Interview

Peter Angelo Simon: Sailing on the Line Between Art and Photography.
From Photographer's Forum, Spring 2003.
By Ken Lassiter © 2003

We met in Peter Angelo Simon's studio on a warm fall afternoon with sounds of the city floating in the open windows. It was just about a month after September 11, 2001, and it was like no other time. The emptiness where the World Trade Center's twin towers once dominated the neighborhood skyline was unsettling. In elevators New Yorkers chatted pleasantly like old friends. People on the streets were extra thoughtful and courteous. They were also jumpy. In the middle of the interview, a sound like a shot suddenly came in through the open window and Simon ducked instinctively. It was a backfire when someone started a motorcycle at the bar on the corner. The city and the people had changed forever.

At an early age, Simon became entranced with magic and was an accomplished magician by age 12. He still makes magic, but now he does it with his camera and his computer. His clients include many of the top companies — IBM, General Motors, Bell Labs, Matsushita, Smithsonian magazine and New York Times Magazine. Simon photographs whatever interests him, and he resists categorization. He has several exhibitions each year in SoHo galleries and often out of town.

Simon settled on the sofa while I set up the tape recorder. Stacks of framed prints leaned against the wall behind me. His office area was cluttered with notes, prints, a computer station, a radio for company and a fan for comfort.

Ken Lassiter: Why do you always emphasize your middle name, Angelo?

Peter Angelo Simon: Because there are other Peter Simons in photography but only one Peter Angelo Simon.

KL: How did you start out, Peter?

PAS: When I was hired as a reporter for a newspaper in northern Vermont — my first real job — they handed me a camera and said, “by the way, we also need a photographer.” I took to it naturally, but for several years I continued to think of myself as a writer and functioned primarily as a writer. I worked for newspapers, magazines and wire services in New England, San Francisco and New York. I became interested in film and got into television writing documentary films for the NBC station in Philadelphia. Occasionally photographs I took on location would be used in the films.

KL: What did you study in college?

PAS: I studied English, psychology and history. Actually it has proven to be a good background for a career in photography. I never studied photography in school, although I made photographs as far back as my days at summer camp. In high school I recall making photographs through a microscope. But photography was never on my front burner.

While I was in Philadelphia, I took a photography course with Harold Feinstein. He was such a great teacher, I claimed later that if he had taught baking, I would be a pastry chef today. He inspired my visual nature. Then in 1967-68, I was hired as a writer by the U.S. Information Agency for a series of films that were shot in South America. I traveled for a year and a half writing film documentaries. I began photographing and carried a camera at all times. When I returned, I came to realize I had shifted from the left hemisphere to the right hemisphere of my brain. I had always been interested in words, but now I sought opportunities to photograph subjects in depth. I decided my first subject would be a family.

I heard about a photographer who lived with families and photographed them. That appealed to me. I found a family who gave me a commission to photograph their lives, so I lived with them for eight months. I had seen some work in a museum where photography was combined with sculpture. I was fascinated and eventually created a work called “Documentary Sculpture.”

I worked with a sculptress, Linda Brenner, who made several realistic busts of the family's father. I tried coating sculptures with emulsion and printing some of my photographs on them, but that did not work well and was very messy. Then I got the idea to project the images onto the sculpture. I made slides from my black and white negatives and projected them onto a large plaster sculpture of a head. I loved the way the projected images wrapped themselves around the head and the way one could see the head and the images at the same time.

The work was called “Portrait of Amos.” In the finished piece, 80 of my photographs of the family were projected in sequence onto the white bust and two enlarged fragments. People said it was like looking into the man's head and seeing his life. Peter Bunnell (then at MOMA, now at Princeton University) came to see it and used a photograph I made in his lectures on the history of photography.

KL: How did this lead to your career as a photographer?

PAS: I continued to work in both pure documentary photography and those strange, surreal combined images. I found an infinite number of ways to combine images — usually faces — with lights, textures, projections, flexible mirrors and so on. I experimented with everything. One day a friend told me about art directors. He suggested I show some of them my work. “They hire people and publish their photographs,” my friend said. “Really?” I said.

