Dreamlife
Dreamlife
Dreamlife
Dreamlife
text by Robert Goethals, photography by Irving Penn
In Americas money-scarfing, youth-obsessed fashion biz, photographers can go from cold to hot faster than a drop-dead model can shiver her slim fingers down the slopes of her hips. Sometimes it appears the industrys only permanent fixture is the nastiness of its dominant tsars. Yet the fashion photographer, Irving Penn, forever an emblem of Vogue, shot stunning women for over 60 years straight. His impossibly chic images of Lisa Fonssagrives, a Swedish ballerina and arguably the worlds first supermodel, first emblazoned Vogues pages back in 1947. Yet it wasnt just irresistible women with their perfectly shaped noses, voluptuous lips, and bewitching eyes whom Mr. Penn immortalized. He immortalized sewing machines, skulls, and cigarette butts, too. Penn made Jell-O look so desirable it took on the wayward quality of a dream. This doyen of the fashion world died one year ago, aged 92, gigging right down to the end. For haute coutures dispossessed, Irving Penn is a savior: a man whose work ethic was so tireless and persistent, no gravestone in our sprawling Fashion Cemetery will ever cap his luminous vision.
In 1930s, the American woman made a giant leap off the pedestal of the prim and proper. She smiled easily, acquired a real body, and began breezily running and jumping through all the glamour magazines, forcing every straight, pageflipping male to reevaluate his sorry life. A decade later, cutting through all commercial myth making and falsehoods, Irving Penn thoughtfully refined these images into those that made sophisticated, strong, and independent women feel good about themselves. Penns photographs were less about the surfaces and textures of what women wore than about the women themselves. He broke through the magical radiance in which they dwelled.
Penns sitters often described their experiences with the photographer as sances. They were impressed by Penns intensity, his benevolence, and how words became lost in the silence and softness of intervals, as they approached
the moment in which an intimacy would suddenly be revealed. His relationship with designers was often equally mystical. Issey Miyake rarely visited Penns hallowed studios, nor did the aristocratic photographer bother to materialize amid the hurly burly of the legendary Japanese designers fashion shows. Miyake simply shipped his clothes from Tokyo to Paris, to patiently await a series of astonishing platinum prints in return. Irving Penn shows me what I do, Miyake once mused. In the business of being beautiful, for Penn, there was no poverty of the soul. Just pure unadulterated poetry.