half a million dollars because he didn’t fully believe in it; this was decades past, so an equivalent sum is difficult to calibrate in today’s currency. Thus, not only was he exquisitely groomed and marvelously articulate, Parks remains as compellingly attractive as anyone you could ever wish to hear speak about life, politics, and pain. He was a confidant of cleaning women, occupants of favelas, and a host of politicians and celebrities, including Malcolm X, Ingrid Bergman, and Gloria Vanderbilt. The latter spoke of him in whispered East Coast tones redolent of Newport, Rhode Island, with a wistful, even sinuously sexy, adulation. They became “each other’s muse,” which seems improbable given Parks’ humble African American origins in rural Kansas—until you hear him speak. He read voraciously, including works by poet Pablo Neruda, and he loved the music of Erik Satie. Thus, surprisingly, Parks and Vanderbilt had plenty to converse about, and their communiques generally took the form of poems penned with sonorous and sensuous tonality. John Rohrbach, senior curator of photography at the Amon Carter, said, “Parks’ personality allowed him access to everyone, no matter what their social status might be—and this is what allowed him to go from obscurity to assignments for Life magazine in only ten years. This is unheard of for anyone.” Intriguing though all of this might be, it almost never occurred. When Parks was born, he was promptly pronounced dead before a resourceful physician thought to have him plunged into water chilled by a frozen block from an old icebox. Parks joked, “I began wailing right then, and I never stopped.” It should be added that he had plenty to urge him into a “fever”—a term used by his daughter to describe the intense mood that circulated around his work and never left him. He was the youngest of fifteen children, and his mother died when he was fourteen years old. He subsequently left Kansas for Minnesota, where he was sometimes homeless on subzero roads—and yet this was the area where he managed to launch the career in fashion photography that eventually took him to Europe. “Paris became my beautiful mistress,” he said. This is especially shocking given the fact that Parks was an utter neophyte without training or equipment, except a camera bought for $7.50 in a pawn shop. Yet he quickly landed a plum assignment: a photo shoot at the most expensive store in Minneapolis. He
shot an extensive series of languorous images, all of which were marvelous—but double exposed. Except one. He had it elaborately framed and put on an easel. The store was sufficiently intrigued to give him additional assignments that eventually led to an extensive career in the industry, working for an array of magazines, including Vogue, Glamour, and Life. Rohrbach noted that his intuition for lighting sustained him throughout his career. “His ability to light scenes, to use odd angles and bring the viewer into the image was remarkable.” While his career began with portraits of the elegant and wellheeled, a thoroughly different kind of work began to emerge when he was awarded a Rosenwald Fellowship and began working for the Farm Security Administration in Washington, DC. It was during this period that he met a very different kind of muse from the rather ethereal Ms. Vanderbilt—and their relationship was also quite different. Ella Watson was a cleaning woman Parks befriended and empathized with long before he began photographing her. Images of Watson and her friends and relations are numerous, and each is profoundly moving, including the oft-cited Washington D.C. Government charwoman. It depicts a thin, bespectacled woman wearing a print dress and flanked by a mop and broom. Watson is addressing the camera while standing in front of an American flag, and the image could hardly be more searing. Parks said he had chosen to use his camera as a “weapon,” and his images of Watson prove he wielded it with both precision and haunting depth. Rohrbach emphasized that the museum felt the show was important “because the early years of Parks’ career carries within it the weight of the work he would do later during the Civil Rights era.” This led to a question regarding the role of museums. “What are we to make of the fact that the injustices Parks highlighted remain with us?” He didn’t hesitate. “The work gives us an experience of human connections. We see those people and we relate to them. We understand them much better than we otherwise would.” Parks’ images of pain and denial, then, enlarge and enrich our own lives and understanding. Also, if grandness of character is measured by the range of company one keeps, Parks is grand, indeed. Thus, we’re in excellent company, and what a truly marvelous gift the Amon Carter is bestowing upon us. P
Gordon Parks (1912–2006) Washington, D.C. Government charwoman, July 1942, gelatin silver print mounted to board with typewritten caption, 9.313 x 7.188 in. Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information Photograph. Gordon Parks (1912–2006) Washington (southwest section), D.C. Two Negro boys shooting marbles in front of their home, November 1942, gelatin silver print, 3.625 . 4.625 in. The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Museum purchase funded by the Mundy Companies. All images courtesy of and copyright The Gordon Parks Foundation.
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