Rest in Peace, Larry

Last week, I had a request for a copy of a photograph of a couple I took for a corporate newsletter in August. That part seemed fairly routine. What caught me by surprise was the reason. The husband in the shot had passed away two days after I took the photo. My image was the last photograph of him. I was a little shaken by the news—this was a first for me. I had only met the gentleman—his name was Larry—just that one morning of the quick shoot. But he seemed like a really nice man. Without hesitation, I quickly ordered a set of prints from my favorite lab and burned the image to disk for Larry’s wife and family.

Ironically, I read last week where an Annie Leibovitz image of John Lennon and Yoko Ono is going to be auctioned in October. The image was taken by Leibovitz in December 1980 for the famous Rolling Stone shoot. Leibovitz wanted to photograph Lennon alone, as no one wanted Ono in the images, but Lennon insisted. Just hours after the session, as he and Yoko returned from dinner, Mark David Chapman gunned Lennon down in front of his building. Leibovitz’s images were the last taken of John Lennon alive. Another image from the shoot, one of a nude Lennon with his body wrapped around a clothed Yoko Ono, graced the cover of Rolling Stone’s tribute to the murdered star. That magazine cover has been ranked as the top magazine cover of the past forty years.

I don’t for a second pretend that my image of Larry and his wife is in the same league as Leibovitz’s shot of Lennon and Oko—or that it’s even art. But I’m honored to have taken the photo and to know that it might serve in some way as a legacy for their family. And I think about the weighty responsibility of photographers who take critical images, often of others final moments—war correspondents, photojournalists covering atrocities around the globe, or those snapping images of the World Trade Center after the first jetliner impact on 9/11. It puts a different perspective on everything when you peer through that lens.

Rest in peace, Larry. It was truly an honor to have met you.

Goodbye Lucy O'Donnell

I was listening to NPR this morning and heard that Lucy O’Donnell Vodden, age 46, died yesterday, apparently of complications from her battle with lupus. Probably like you, I had no idea who Lucy was. Come to find out, she was once something of a muse, a friend for a boy named Julian, and the inspiration for a timeless hit song from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

In 1966, Julian Lennon came home with a drawing of his friend Lucy O’Donnell. In his drawing, she had diamonds for eyes. Young Julian showed his father the drawing and told him it was “Lucy in the sky with diamonds.” Despite the song’s innocent inspiration, Lewis Carroll references, and odd chord structure and meter (6/8 verses and 4/4 chorus), it was banned by the BBC because of its drug references.

For whatever reason, the story got me thinking about muses; the individuals, mostly women I suppose, who inspired artists—painters, poets, musicians, and photographers alike. For generations, scholars—and Nat King Cole—have debated the origin of La Gioconda—The Mona Lisa. Who was she? What brought that smile? Layla was inspired by Eric Clapton’s obsession with model Patty Boyd, who at the time was married to friend George Harrison. How many museums, book shelves, or iPods are filled thanks to a glimpse, a chance meeting, a lifetime relationship, or a broken heart?

So goodbye Lucy O’Donnell. The world never met you, but you live on thanks to your inspiration of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, who co-wrote your song. I think I’ll pull out my iPod and fire up some Beatles just for you.