The path that led Irving Penn to the seemingly galactic abstractions of his late series Underfoot lay just outside his studio door. Walking the streets of Manhattan with a portable stool and a camera fitted with several extension tubes, Penn lowered his eye and his equipment nearly to the pavement. There he found a universe of abject form: pebbled concrete, cheap discarded matches and cigarette butts, and above all a wealth of masticated gum. Capturing patches of this blobby urban landscape at close range, Penn transformed it with characteristic precision into a world of odd beauty, complete unto itself and unplaceably remote.
Better known, at least by me, for his fashion photography and portraits, Penn recognized and proclaimed in black and white what I am attempting in color. Penn also warned, "I think that black and white pictures are intrinsically finer than colour. I think that I have never seen a really great colour photograph."
(In April 2008 the Picasso portrait above sold at Christie's for $133,000.)
For me they also reveal and revel in a parallel reality, another sort of beauty.
IRVING PENN, "Underfoot XXIV", New York
Gelatin silver print, edition of 5
49.1 x 48.7 cm (image); 52.3 x 49.6 cm (paper)
IRVING PENN, "Underfoot XXXIII", New York
Gelatin silver print, edition of 5
49.1 x 48.7 cm (image); 52.3 x 49.6 cm (paper)
IRVING PENN, "Underfoot XXXVI", New York,
Gelatin silver print, edition of 5
49.1 x 48.7 cm (image); 52.3 x 49.6 cm (paper)
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