The first place I went was the New York Times Magazine, where I met Stan Mack. “This is interesting,” he said. “We have a manuscript here. Would you like to read it and see what you can do?” The manuscript was about a military junta taking over the Greek government. One officer protested and was imprisoned and tortured. With the manuscript was a photograph of the jailed officer. When he was jailed, a guard said to the man, “You are going to melt like a candle!” This chilling remark gave me an idea. I went back to my “studio” — the one room I was living in at the Chelsea Hotel — and projected the image onto wax that was melting, showing the man's face slowly being destroyed in stages. The magazine ran the sequence — my first nationally published photos.

About a month later, The Times called and said, “We would like your advice. We are doing an article about the left brain and the right brain, and we have an idea for a cover photoraph of a head with the dictionary definition of dance on the right side and on the left side, an image of Degas' painting, The Dancers. Can you tell us if this could be done?” I replied, “Why don't I just do it and show it to you?” They agreed.

This was 1972. B.C. — Before Computers. No one would do the image this way now. I got a mannequin head and sweated with two projectors — one with the painting of the dancers and the other with the words until the images met in a smooth line on the head. They ran the resulting photo on the cover. What a thrill! Since then I put the image out to stock and it has sold as a book cover, won several awards and been used many times. A couple years ago The Times had an anniversary issue and ran it again.

KL: So you became a commercial and editorial photographer?

PAS: Yes. I did work for pharmaceutical advertisers and other corporate clients. I continued to do my strange experiments and show the work to art directors. Such special effects were a rarity then. Often, after projecting two or three images, they would say, “Wait a minute,” and come back with 10 to 20 people to see the stuff. This led to lots of conceptual assignments. Often some midnight experiment would lead to a series of photos on assignment. One editorial client who called me frequently was Smithsonian magazine. The Picture Editor, Caroline Despard, would say, “I am sending you a manuscript. See what you can come up with.” Of course, she got the best out of me.

I have always been interested in surreal vision and realistic photography. The Smithsonian assignments gave me an opportunity to do both — realistic pictures of the subjects and photo illustrations to open and close the pieces. Many of my photo-illustrations do well in the stock photography market.

KL: Did you negotiate your pay for this work or take whatever they offered?

PAS: Most of the time it was their day rates or page rates — whichever was greater — plus expenses. That was fairly standard. If it was something that took extra time, most clients were reasonable and fairly generous. If they were not and I complained, I usually lost the client.

When computers came along, my images were used a lot because they had a high-tech look. And then I started to use computers for imaging. Very early on I used an analog computer to manipulate and colorize photographs. It took up an entire room. I shot off a tiny screen. Years later, my assistant, Ian Christie, built a computer in his tiny Brooklyn apartment. We began using it to make images and do assignments. It had so little memory we would watch videos while waiting for the computer to render our images.

After years of creating special effects in the studio, I had a hunger for the real world. These days I'm more interested in human processes and nature. I shoot on film or with a digital camera and use Photshop to produce the final image. I love shooting. I love image editing. The computer is the perfect tool for me. I can now make my own prints and see them quickly.

KL: What about the image of the rainbow in the girl's hand? Did you use Photoshop?

PAS: No, I saw the rainbow, grabbed the girl and said, “Stand here!” She was wonderful.

KL: Do you have a style?

PAS: I see two themes in my work. I see visual luminosity. Things are often glowing in my pictures. I see a spiritual quality. I am attracted to that kind of energy. I still like to use my documentary skills to develop stories. I followed the development of the Big Apple Circus from conception to actuality. I photographed the circus over eight months. I like an ongoing creative venture like that.

Another time, I photographed Muhammad Ali on assignment for New York Times Magazine at his training camp in Deer Lake, Pennsylvania. This was August 1974, and the next month Ali would be going to Africa for his famous “Rumble in the Jungle” in Zaire now the Congo. I expected to find a typical fighter's camp with guys wearing silk suits. It was a commune — totally open. I was there only two days, but Ali said no one ever took so many pictures of him in such a short time. I am working on a book of those photographs called Fighter's Heaven.

