Brigitte Lacombe and the “New” MoMA
The legendary photographer captures the face of MoMA’s future
If you don’t know the name Brigitte Lacombe, one of her impossibly intimate portraits — of everyone from Meryl Streep to Barack Obama, Nelson Mandela, or Louise Bourgeois — is likely seared into your mind like only the most extraordinary images can be. In this rare interview, Lacombe reveals how she went from a high-school dropout to one of the most sought-after photographers in the world. Her personal story is accompanied by a visual commission showcasing the face of MoMA’s future: young curators and fellows representing each of the Museum’s curatorial departments and MoMA PS1, pictured alongside some of the most exciting New York–based artists.
You’ve been living in New York and traveling the world for a long time, but maybe you can take us back to the origins a little bit. Where did you grow up and what was your upbringing like?
I was born in the countryside near Avignon, in the south of France. When I was about five or six, my family moved to Paris. We lived in the 6th arrondissement, on a street that goes all along the Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s a really beautiful part of Paris. Growing up, I was never a great student. Not that I was doing anything terrible — it was more of an issue with bad attitude. I was thrown out of school every year. Finally I dropped out of high school.
I was 17. My father had always wanted to be a photographer, but wasn’t able to pursue his dream because of the war. I remember he was always taking pictures around us. I’m sure I was very influenced by that. So when I dropped out of school and was asked what I wanted to do, I decided to try photography.
What was your first professional experience like?
My father knew the director of the lab at Elle magazine, so I started there as an apprentice for him. I was very lucky to get into that environment so early, but it was also interesting because at the time, in the mid-’70s, it was only men, seven or eight of them, in the lab. It was a very formal atmosphere, with everyone wearing a white lab coat, including me.
Art in the East Village, 1978–1983 (on view through April 1, 2018), which features work by Bonney and dozens of other artists from New York City’s underground film scene of the 1970s and ’80s. Photos: Brigitte Lacombe
Do you feel like that environment affected your experience in a specific way?
Because I was so young, I was a sort of little “mascot,” but a year later I was offered to be introduced to two photographers for an assistant job. One of them was this exceptional woman, Jeannette Leroy. She was a painter that had become a fashion photographer just for a few years, and when we met, I was immediately very taken with her. She took me under her wing and I worked with her for two years. She was a great mentor. Soon after, she decided she wanted to go back to painting, so she recommended me to Peter Knapp, the legendary art director at Elle. He immediately gave me work. Later on, I asked to be sent to the Cannes Film Festival because, like everyone, I was very interested in film. They didn’t mind because I had a family house nearby and it didn’t cost the magazine a thing. In 1975, I was the only woman photographer, and between that and being very young, I definitely stood out. It may sound strange to say now, because things have changed in some ways, but at the time, being a woman photographer, I feel that it was an advantage. I was different and people were interested and intrigued just by the fact that I was there. I was able to photograph everyone on that assignment, including Dustin Hoffman, who became a friend. That experience opened many doors for me. After I had photographed Dustin, he, offhandedly, invited me to take pictures on the set of his next film, which was All the President’s Men! So Elle sent me to America.
Gender, Technology, and Music, which Taja helped organize. Photos: Brigitte Lacombe
How did it feel, to move from France to the US? Do you have any lasting impressions of being here for the first time?
I first came to Washington, DC, where they were shooting the exteriors for the film. Then to Los Angeles where they were going to spend a few months shooting the interiors of the Washington Post newsroom on a sound stage. I was meant to be in Los Angeles for only a week, but ended up staying three months. I started to meet everyone in a very natural way. I met many of the mid-’70s filmmakers and actors that at that time were just on the cusp: Steven Spielberg, Brian De Palma, Groucho Marx, Roman Polanski, and many others. Initially I was doing all this without any real purpose, just instinctively, and kind of self-assigned, though I was sending everything back to Elle magazine of course.
But as the years went by, I became more and more focused on my work and it became evident to me that I had a real vocation. I have always lived day to day, so I never really planned or scrutinized what I was doing too much, nor paused to think about the “big picture,” but it turned out that I was truly lucky to have chosen to be a photographer so early on, not knowing that it would be my entire life. Now here I am, having done that almost to the exclusion of everything else in my life. I chose not to have a family. In fact, the more I go on the more I become singularly focused on my work, on photography. It’s almost surprising when I’m forced, like right now, to think and talk about how I ended up doing what I do because it was never planned or extremely thought through, it was all just very instinctive. But I realize how fortunate I am to have found something that I love and that, in a way, loves me back.
