Con le fotografie ascolto i miei cani / With Photography I listen to my dogs

by Luigi Ippolito

 

What follows is a “dog interview” – in the noblest sense – because the protagonist is William Wegman, the American photographer renowned for his images featuring four-legged subjects. His Weimaraners, transformed, disguised and anthropomorphized, have become stars of the photographic world, starting with the archetypal Man Ray – named that way for a reason. Wegman himself has become a bit like them: during our Zoom conversation he pulls faces and expressions worthy of his canine models, one of whom occasionally pokes into the frame behind him in the studio.

 

I trained as an artist in the 1960s, when painting was under attack. I was involved in installations and performances, and that led me to video and photography. What drove me to these mediums was the chance to have an audience and to see my work published.

 

In the late ’60s I moved to California and got a dog. He was actually too young to be adopted – I should have waited another couple of weeks – but I’m glad I didn’t. That dog was Man Ray, and he became a real partner for me. Later, when I had other dogs, I stopped photographing him for about a year and he was really sad. I kept thinking I didn’t want to be “just a dog artist” – it sounds terrible to be labelled that way.

 

I think so, yes – and it worked very well. But above all, it was great fun to do. The dogs almost demand it; they are working dogs, and they enjoy having a job.

 

The dogs look at me. I first noticed it with Fay, my second dog. She always knew where the lens was: I would point to it and she would look straight at it. Somehow the circle of the lens became her point of focus. They watch my hands as I move and follow what I do.

 

One of my dogs, Candy, had no issues with the camera but hated the lights. When the flash went off, she would turn away. Other dogs, by contrast, seemed to seek out the lights. Each of them has a different expression: some look fierce, like Fay, while Ray seemed intelligent. Fay’s daughter was very sweet, almost like a little victim, but she was also narcoleptic – she would fall asleep on the job, and I had to be careful she didn’t topple off the stand. Another of Ray’s puppies was an incredible actor, so in a film I made he played two characters, the good guy and the villain. When I wanted the “good” character, I brought him close to the lens and he appeared cheerful; when I needed him to look bad, I moved away and he narrowed his eyes and suddenly looked sinister.

 

Many of the males fixate on me. A dog I lost recently, the brother of the one I have now, absolutely adored me – if I stepped away, he became anxious. His sister doesn’t care; she’s more businesslike, more professional.

 

Once, for National Geographic, I needed a dog that wasn’t a Weimaraner. I was walking through New York and saw a yellow Labrador. I asked the owner whether he could bring him over later. I dressed that dog as a newsboy. I had never seen him before and never saw him again, but he became a star in my books. I was also friends with an artist who had black Labradors, and I used them in some of my early photographs. My Weimaraners can turn into many different things, whereas a Labrador always looks like a Labrador. The nickname for Weimaraners is “the gray ghost” – it’s as if they dissolve.

 

If we think of storybooks, the characters are illustrated. If the illustrator were a real blonde girl, for instance, it would be too literal. It’s the way you invest that character with meaning that gives it the magic you need for transformation.

 

I suppose they do.

 

At its stand, Aon is presenting an exhibition of William Wegman’s Polaroids (Holyoke, 1943), shown by Galleria Alta in dialogue with the fair’s theme, “Metamorphosis.” Through the large 20×24 Polaroid format and the recurring presence of his Weimaraner dogs, the photographer leads visitors on a journey into the process of transformation that connects humans and animals.

 

William Wegman (b. 1943) is an American photographer whose work is marked by a playful tone and a strong sense of surprise. What began almost by chance – the decision to use his dog Man Ray – soon grew into a long-term project that he has refined over the years, with the animal becoming the artist’s true alter ego.