| |
 |
| © Karen Kuehn |
| When
asked about this picture of eccentric Albuquerque-based artist
Joel-Peter Witkin, Kuehn said: "He wanted to be photographed between an
image of God and an image of Satan. Does that mean he's in purgatory?" |
Career paths are rarely straight lines, especially in photography. In the September/October issue
of American Photo we looked at just how hard it is for photo assistants
to successfully launch their own careers. In our November/December
issue, we examine the careers of photographers who have made it big,
but who, for one reason or another, are now overlooked or underrated.
There are a hundred reasons why one talented photographer becomes a
success and another, equally gifted, never quite makes it, or having
made it can't hang onto it. You can explain it by talking about the
vagaries of the art world, about bad luck or bad timing, or you can do
what I often do and simply chalk it up to fate.
My favorite career stories are the ones with second acts. Recently I received an e-mail from photographer Karen Kuehn,
whom I have known since the 1980s but in recent years had lost track
of. That's because in 2002 she left a thriving career in New York City
and moved to Peralta, N.M., a small town down the road from
Albuquerque. My first encounter with Karen came when American Photographer magazine profiled three young shooters who were taking New York by storm. (She was one; the others were Chip Simons and a guy named Mark Seliger.)
Karen was the crazy surfer girl (she grew up in Long Beach, Calif.) who
rode her bike all around Manhattan, from her apartment on the Lower
East Side to the midtown offices of magazines like Rolling Stone, for which she worked regularly. Her biggest gig was a 15-year stint shooting for the New York Times Magazine. "That really put me on the map," Kuehn says.
Then life got in the way of her career. A single mother, she decided
to leave New York. Her old friend Simons had already opted for a
different lifestyle by moving his family to New Mexico, where he
established a solid career. So Kuehn headed there also. " I needed to
raise my son in a place where I could work and have him rooted in an
earthy place," she says. "That's what I traded for -- a new home where
my kid would ride bikes with his friends and swim in irrigation
ditches."
But the price was steep, she admits. "I am by no means making any
money here," Kuehn says. "I have chickens and fresh eggs every morning,
but getting fresh photo assignments is a struggle when you live in the
middle of nowhere." In photography, an industry that seems to get more
competitive every day, it is easy -- very easy -- to become forgotten.
Kuehn told me how one young photo editor greeted her at a meeting: "She
said, 'I know your pictures, but I don't know you."
These days, happily, Kuehn is getting known again. She's been picked up by a new rep, @radical.media, and her own Website, karenkuehn.com,
is up and running. She's been working on a spectacular new personal
project -- portraits of New Mexican artists. The highlight of the
project, she says, was shooting Albuquerque-based artist Joel-Peter Witkin.
"I met him a few years ago and tried to shoot him, but he was
difficult and tried to control everything," says Kuehn. "Then I met him
again recently at a wedding, and his wife Barb had him make up with me.
His house isn't at all what you might expect from someone who makes the
kind of images he does. It's like your grandma's house -- warm and
friendly."
The shoot, which took place in late September, went well, reports
Kuehn -- even if Witkin maintained a controlling presence. "He wanted
to be photographed between an image of God and an image of Satan," says
Kuehn. "Does that mean he's in purgatory?" On reflection, the
photograph is an entirely appropriate depiction of an artist who leapt
to the height of fame by creating visual allegories about life, death,
and the states of being that exists between the two. "I didn't take
this picture; Joel basically directed it," says Kuehn. "I was his gift
to me."
The mark of a brilliant portraitist is to recognize when the gift is
of real value. Kuehn, having spent her own season in photographic
purgatory, has been around photography long enough now to know how to
accept the gift graciously. "After all that's happened, I think I value
photography more now than I ever did," she says. "I don't just want to
do it; I need to do it."
|