Was your family always supportive of your choices?
Yes. I’m sure my parents were concerned for me much more than they wanted to show, but they never pressured me to do something else, or be anyone other than who I was. This gave me an incredible sense of security in pursuing photography, and moving to New York. I was just confident I could make it work. I am grateful that my father saw me succeed in the life dream he was not able to pursue for himself. My parents never questioned my personal life choices, not getting married or having a family, even though I imagine that they might have preferred it. Though I realize I do not have everything in my life, I think I made the choices that were right for me, that I was capable of, so I have no regrets.
Wolf Recital Corps. The exhibition featured Owens along with an intergenerational group of artists that currently form the Lone Wolf Recital Corps, a multidisciplinary performance collective founded in 1986 by the late artist and musician Terry Adkins. Photos: Brigitte Lacombe
At what point did you officially move to New York?
I always came back and forth to New York for years. Janet Johnson [my agent and great friend] and I always joke because I think I’ve been in New York for 10 years, and she has to remind me that it’s actually been 35 [laughs]. In the beginning, I was coming for a week, a few weeks, or month. Then Dustin Hoffman’s production company helped me get my green card, so I could actually stay. By chance again, without deciding, a friend of mine was leaving an apartment in New York to go back to Paris, so I took it without even really making a conscious decision. So finally I was in New York. It has been my base ever since, but I have always traveled extensively, many months out of the year. For 25 years, I had a contract with Condé Nast Traveler, which was extraordinary — I would be dispatched all over the world. I was also working on film sets, as a special photographer, and doing many portraits. Sometimes, even though I’ve been here for so long and I consider myself a New Yorker, I still feel like a visitor.
Are there things you look forward to every time you come back to New York from a trip?
I especially love the moment when I’m arriving back in New York from the airport, crossing one of the bridges to Manhattan. I remember the first time seeing the skyline. Everything was new, noisy, heightened. The sound the bridge makes when you’re traversing it — tu-tum, tu-tum, tu-tum — I remember everything so well. I love the incredible diversity, especially now that I live in the Lower East Side, the edge of Chinatown, after having spent [my] first 20 years here on the Upper East Side. I love the gritty feeling of Downtown. But then, I’ll go back to the Upper East Side, which I still love so much, and I am dazzled by how clean and well-kept it is and how everybody is so “neat.”
Do you have a lasting memory, a favorite moment, of being in New York at that time and working in the photography and film industry?
I just recently rewatched Manhattan again, a film I worked on, again, because of Dustin [Hoffman]. Anne Byrne, his wife at the time, was this great ballerina from George Balanchine’s New York City Ballet and was cast for the film by Woody Allen. All during the filming, I was following them shooting on the Upper East Side. The experience was almost like the movie itself, with an endless conversation along the way. All these moments have been part of my deep feeling towards New York.
You talk a lot about being the only woman in the photography environment back in the ’70s. Is this something you thought about a lot? Do you feel like it set you apart in such a male-dominated industry?
Obviously, the struggles women go through now, and even back then, are very apparent. But at the time, I wasn’t really thinking about it that way. In a way, I almost feel like being one of the handful of women working back then really helped me stand out. When I was photographing actresses, I imagine that they were grateful to be able to relate to another woman, especially because I was never interested in being in their place. Sometimes, they might have been relieved to not have to deal with the seduction part, too. I’ve talked about this a lot over the years with women I’ve worked with, and they feel that it is very different being photographed by a woman photographer versus a man.
Early on in your career, what was it that triggered you into taking photographs of people as your primary subject?
I love doing portraits. I think I know what my strength is and I know that I can keep on doing it for a long period of time and never get tired of it. I’m very, very focused and I’m also very interested. I’m curious about most things, which I think helps a lot in my work. The time my subjects are with me, the time that we share, I’m absolutely 100% present. The portraits I do are simple, classic, and intimate. Very bare. For me a portrait sitting is a collaboration with the person I photograph. They have to be ready to be seen, which is really quite intimidating. And sometimes intimidating for both, for the person you photograph and for yourself. I feel that people must sense that it’s a genuine interaction, a genuine moment, and that I have good intentions. I feel like there has to be a sense of trust.
