Issue 7
Image
image: a likeness of an object, the optical counterpart of an object, a mental picture of something, idea, concept, a popular conception, exact likeness: semblance, a tangible or visible representation, an illusory form, a reproduction or imitation of the form of a person or thing
From the Editor: Often people ask what you do as if your occupation describes who you are. I always struggle with the response, I am a designer, photographer, father, son, and the list goes on. But that list still doesn't come close to who I am as a human being. It only describes some of what I do. As I move forward in life this list grows longer and only compounds and adds to the complexity of who I am.
I am both the stranger you pass on the street and the son who’s made my mother tear up with pride, and I am also neither. This awareness of my “image” is somewhat of a new elaboration, though somewhere in my mind, I have always felt like the image I portray does not match what I think on the inside. I perceive myself as awkward and stammering through life without much elegance, and through my shyness, caused by a decidedly awkward existence, I’m perceived as confident, calculated, or even conceited. I’m quiet and it’s seemingly smug. I’m both the cause and effect of my image. This way of thinking was the high dive board that I jumped from to embrace the theme of this issue. Growing up in the '80s when the images in magazines and the encyclopedia had power and influence over me.
Maneuvering image is an inherited trait—how we’re dressed, the company we keep, the way we move around this Earth, and how we morally interpret the world (religion, politics, etc.). I always liked the freedom of clothing and how an outfit could change someone’s image. I care enough about myself to buy tailored slacks.
Fashion has explored the use of image and how an image can play a crucial role in furthering a movement or idea—though I prefer tailored pants because while they look good, they're also less of a tripping hazard. Coincidentally, that’s sort of a philosophy of mine—while it looks good, it’s also practical. I’ve always been attracted to permanence: stones, rocks, metals—they seem like they will last beyond my person. Similar to one's image, which can outlast someone's person, and something about that attracts me.
As a photographer and designer, I create not only the image but also the framework of a person’s or a brand’s identity. It’s a strange muscle—this ability to mold perception through light, color, and composition. I am both the architect of unrealities and the seeker of authenticity, attempting to capture a truth that is both present and fleeting but once captured will be propelled into the future as a record of that image that transcends time. Yet, for all my careful framing, I wonder: is the image I design ever truly accurate, or is it simply an echo of what someone wishes to see? And what of the image I leave behind? Maybe, like the tailored pants, my work aims to balance what is beautiful and what is functional. But even as I build these representations, I wrestle with my own forever—shifting image, refracted through countless lenses. How do we create an image with the desire for something lasting, something real? This issue was born with these kinds of issues in my mind. I am grateful for the contributors who helped me explore image. Once again I have grown and changed through creating this magazine, and I am excited to share it with you.
ON IMAGE
Text by Natalie Chanin
As a designer, maker, and stylist, I’ve spent my career crafting images of beauty, authenticity, and identity through fashion, photographs, films, music videos, and other media. Yet for much of my life, the image I held of myself was fragmented. Shaped by a 1960s childhood in the South—where women’s identities were tied to an idealized, bucolic past—the version of womanhood offered to me left little room for the complexity of modern aspirations or the shift toward urban life. It wasn’t until decades later, in a simple photo booth on a New York City sidewalk, that I began to see—and then craft—a fuller version of myself.
In a community where traditional roles and sameness were celebrated, I was deemed an “exotic” child. On The Moth Mainstage, I once shared how that label followed me throughout my youth, marking me as different in ways I couldn’t always define. Again and again, I was asked: Where are you from? That sense of otherness, though confusing, also planted a seed of curiosity and, over time, a sense of freedom. It fueled a desire to question, to explore, and to rewrite the stories imposed on me and the world around me.
Still, after years of travel and experience, the ideals I grew up with—the polished image, the performance of femininity—remained deeply ingrained. The tension between my “exotic” curiosity and gendered expectations lingered into adulthood, until, as a grown woman, I found myself in New York.
There, in that layered, anonymous city, I unexpectedly found both creative joy and a new sense of identity. I began a small self-portrait project that involved stitching old T-shirts into new forms and photographing myself wearing them. Both acts—making and image-making—were grounding and liberating. The garments, created with techniques passed down from the women in my family, became a canvas for my story. The photographs, taken in a bill-operated photo booth on a Nolita sidewalk, were raw and immediate—resulting in a 4" x 6" sheet of 16 tiny stickers. These portraits captured moments of being—images of myself without past or future, simply in the now.
