NY Magazine ran a great column (http://snurl.com/ri9u1) titled “How Could This Happen to Annie Liebovitz?” Anyone in the photo world, and most people not in the photo world, know of Liebovitz. Even if it’s only as far as the Demi More cover of Vanity Fair, or Whoopi Goldberg taking a milk bath, we know of her.
Additionally, any photographer out there knows that no matter how good you are as a photographer, you’re not going to pull in the gaboodles of money that professional athletes or entertainers who are at the top of their game pull in. Not routinely, anyway.
This column truly brings to life exactly how it is that someone who is wealthy, but not ludicrously wealthy, can blow through money like we commoners blow through… well, money.
When I think of Liebovitz, I think of a photographer who has redefined photography, for better or worse. I think of a photographer who rightfully commands attention and whatever day rate she is being paid. I think of a photographer who, when she speaks, people listen. Unfortunately, it appears, Liebovitz thinks herself as all of these, but on a grand scale that, when all is said and done, could cause her to be defined not by her amazing abilities but more by how she lost the on thing that any phogographer values above all else: her reproduction rights.




Wednesday picked up quite well when my new Lastolite Ezybox knockoffs from
The sandals are not photo related, but I can’t wait to get them. They are comfy on my feet, and somewhat less ugly than the bright red Crocs I threw away a few months ago.