An Artist’s Statement — We don’t load cameras much anymore, but we still aim them and shoot pictures. With that in mind I get a bang out of describing my irrepressible pursuit of portraits as a predatory sport, hunting big game: the famous and the simply fascinating. I try to get close enough for…

Photographing John Lennon During the Lost Weekend — In the summer of 1973, John Lennon’s and Yoko Ono’s marriage was on the rocks. It’s said that she, always the provocateur, saved their relationship by insisting that John should have an affair…

A Reluctant Orchestra — Henry Mancini composed his famous melodies decades ago. They still lurk in the American mind like cultural DNA. They often sound familiar to younger ears, too, as déjà vu as a jingle: the loopy perambulation of flutes in “Baby Elephant Walk,” the pile-driving tuba in “The Theme from Peter Gunn,”…

Jim Marshall — It wasn’t the first time a brash photographer clashed with security at a rock concert, stopped from going backstage without a pass. Jim Marshall, a fierce competitor who would elbow you out of his way to make a picture, was lashing out with his equally sharp and ill-tempered tongue at…

Being Photographed by Stevie Wonder — The first thing Stevie Wonder said to me that day was, “Show me the pictures.” I played along. “Right here,” I said. We sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge of the stage in a cavernous rehearsal hall. I set my portfolio on his lap and opened it…

A Legend on Two Wheels — Indian Larry rode alone. He would join no bike club. Not even the Hells Angels were nonconformist enough for him — and they coined the term “1%-ers” fifty years ago to make sure we knew they were outlaws. Larry made his…

Maximum Minimalist — If you’re going to make a name for yourself, starting out with an already trademarked American moniker like John Adams might seem like a handicap; it’ll take something truly extraordinary to attain distinction and disambiguation. Indeed, the talent of a boy who grew up playing the clarinet in his school…

Homeboys of Boyle Heights — It was three o’clock in the morning. I figured it would be safe; my accomplices and I would be undisturbed. Or, I thought, we might get away with our carefully planned caper without disturbing anyone else — all for art’s sake. I lay prone, propped up on my elbows, looking…

Actors and Air Guitars — I was framed tight on Gina, her eyes excavating my lens to reach the film. This was the shot. “Do not move,” I said quietly without looking up from the viewfinder. Racking focus with my left hand, watching her reversed image on the ground-glass, I swung my right hand toward…