I included the line from Trump’s campaign when he said, “This isn’t about me. This is about you.” We elected him and we need to look at what that means about us and our culture. I think the values of corporate capitalism are a part of that. I think social media and the Internet are a part of that. I think this individualism and us living in silos is a part of that, and I think there’s this intense loneliness. This lack of connection and losing sight of what really matters is a part of it. I do have a lot of hope because of the characters and their insights. But that hope is on one side and on the other side is that feeling that we’ve been on this course for a long time; if unchanged, I think that will take us to a terrible place.

SXSW Interview: Lauren Greenfield. By Violet Lucca. Film Comment,  March 15, 2018. 

Follow the Money (Then Take a Picture). By   Kurt Soller. New York Times , August   2018.

A profile of Lauren Greenfield   

To call any of Ms. Greenfield’s portrayals flattering would be inaccurate. (Ms. Siegel’s husband sued the director for defamation after the “The Queen of Versailles” was released, but the director won $750,000 in legal fees after an arbitrator ruled that everything in the film was true.) And she seems to have a knack for convincing people to be radically, unappealingly honest. Her subjects must find that cathartic. Many have agreed to sit with her repeatedly over the years, including for “Generation Wealth,” and Ms. Greenfield has stayed close with several of them, even those she’s captured in harsh light.

One of them, a Las Vegas party host named Tiffany Masters, flew to New York to attend the “Generation Wealth” premiere. Sipping an espresso martini at the after-party, she described how Ms. Greenfield has caught her in various unfavorable ways: in the act of pulling her skirt down, for example, or recording a fatty “flap over the bra.” Nonetheless, Ms. Masters said, she doesn’t fault the artist. “Lauren has the ability to shoot the truth,” she said.

But does Ms. Masters like those photos of herself?

Long pause. “No.”

Why not?

Another long pause. “They’re unfiltered,” Ms. Masters said. “They’re raw. They’re uncensored. But they’re human.”

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Both Mr. Evers and Ms. Greenfield were initially reluctant to include her story in the film. “But Lauren realized that she herself was very much a part of this wealth culture,” Mr. Evers said. “She wanted audiences to realize they were complicit, too.” Ms. Greenfield became more comfortable with appearing in her own work after trying it in a 2014 ad she created for the feminine-care brand Always. The spot featured the director interviewing children about gender stereotypes, showing how the phrase “like a girl” — as in “run like a girl” or “fight like a girl” — transforms into an insult as kids age. The campaign has become Ms. Greenfield’s most-watched product, after airing during the 2015 Super Bowl and amassing more than 200 million views.

“Generation Wealth,” which Ms. Greenfield has also turned into a traveling museum exhibition, doubles as a retrospective and a farewell to her focus on still photography. “Print is dying,” she said, and magazines are commissioning fewer shoots, unable to finance the weeks of travel that her style of reportage requires. In the future, she said, she will concentrate on documentaries. Her next project is with Showtime; Ms. Greenfield would reveal only that it is set in Asia.

Her current film ends with a dose of unexpected brightness, returning to characters who have forsaken their love of money for actual, human love. But ultimately, the takeaway from Ms. Greenfield’s decades of work seems to be that it’s up to future generations to decide how to spend their money — and if you ask her son Noah for his take, the kids are not all right.

“That’s what I realized from the film,” he said in an interview. “People are spending like nobody cares, and that’s exactly how it was in 2008.”

The exhibition is currently at the Fotomuseum Den Haag .