Richard Avedon
Portraitist of the Century, in White Space
I don't find faces—I wait for them to appear.
I grew up behind a dress shop counter, watching women try on beauty like it was a garment. The camera taught me how thin the veil really is. Presidents, drifters, lovers, losers—they all come undone eventually. I just wait for the moment the face forgets the mask. Some call it truth. I call it business.
What I'm Into: the tremor in a hand, white paper backdrops, Audrey Hepburn's laugh, sweat on a brow, the silence before the shutter
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