KL: What was your most interesting project?

PAS: I think it would have to be the time I spent photographing a friend, the painter George Deem. It started several years ago when I went to Deem's studio to do a portrait for Smithsonian. While I was there, Deem worked on a large painting based upon a series of studies he had done. I watched George paint and photographed as he worked. I gave the portrait to Smithsonian, sent George a set of the photographs and promptly forgot about it.

Then one day, Deem called me. He had sent a set of his studies of the finished painting to the Museum of Arts and Science in Evansville, Indiana, along with a set of my photographs and they wanted to do an exhibition. They called it “Paintings and Photographs in Conversation.” I enjoy it when I can combine photography with another art.

The subsequent exhibition in June 2001 included 14 of George's pieces and 17 of my photographs. Some of my photographs were details of individual brushstrokes as well as images of the studies and the painting as it was created. It helped that George and I were attracted to each other as creative people. That was a wonderfully satisfying work.

KL: How do you find clients or projects? Or do they find you?

PAS: I don't feel I have a commercial studio as such now. I am working in the art world, and that is a different kind of commerce. For many years I did commercial assignments and editorial assignments. I am now pursuing my own work.

For example, for many years my wife and I have been going to Martha's Vineyard for holidays. Over time, I have made many, many photographs. One day I approached one of the most interesting galleries on the island and they gave me a show. That led to another show here in New York. When I have a show, people often comment about the broad range of my work.

KL: When you say you are focusing on “your own work,” what is that?

PAS: Well, for example, the Martha's Vineyard work is my own work. I photograph often here in New York. I am looking at my images and finding new opportunities for them while I am still creating new bodies of work that lead to more new opportunities. These are not assignments or commissions.

Another example: two years ago, I found an extraordinary piece of battered old copper on a friend's property. I made a series of photographs of it. I saw faces, flames, mythical beasts and old wizards in it. The work was exhibited.

I was in Mozambique, East Africa last year and found the color sense of people to be extraordinary. The women dress and carry themselves with an elegance and dignity I had not seen before.

KL: Are you looking for a book or magazine publisher for some of this work?

PAS: I am going to approach some magazines — maybe Doubletake — to see what they say. The work is visually interesting and also has social significance. I have an idea for a book of the Martha'a Vineyard pictures, Vineyard Luminosity.

KL: Some photographers — like Jay Maisel — photograph the color. You seem to photograph the light.

PAS: I find it irresistible. Light can make a subject glow with its own luminosity. I took a workshop with Maisel, and I recall something he said about lighting: “He does it all with just one light!” The idea of luminosity is very intriguing, and I do try to capture that characteristic.

You and I share a great deal of respect for Maisel. One favorite story I heard him tell was about the young photographer who shot a photo essay for a magazine and sent in the photos. When the magazine was published, the photographer complained, “They published the worst picture!” To which Maisel asked pointedly, “How did they get it?”

KL: When you start a new project, do you have in mind how you are going to use the pictures? Or do you make the photographs and then look for ways to use them?

PAS: That is a very interesting question. I am not thinking specifically about doing a book or an exhibition when I approach my subjects, but my way of working lends itself to that sort of thing. Remember, I started out working in film. What fascinates me is the sequence of images and flow of what comes next — intellectually and photographically. I think that is one of the things that defines me as a photographer and a creative person.

When I found George Deem working on his painting, I was interested in what he was making and the details of his work, but also in the details of how something emerges from the unconscious mind to the world. Something hidden one day suddenly bursts forth. Like when you wake up from a dream.

KL: Do you get inspiration from your dreams?

PAS: When I dream about photography, it is usually a nightmare: I have run out of film or something bad like that. But I have had extraordinary dreams when the feeling carries over into my waking life.

KL: What about the quotation on your office wall, “I make a line, and then I sail on it!” where Pablo Picasso spoke to you in a dream?

PAS: That was unusual. I really did dream about meeting Picasso. Obviously the quote came from inside me since I never met Picasso. But when I woke up it seemed so real. I love the quote. To me it speaks of the nature of creative energy. Picasso could start a painting anywhere — a corner, the middle, anywhere — then work intuitively to complete it.

