Interview in Oxford American 1/1997

as photographed by Curt Richter

When Dr. Louis Rubin, Jr. commissioned Curt Richter, a native New Yorker, to take portraits of the members of the Fellowship of Southern Writers, Mr. Richter expected it to be a brief assignment. But on completion of the 1989-90 undertaking, it was suggested to Mr. Richter that he make a book out of photographing Southern writers. Mr. Richter took the bait and, despite not having a contract, worked on the project off and on (mostly on) for the next seven years.

Since 1990, Mr. Richter has driven over eighty thousand miles, learned the lyrics to more rock songs than is probably good for one’s health, exhausted his life savings, and taken portraits of over two hundred writers. The list of subjects ranges from obscure poets (Wilma Dykeman, Shelby Stephenson, Charleen Swansea) to the ultra-famous (Jimmy Carter, Eudora Welty, Ralph Ellison, Shelby Foote).

A sampling of Mr. Richter’s photographs, along with a short interview, appear on the following pages. A Portrait of Southern Writers, Mr. Richter’s book, will be published by the University of Arkansas Press in the fall of 1997.

The Oxford American : What criteria did you have for inclusion on your list of Southern writers?

Curt Richter : They had to have been born in the South or living there, that was pretty much it.

OA : Are you worried you left out somebody great?

CR : The first thing Louis Rubin said to me was, “Curt, you lose. There’s no way you’re going to do this book and not piss people off. You’re going to have writers in there that will cause people to say, ‘Why on earth did you take his picture?’ And there will be people screaming about not having someone else’s picture in there.”I said, “There may be some writers who may not be that well known, but if it’s a really good portrait, then, by all means, let’s put it in.”

OA : What does the person you’re shooting have to bring to the whole thing to make it work?

CR : I want them to drop their guard, just to be relaxed. I try to get them into a frame of mind where they get bored, because then they start to think about something else. Then their expressions are real. They’re coming from a much deeper place than that moment of looking at the camera. It seems strange to think, but my objective is to get the subject bored.

OA : When they let down their guard—let’s say they show a moment of tiredness or boredom or even anger—isn’t that indica-tive of the way they’re feeling at that moment and not their whole being?

CR : It would be grandiose to try to have the ultimate defining moment of a person. What I want is at least an insight into that person. I don’t think it’s in any way about an ultimate definition. Art never should be. The worst thing you can do with art is close it down, make it mean one thing. One of the reasons great art endures the centuries is because it is open.

OA : Do your subjects ever reveal something unflattering? Their egos?

CR : Oh, yeah. Walker Percy looked at the picture I did of him and said, “I look like an aristocratic Nazi.” There was arrogance in that picture, but he was also a great writer. There’s a certain point where it’s not unfounded confidence.

OA : Do you ever lead them towards something that is unflat¬tering?

CR : No. I never do that. A portrait is a collaboration, a covenant, and I don’t take advantage of people. I don’t mind the

picture being revealing or even difficult to look at, or showing some vulnerability or pain, but I would never use work that is deliberately unflattering. In one of my portraits of Robert Penn Warren, he had a substantial nose hair. I would never show that picture, with a goddamn nose hair coming out of Robert Penn Warren’s face.

OA : It’s clear just by seeing your photographs that that’s not what you’re doing. But I meant, like in the Styron example, it’s clear that he was just showing you—

CR : He didn’t care. I wasn’t there.

OA : But did you feel like saying, “You’re showing me too much,” or, “Are you sure this is what you really want?”

CR : Nope. I mean, he had stains on his shirt, wouldn’t button it up, even after I asked him…. There’s a shot of Reynolds Price I could never give to the Fellowship.

OA : Why not?

CR : It was a difficult picture to look at. We spent, I think, three hours, and I realized, actually, that I had worn out my welcome. But as I packed up, we talked, and he was comfortable with me and he had just forgotten I was there.

OA : What does that Price photo say to you? Because I wasn’t quite sure what it showed. There was maybe an element of both confidence and lack of confidence in it.

CR : To me, it’s about sorrow. It showed a tremendous vulnerability.

OA : But wasn’t there pride in there, too?

CR : It’s fine with me if it means something different to you than it does to me. It’s curious, sometimes people look at one of my pictures and they start describing it and what it means to them. And I’m like, “Wait a minute, are you sure? Are you sure you’re talking about my picture?” But that’s fine.

OA : What do you think now that the project is nearly over?

CR : Now I can look at it and say, “I’m really proud of that.” On one trip I drove five thousand miles and took forty-six portraits. These kinds of projects don’t get done very often, and that’s why. It’ll kill you. I don’t have it in me to do another project like this.

OA : But you’ve done it.

CR : I have. Thank God.