Do you know when you’ve shot something really incredible?
For the moments I am looking for, the images I’m seeking, yes. I always put people in a situation that I know is good for what I want, which is a very intimate, small space that feels protected and with a light I control. After that it’s finding a moment that feels true to me. It’s like any moment when you have to really be yourself in life without something to hide behind. Of course there are moments that are awkward or uncomfortable, let’s say when you hold a gaze with someone and then you feel like you have to look somewhere else. If you’re in a home with many people, or a team, it’s very easy to feel like you can get reinforcement from someone or something that is happening around you. But if you’re actually really just with one person, the portrait is a result of you being seen by that one person, and allowing that person to see you.
I know you have longstanding relationships with some of your subjects, whom you’ve shot multiple times over the years. How does that evolving rapport feel and how do you think it affects your work and, ultimately, the photograph?
Sometimes I feel it’s harder to shoot the people you know very well, and care about. Depending on the relationship you have, sometimes you feel more pressure, it’s almost like you’re hyper-aware. An example is Meryl Streep, who I’ve photographed many times over many years. She really does not like to be photographed. It’s been like that since the very beginning. She never enjoyed it, unless she was in character or was with someone else or was in some way acting. But for her to just be as herself, in front of the camera doing a pure portrait, is something that I think is very, very hard for her, and she feels, I think, deeply self-conscious. She does not like being looked at, scrutinized, if she’s not in a performance. Somehow, in spite of that, we have a close friendship. It is funny and strange because what I really want to do is to photograph her, and all she’s trying to do is escape [laughs].
Do you still shoot film as well as digital?
Yes, I still do. It’s very different, but I love it. I use it for portraits, and even if I start with digital, I always have it with me, especially for what I know will be something important that I want to have on film, forever. Digital has many advantages over film, of course. And the quality is very good. But I have a greater pleasure when I look into my medium-format camera; it’s another world. The fact that it’s only a certain amount of frames and you know it’s this finite number puts you in a totally different mindset. You are more attentive.
For our last question, we’d love to ask you about your famous photograph of Louise Bourgeois. She’s such a beloved artist for us here at MoMA. Can you share the story behind that iconic image?
Oh, yes. It was an assignment for The New York Times Magazine. I was sent to do a portrait of her. She was a little intimidating, tough but also incredibly charming, so the actual sitting went very well. She let me know through her studio manager, or it might have been an agreement made with the magazine before taking the photos, that we would have to show her the contact sheets, and bring the negatives too, so she could approve the images. I agreed to this very unusual deal. A couple weeks later, we met in her townhouse in Chelsea. It was Louise Bourgeois, her studio manager, Janet [Johnson], and myself. We all sat at the table with the contact sheets spread out in front of us. She looked at them intently, very focused, found the images she liked, and then pulled out a gigantic pair of sharp scissors. We had to destroy, in her presence, all of the negatives she did not approve. My heart sank. I could not believe it. At one point I think I was so hypnotized with the whole thing that I almost wanted to believe that it was one of those extraordinary moments, a piece of performance art. She selected negatives to destroy and Janet was to start cutting in front of everyone. At first I was so in shock that I didn’t say anything, but then I had to step out into her garden and turn my back because I could not take it anymore. Janet stayed there cutting, with the studio manager making sure that Janet cut the exact frames that Louise Bourgeois wanted killed. But the studio manager would occasionally, conveniently, turn away, allowing Janet to sneak more negatives into her pocket. Louise Bourgeois did approve some good images, but many were lost. At the end, she took out a piece of her letterhead stationary and in script wrote “From LB to BL,” a brief contract saying that I had agreed to her terms. Now I have this precious piece of her writing, which I treasure. The whole thing was beautifully eccentric — she was truly extraordinary.
About Creative New York
Creative New York is a digital project from MoMA’s PopRally program. Through original words and visuals, we share the unique perspectives of the countless artists, musicians, and creatives that animate New York City’s vibrant cultural landscape.
Acknowledgements
Interview and production by Anna Luisa Vallifuoco.
Special thanks to Brigitte Lacombe, Janet Johnson, and the entire Lacombe team; to all the participating artists and curators from MoMA; to Chloe Wayne Sultan from PopRally; and to Boomshot.