Pasting them around the city—on walls, windows, lampposts, and places of note—became a quiet act of defiance and belonging. Each sticker was a small mark of presence, a declaration of the version of “me” I was discovering. They were fast and fleeting—here for a moment, then gone. But for someone who had spent much of life feeling invisible, seeing my image reflected back in the textured city I loved was transformative.
That ritual of self-portraiture became a turning point—an ongoing dialogue with image, self, and place. The grainy, imperfect prints represented a radical departure from the cultural ideals I had grown up with. In those small rectangles, I began stitching together fragments of identity and possibility, assembling a version of myself that felt honest, evolving, and whole.
As I continued to stitch T-shirts and take portraits, what would become Alabama Chanin began to take shape. Looking back, I see how those early experiments laid the foundation for a new design philosophy. At its heart, the work is about visibility and connection—about honoring the labor, humanity, and stories behind each piece. Every garment we make is still hand-sewn, every thread a reflection of the people and places that contribute to its making. In many ways, the stickers served the same purpose: they made the invisible visible. They reminded me that my presence—imperfect and in progress—matters.
Stitching, whether in fabric or in life, is about connection. Threads bind pieces together to create something stronger than the sum of its parts—it’s communal. When I stitch, I remember the women who taught by doing, the factory workers who labored with heart and hands, the families who passed down knowledge through repetition and care. The resulting material culture reflects these stories and embodies both collective and individual identity.
Though the work began in New York, the South—with all its contradictions and complexities—remains central to my practice. It’s a place where the weight of history and the promise of transformation coexist. Alabama Chanin exists in this liminal space—blending heritage techniques with contemporary design, celebrating sustainability, craft, and the quiet beauty of imperfection. My life and work reflect this journey: reclaiming the traditions I once resisted and reimagining them on my own terms.
I’ve made peace with the word “exotic.” That once-alienating moniker has, over time, inspired me. It gave me the freedom to define myself. It taught me that identity is not fixed or assigned—it’s something we craft, stitch by stitch, moment by moment, year by year, decade by decade. Tiny sticker by tiny sticker.
My relationship with self-image continues to evolve. Those Nolita portraits were a beginning—a small but powerful way of saying, “This is me.” The act of making—of stitching, styling, shaping—is an act of self-discovery and rediscovery. It’s how we see, how we are seen, and how we claim—and reclaim—our place in the ever-shifting landscape of identity.
A CUT ABOVE
Tales from a life of style and purpose, with menswear expert Tim Richey
Text by Paul L. Underwood + Photography by Robert Rausch
A Gentleman Never Tells.
That’s why Tim Richey — co-owner of Guffey’s of Atlanta and Kirbys Menswear in Tampa — keeps quiet about his high-profile clientele.
“I never talk about my clients,” he says. “I don’t need to. They talk about me. My clothes made the cover of GQ, and have been on the red carpet at Cannes, the Grammys, Oscars, and numerous premiers."
It’s true Indeed. So while a bit of sleuthing reveals that, style icon André 3000, once raved to GQ magazine about the store’s suiting options, the rest of Richey’s clients can be assured that their sartorial secrets are well-guarded. Richey prefers to let the work speak for itself. And his story — a blend of luxury fashion, global travel, and philanthropy — is one of purpose as much as it is of style.
A Calling Before Clothing
“My first love is ministry,” Richey says. “I’ve done church work since I was 15.” After the fall of the Iron Curtain, he became deeply involved in humanitarian efforts in Albania, supporting orphanages and hospitals in what was then one of the poorest countries in the world.
A Career in Menswear
Richey’s fashion journey began in 1976 in the shipping department of a luxury store in Pensacola, Florida. “I had never seen a $200 shirt,” he laughs. “It blew my mind.” The job introduced him to a world of elevated style — and celebrities like George Foreman and Johnny Carson.
He later returned to his hometown of Florence, Alabama, working under legendary clothier Otto Speake. “That was it,” he says. “I was hooked.”
Guffey’s and Kirbys
Guffey’s of Atlanta is a luxury institution, while Kirbys Menswear is a Florida legend. Richey now co-owns both.
“It’s a jet plane ride between the two,” he says. “But it’s worth the effort.”
He first joined Guffey’s as a salesman, stayed for 15 years, then returned as a partner. He and his business partner, Neil Guffey, acquired Kirbys about two and a half years ago.