KL: As an artist who is obviously not starving, how do you get an income stream from your work?

PAS: I do some of everything. I have good income from my stock photography accumulated over 30 years. I do get a few assignments. I do publish photographs. And I sell prints. I am not supporting a big studio and a staff of assistants now, so I can keep my overhead very modest. I have the ideal situation. I spend time doing what I like to do and make enough money to pay the bills. I get to do my own work every day. I am living and artist's dream. Sometimes it can also be an artist's nightmare!

KL: If you were starting over, what would you do differently?

PAS: I am not sure I would do anything differently. For better or worse, I've always tried to navigate toward the things that excite me creatively, whether or not it seems practical at the time. However, my daughter Annie did something that I wish I had done. After high school, she took a couple of years off and traveled before going to college. I think that was great. I understand how she felt. I was so hungry to get out into the world after school.

KL: What was the biggest mistake you ever made?

PAS: What comes to mind is not a huge mistake, but it might answer your question. Bea Feitler designed my book on the Big Apple Circus. She made a wonderful dummy, and I began to take it around to magazines. New York magazine, said, “This is great. We'll publish one photograph.” I was crushed. I had envisioned several pages of my pictures in the magazine. I told them I would think about it and get back to them. I turned them down! That was stupid. I learned that all opportunities should be pursued to a logical end. I did interest several other magazines after the book was published, but never New York.

KL: What is the worst assignment you ever worked on?

PAS: An advertising agency had a client who wanted to prove that their dishwashing soap was better for your hands than the competition's. They had photographs showing a model's hands after using each brand. A dermatologist had certified that Brand X soap made the model's hands red and splotchy. The client decided the photographs needed enhancing to show the irritation more clearly. They asked me to dramatize the gray scale levels in the photographs by colorizing them scientifically.

I found the inventor of an electronic device that could distinguish between gray levels and attach colors to them. We worked almost all night and found the work less than scientific. The next morning I realized that every drop of liquor in the house had been drunk, all the wine and even the pear brandy. We enhanced the images “scientifically” but it was ill conceived, a nightmare project. When we showed the final images to the client, I guess they finally realized this was not science, and they cancelled the project.

KL: What was your best project?

PAS: I'd say the most challenging project, both creatively and intellectually, was illustrating a Smithsonian article about how a retrovirus — like the AIDS virus — was being used in research. I worked with my friend the photographer Yoav Levy. We decided to do something like “Fantastic Voyage,” only without Raquel Welch. We interiewed scientists, drew up a storyboard and hired a model maker. It took months to create a series of photographs that would show a retrovirus — which is smaller than a light wave — landing on the surface of a blood cell and turning it into a factory to mass produce copies of itself. We did it, and the pictures are still in circulation.

KL: If someone were to knock on your door and give you the ideal assignment, what might that be?

PAS: My ideal assignement? A trip to shoot in Japan or India. Let's say Japan and India.

KL: What does it take to be successful as a photographer?

PAS: I think my curiosity and passion are my most important assets as a photographer. It is what I don't know about a subject that interests me most. I knew little about painting techniques when I photographed George Deem. I wanted to find out how he does what he does. I knew nothing about boxing when I photographed Muhammad Ali. I have never been to a fight to this day. I wanted to know how a man prepares for the fight of his life. I know about people, creative processes and the kind of energy and ingenuity it takes. The filmmaker D.A. Pennebaker, says he does not want to know much about a subject when he starts filming. He does not want preconceived ideas about what people will do or say. He believes the discovery process and his natural curiosity will lead him to unpredictable realities. I agree.

Many years ago, I asked the Russian-born sculptor Jacques Lipschitz, “Mr. Lipschitz, do you have many problems when you work?” The artist made a fatalistic gesture with his hands and responded, “I have only problems!” That's me. I want to work on visual problems no one else in the world is working on.

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Retiring after 36 years with Kodak, Ken Lassiter moved to South Florida and is a freelance writer and consultant in photography education with clients in Australia and the U.S.A.