William Eggleston is a dog. When he was asked about his art, in good Southerner he says he takes photographs less than the average human on this earth. He prowls into town, sees something he likes, take it. A picture only. Never both. The capture unique. No board contact for Eggleston - who will pretend that the majority of his photos were exposed (but few people know that the first person to be exposed, in Memphis, was the mother of Alex Chilton. This explains in part why Eggleston made some pockets of Big Star and is found to play piano on the cover of Nature Boy on Third / Sister Lovers ). He says to let go months without feeling the need to take a picture. His famous stormy nature had exhausted hordes of assistants (including one, Tav Falco, eventually prefer to rock). Him, would have us believe he cares, like the rest of it. Manure. Horses & Dogs is a 1994 book, now rare, published in this incredible collection being at Smithsonian series (books flexible, sold price of a bottle of vodka, but inside they are drawn for a quality insolent). Eggleston has voluntarily chosen to subject themselves to the study that is no more: dogs and horses. Who would buy a book with pictures of dogs? Any arrogance Eggleston is summarized here, because you open the book and it was only a demonstration of total superiority over everything: space, matter, composition, light (obviously, this type of eyes that do not equalize the same way that we, he is a chromatic scale that is most acute).
He does not need to hide behind a screen of cynicism as Martin Parr. Humanism seems quite foreign to him. It is a kind of animal detachment. The space available to him, and he never doubted for a second that he had only to serve. Everything is a story of concentration.
When asked, as in Michel Drucker, why the dogs, he just responds, "They Seem To Be Everywhere." Gary Winnogrand him once confided you could make a good picture on anything. In this case, when taking pictures of dogs, horses, this "anything" is still out what remains of wilderness in a world that would harness all. Eggleston horses in their pens, look elsewhere. They dream of Appalachians. His dogs are divided into two breeds: those who wander are ready to bite. And those who pretend to be at home in this garden. Who knows what they are thinking really, how last revenge?
Physically, William Eggleston lot like William Burroughs. Even brittle elegance. Same nasal voice. The same pride of gentlemen farmers become, by force of circumstance, social parasites, with all that implies contempt assumed - that the last race taking advantage of an era without heroism. The interviewing once (and that's a funny kettle of fish to interview Eggleston: you talk, you furnish, and he condescends occasionally, pick up a sentence. If possible murders), he came to talk about Bob Dylan, with whom he has dragged a time. Finally ... talk ... he just swung as if it was a simple trapping buddy, "Bob is ok. "Oh? Is that all? ... Bob is ok ... William Eggleston is just a fucking asshole.
William Eggleston, Horses and Dogs , Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, 1994.
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