The Client Comes First
Every client is different, Richey says — skin tone, lifestyle, career. “If you're serious, your wardrobe has to be. No gimmicks. No trends. Just excellence.”
His attention to color and fabric is legendary. “Fabric is probably my first love. I use ultra-light tropical weaves — mohair, silk, linen blends — breathable, wrinkle-resistant, and luxurious.”
Post-COVID Style
After the pandemic, the rush was on. “Guys were changing jobs, needing suits overnight. I’d never done so many fast turnarounds.”
Some clients want creativity; others, timeless formality. “I dress people for meetings in Zurich, Miami, Singapore — they have to walk in perfect.”
Richey’s process includes deep research: where they’re going, who they’re meeting, the vibe of the room. “No one should ever feel like they’re the only guy in the blue suit.”
A Bond Moment in Naples
One client wanted his Cesare Attolini suit fitted at the source — in Naples. Richey made it happen.
“We flew to Milan, then Naples, had dinner, woke up, and went straight to the Attolini factory. When we stepped out of the car, heads turned. It felt like a Bond film.”
They spent hours selecting fabric, reviewing design, and doing fittings — all with the Attolini family. “It was unforgettable. That level of intimacy only comes with real relationships.”
Style is Timeless
Richey believes style should evolve — but never change completely.
“Sinatra, 1963, Life magazine cover — that’s still my ideal tux. Lean cut, narrow lapel, hard lines. My style looked like that ten years ago. It still does. It will ten years from now.”
Even when replicating red carpet looks, he’s all in. “I’ll hunt down fabric, source tailoring, match every detail — right down to the collar and tie. It's a little bit free. A little bit liberating. It's a little fresh. I love it looking tight, but not being uptight about it. It helps people understand how far they can take themselves, and how far they can push their own style.
IMAGE
Text by Kurt Vetters
A week away from retirement, and the first thing to change is my image. Hoisting the pile of suits I no longer plan to wear, checking the coat pockets for lost air-pods and random business cards, feels like a nice and welcome change. No more stress from the business world, no more contract deadlines, no more tough negotiations. Walking the suits out to the car for donation seems like the first tentative steps on my new journey.
I’ve always been keenly aware of how we all wear uniforms, perhaps because I started my working career in a hard hat and steel-toed boots, blue work shirt with my name on it, then changed abruptly to an Army uniform in woodland camouflage. Next came these suits as I entered the business world. Around me I saw all the different uniforms we self-selected ourselves into, hanging our particular brand, our image of ourselves, on the clothes we wore and the style of our hair.
It matters. First impressions are profound, and our caveman brain processes quickly if another person is part of our tribe or not. We make lasting impressions from those first few seconds that last a lifetime. My wife, Donna, and I were trying out our new retired legs with a recent day-trip thrifting in Nashville, and I listened to the clerk field a call from a potential client at her upscale designer boutique. Her entire conversation was about image. “Come here, to our exclusive shop, where only the best designers’ fashions are sold, and only within one to two years of release, and you will be the belle of the ball wherever you go.” She was helping her customers build their image. It was nice to hear our own Billy Reid mentioned in that conversation!
We sat in the Ritz Theater in Sheffield last week, listening to an amazing band cover the Allman Brothers (Thank you TVAA!), and I spent a lot of time looking at all the uniforms of the concert-goers. My favorite vignette was three young men, all in jeans, work boots, flannel shirts and baseball caps that sat in front of us. Their image exuded confidence, rugged down-to-earth competence, buttoned-up emotions, and quiet determination. While my loose, exuberant nature caused my head to continuously bounce up and down to the driving beat, theirs never moved. They sat rigid and unmoving, though I’m sure they enjoyed the show, but their brand, their image, wouldn't allow them to show it.
Some people can navigate having multiple images. My friend Dale Cohen comes to mind. I see him on Sunday mornings in his Methodist minister’s clerical robes and accoutrements, but I also see him at breakfast once a week, casually dressed and relaxed. I appreciate that I get to see two sides of this fine man, and the image that he brings to both. What I especially enjoy about this experience is that ultimately it is his ready smile and good nature that comes through in both images. It proves that genuine good humor is the best brand of all.
