Aside from a brief run-in with Larry Bird, meeting Mary Ellen Mark was the first time I came face-to-face with one of my heroes.
Back then, I was occasionally assisting at the 20x24 Polaroid studio. My friend, photographer Jen Trausch, was running the place and had kindly added me to the list of potential assistants for when a photographer needed a hand—usually as a second. Mary Ellen had been working with the massive Polaroid for some time, and, being who she was, she could even take it on location. I think she was working on her "Prom" series at the time, so Jen knew her and her crew well. I never had the chance to assist her (she had her team of better assistants than me), but I took a shot and asked Jen to reach out on my behalf for her studio manager's contact info.
At the time, I was working on a series called The Influence Project—which didn’t work—but it gave me an excuse to ask if I could take her portrait.
To my surprise, she said yes.
Photographers are notoriously difficult to photograph. In some cases, it’s why we start taking the pictures, so we don’t have to be in them.
It wasn’t like that with Mark. Does this look like a woman who isn’t comfortable being photographed? I’ve never looked this comfortable in my entire life.
When I'm worried about being late for something important, I prefer walking, if possible, because it makes timing predictable. This way, unless I'm hit by a bus, I know almost exactly how long it'll take to get where I’m going. So, as long as I avoid the buses — which, not to brag, I'm excellent at — everything is fine. With that said, I was so early. I spent about 45 minutes circling her block, trying not to sweat through my shirt.
Her studio manager eventually brought me inside. It was a large, bright loft, cluttered with prints, boxes, books, and a small team working at computers. Mary Ellen jumped up from a chair where she'd been sitting, observing her husband, Martin Bell, working on something. As she stood, she gently patted his shoulder, almost as if to say, “You keep working on that.” She shook my hand and introduced me to Martin. He said hello but didn’t take his eyes off his work.
“Where should we go?” she asked. Being asked by Mary Ellen Mark where I wanted to shoot a portrait was a little surreal. I resisted the urge to ask her where she thought we should shoot, and instead did what I always do, scanned the place for the best light. I pointed to a back corner with a window, a couch, and, as I’d later find out, a fire escape. As we walked back, I noticed her casually picking up a ring or two from a counter and slipping them on, spinning them on her fingers as she held her hand out to admire them.
I had two cameras with me: a digital Canon that I used regularly and a Mamiya 7 film camera that I love but don't use as often. I brought the Mamiya because I’d heard she sometimes shot with one, and I wanted her to think I was cool/good. I started with it, loaded with Portra 800, assuming I wouldn’t have much light. She noticed my camera choice and mentioned how much she liked it. My plan was working. I suggested we start with her on the couch, and she sat in the corner near the window. Right away, she was comfortable. She posed naturally, using her hands well and turning into the light exactly as I would have asked her to.
As I shot the first few frames, I realized I’d made a mistake. I was nervous, so the initial shots were probably going to be bad until I settled down. I was wasting film—fine—but my real worry was having to reload the camera in front of her. I’d loaded that camera a thousand times without an issue, but I just knew this would be the time I’d drop the roll and watch it unravel across the floor, ending at her feet. I was told I had about 15 minutes, so I planned to shoot at least two rolls of 220 and as much digital as I could manage.
As I neared the end of the roll, Martin came over, more engaged now that he’d finished what he was working on. We chatted a bit, and he asked Mark to come check the computer. This was my chance. I quickly burned through the last few frames of the roll and reloaded—like a fucking pro, of course. When she returned, I essentially reshot what I’d already done with the Canon for some reason. Then I asked if she’d be okay with moving to the fire escape. She agreed and headed out. After glancing at the neighbors' windows, she quickly settled back into posing, alternating between looking into the lens and gazing off, always aware of the light. I took one frame that I instantly knew I liked and asked her to hold that pose while I switched back to film. That shot ended up being my favorite.
I also liked some of the others, including the black-and-white ones, which I very rarely shoot. I don’t remember for sure, but I probably made them black-and-white because I was hoping she’d like them more that way.
After finishing the roll, I thanked her for letting me interrupt her day. She was very kind and said she was happy to do it, and I genuinely believed her. It was a generous gesture, even if it was just for 15 minutes.
About a week later, I emailed her studio manager to express my gratitude for the 100th time and to share some scans. Part (All) of me hoped the manager would show them to Mary Ellen, and she’d be so impressed that she’d insist we become best friends.
I never heard back.
– Travis
While trying to find out who took the photo of MEM and Brando I found this article and thought you might enjoy it.
While writing this I was listening to:
Love that B&W image shot from the fire escape. What a fantastic opportunity.
This is a great story. I’m impressed she said yes. Seems like a generosity of spirit. I’m curious, though, why you think you didn’t impress her. Because you didn’t hear back?