Duane Michals

This is the work of Duane Michals. He is the first ‘art photographer’ I was introduced to at a time when I thought photography was either a document or simply vernacular. I had no idea that it could be an expression of something or even tell a story. He was introduced to me in my second year of college by a professor whose name I can’t recall and at a time when I was working in ceramics, frustrated and looking for a means to creatively execute my thoughts and ideas. One of our assignments in this beginning photography class, was to emulate Michals, and I did so by using a slow shutter speed to capture motion and using multiple images to create a simple narrative. Of course, it was deemed successful at the time mostly due to the technique and good execution, however when I look back at them now, I see the naiveness of a student who is new to the medium. 

Even though I now know of many photographers I like and find inspiring, Duane Michals is still a photographer whose work I love and admire. His choice of male models at times are a little too-perfect for my taste (some look like adult cherubs), but the way he works and the fact that he uses hand-written text right on the print still feels different and distinguishable from the many photographers out there. Part of my attraction to his work I suppose has to do with our shared affinity in sexual orientation, but years later when I came across an interview with him, I realized we also shared a fascination with death. He, like me, have always been obsessed with the idea of death and mortality since an early age. However he, unlike me, recognized early on in his career that the themes of loss, desire and longing are always ripe for investigation.

One of my favorite possessions is this small out-of-print book I came across in the 80s. It has Michals’ photographic interpretations of the poems of Constantine Cavafy. Michals visual eroticism paired alongside Cavafy’s poems of nostalgic longing and unrequited love with The Smiths playing continually on my record player is what composed most (if not all) of the angst that was my twenties.

                                                                                    ---Duane Michals

Understanding

My younger days, my sensual life ---

how clearly I see their meaning now.

What needless, futile regret....

But I didn't see the meaning of it then.

In the loose living of my early years

the impulses of my poetry were shaped,

the boundaries of my art were plotted.

That's why the regretting was so fickle.

Any my resolutions to hold back, to change,

lasted two weeks at the most.

                                                                        ---Constantine Cavafy