I like to think of the future my suits still have. I’ve taken good care of them through the years, so they should have a nice life for their next owner. Donna has shown me that recycling clothes is terrific for the environment and our retired billfold, so I have every confidence that these suits still have a useful life. My picture is of a young man starting out in his career, sliding his arms in one of the sport coats, dressing for success, strapping on the confidence this image of himself brings, and striding out the door on his way to another day conquering the world. We pass each other on the street, walking to lunch at the 222 Cafe in Florence. He sees my new image, a retired old fart with a bag of painting brushes, canvas and easel over my shoulder, and maybe he wonders if I could ever understand his life, deep in the business world, providing for his family and paying taxes.
What I hope he sees is a smile on my face, a twinkle in my eye, and from my nod of cheerful greeting as we pass each other by, I pray he sees my self-image too, and that he takes the time to smile and nod back, knowing that whatever image we all our portraying to the world, friendliness and kindness are the most well received.
BEAUTY, BOLDNESS, AND BECOMING:
Dominique Sachse on Image After 40
Text By Kelsey Ogletree
Working in television news came with a mental load greater than reporting daily stories. It had a major impact on Dominique Sachse’s view of herself.
“You could be talking about the world imploding, and someone would write in and say, ‘I’m not sure about that lipstick on you,’ or ‘I’m not sure that’s your color,’” recalls the now 58-year-old content creator, who was a prime-time news anchor for KPRC 2 in Houston for 28 years.
She developed a thick skin to protect herself from the endless stream of comments — though not all feedback was critical. Many of her female viewers, Dominique found, were simply curious: They wanted to know how she did her makeup, or where she got her dress. Over decades of getting camera ready, she’d picked up a lot of knowledge on how to best present herself and look put together.
As the questions rolled in, Dominique began to see an opportunity. One day on her KPRC Facebook page, she shared a video of her doing her eye makeup, instead of a typical news story post. The results proved she was onto something.
“It blew up. I’d never had that level of engagement,” Dominique says. “I thought, maybe there’s a better place I can curate this content — and build deeper relationships [with women].”
Her career had already given her a front-row seat to how society views women’s image, and now, she was ready to flip the script.
From the Newsroom to YouTube
Dominique once challenged a male co-worker to wear the same suit on air for a month, and no one noticed. When she wore the same dress twice in two weeks? Emails poured in.
Women often face a double standard in image-related scrutiny. The word “image” is often unfairly weighted toward their appearance over achievement, which Dominique had experienced first-hand. It’s what ultimately led her to lean into beauty as a form of empowerment, specifically for women over age 40.
Since leaving the media industry, Dominique has forged her own path as a content creator. She has a YouTube channel where she shares inspiring videos with tips for hair, makeup, and fashion, along with her personal passion of health- and wellness-related content with a touch of faith, with nearly 2 million followers.
On Instagram, she reaches more than half a million women through similar content. She also hosts the “Over 50 and Flourishing” podcast, and in 2022, published her first book, Life Makeover: Embrace the Bold, Beautiful, and Blessed You, which is all about rekindling the link between external appearance and self-confidence.
An Outside-In Approach to Beauty
We often hear that beauty starts on the inside. But Dominique takes the opposite approach, helping women to recognize and reconcile both their inner and outer beauty. In other words, it’s not vain to take pride in your appearance — in fact, it can actually help you transform your mind.
“Feeling beautiful is a hook into feeling worthy,” she explains. “The power of transformation is profound as to what it does to you on the inside. When you focus on yourself — making changes to your hair, makeup, wellness, [the way you] dress — it has a powerful effect. We start seeing ourselves as bold and courageous and can take some bold steps.”
Those steps can lead to a greater sense of self and worthiness. This momentum you create through evolving your appearance leads to deep, internal change, Dominique adds.
So how can women lean into this approach? It starts with getting comfortable in your own skin, without any coverup, literally or figuratively.
When Dominique worked in news, she was always in heavy makeup for television. Now, on her own channels, she’s often bare faced, and avoids filters on any of her cameras. “It helps to express that this is safe; this is where we all start,” she says.
If it’s uncomfortable to show your skin, take a deeper look at what’s going on beneath the surface. Your negative beliefs about yourself can go back to trauma you experienced through something hurtful someone said to you.
Try writing things down to help distinguish between real fear and imagined fear, Dominique suggests. For instance, you might write down, “Everyone will stare at me if I don’t wear makeup.” But is that actually true? “Writing down truth versus writing down fear can really free you,” she says. “We want to live freely, without the bondage of other people’s words over us.”
