In memory of the ultimate writers' photographer: Jerry Bauer

{One of the author photos taken of me by Jerry Bauer, 1998, in the lobby of the Harbourfront Hotel, Toronto.}

On a writers' on-line chat group, I found out that writer photographer Jerry Bauer died almost two years ago. A number of us didn't know! Warm testimonials poured forth.

I assumed that when I Googled Jerry Bauer's name, a zillion links would come up — but this proved not to be the case. He's almost invisible. With considerable difficulty (compounded by the existence of other photographers with his name), I found the dates of his birth and death (in New York): May 8, 1934 – July 19, 2010. There was no notice that I could find, no obituary, only a blog post by author Neal Asher about having been contacted by a member of the family wishing a note to be read at Jerry's funeral. 

A Google image search, of course, showed more: here. 

His signature style was to work in black and white (usually), with natural light, and to take a candid photo.

He was so eccentric, he made me feel at ease. I became his buddy instantly. As the camera clicked, he chatted on and on, revealing intimate details regarding his health, problems his friends were having in Cuba, the challenges of his dual-life in Rome and New York.

I felt that because he had been sent a distance to photograph me (and by my German publisher, no less), I had somehow arrived. His portfolio, which he immediately showed me, confirmed that. It included one writerly luminary after another. 

A few examples:

{Top to bottom:  Patricia Highsmith, Samuel Beckett, Joyce Carol Oates, William Trevor, Geraldine Brooks.}

I remember being concerned about "my neck." (I was only 54. Little did I know about necks.) He said not to worry: "I'll take it out!" 

RIP, Jerry Bauer, wherever you are.  I am honoured to have been photographed by you.