Image as an Art Form
In the same vein as painting a beautiful piece of art, curating a peaceful home, or tending to a bountiful garden, designing your image from the outside in is a creative act, says Dominique. For her, playing with makeup is like starting with a blank canvas every morning. The gift of creativity has been bestowed upon us all through God, she adds. “Listen to those seeds and honor them, water them, let them come to fruition.”
THE PERFECT NAIL
Text by Loee Miree
Have you ever noticed that in our lovely Southern city, most of the nail salons are owned and operated by members of the Vietnamese community? Tippi Hedren, the famous actress and model, played a significant role in establishing Vietnamese refugees as leaders in the nail industry. With her movie star image, she used her connections to empower the Vietnamese women living in refugee camps in North Carolina to learn a new trade.
After realizing that the women were intrigued with her long, polished nails, Tippi arranged for her manicurist, Dusty Kutz, to teach the women the art of manicures. Tippi and Kutz teamed up to create a profitable way for these women to enter the U.S. workforce and provide for their families. Kutz trained the women and then Tippi used her Hollywood contacts to help them find employment in high-end salons throughout California.
These women, who originally were a small group of 20, began teaching family members and other refugees the art of the manicure. This allowed the women to create their own identities, grow their businesses, and eventually dominate the nail salon industry. Tippi has been credited with changing the nail salon industry into a business that is now more affordable for most women and with transforming the lives of many Vietnamese refugee women. She is referred to as the "Godmother of the Vietnamese nail industry."
In the early 1970s, Tippi was recognized as the one woman who took the initiative, enabling 20 Vietnamese refugee women to be taught the art of nail care and creating an opportunity for a whole industry to be altered. It is widely known that more than 50% of the nail salons in the US are owned & operated by another generation of Vietnamese Americans. All thanks to a woman who had compassion and used her celebrity status to empower other women.
THERESA ROEMER:
“Image Is Your Business Card”
Text by Shelley Akins
In a society where visuals dominate, likes can be currency, and first impressions are often made on screens, “image” has become more than just appearance. For 56-year-old Houston socialite Theresa Roemer, image is not a superficial layer—it is her brand, her commitment to excellence, and the legacy she continues to build.
Raised on a ranch, long before hashtags and filters defined our daily narratives, Roemer learned early that there is no substitute for hard work.
“Whether you were sick or not, chores still had to be done,” she recalls.
There was no out. No excuses. Just accountability. That tenacity laid the groundwork for a career and brand that thrives on reliability and integrity. For over 13 years, she has posted with a relentless consistency, never waiting for inspiration or perfect conditions.
“Obligation is obligation,” she says. “Even when life is tough.” Her Instagram follower count now sits at a whopping 1.3 million.
But beyond the algorithm and followers is something deeper: a belief in showing up as your best self. To Roemer, image is not about vanity, it is about responsibility.
“Your image is your business card,” she states matter-of-factly. “Whether it’s your body, your face, or whatever you put out there—it matters.”
And Roemer is no hypocrite. From her days as a personal trainer to her successful lifestyle brand, she has lived this mantra—understanding the harsh reality that people often judge a book by its cover, so you may as well make the cover great.
Nowhere is this philosophy more beautifully illustrated than in her extraordinary, three-story closet, a sanctuary of self-expression and philanthropy. Built not just for beauty, but for giving. The impressive wardrobe is a place where elegance meets purpose.
What started as a gathering space for girlfriends sipping champagne became a hub for charitable events, with proceeds and gently worn fashion going to causes that matter. “The closet that gives back,” she calls it, and the concept is expanding—literally. She’s adding 650 square feet, making room for even more community, more sparkle, and more space to give.
But with all of Roemer’s success, she remains grounded. Her advice for anyone struggling with self-image or confidence? Tune out the noise.
“Social media can be cruel. People are 10 feet tall and bulletproof behind a keyboard,” she says.
As a lifestyle mentor and self-help author, she encourages others to drive out the negativity, walk to the beat of their own drum, and live their truth.
“At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what people think. It’s your life. You’re the only one who has to live it,” she said. “Make sure when you leave this world, your book is worth reading. You have the ability to make it a bestseller.”
THE POWERFUL “CLICK”
Text by Tyke Darlington
Creating an image on film took time and effort back in the 80s when I was growing up. It was expensive and required the proper equipment. Sometimes it took almost a week to see if the image you had hoped to capture was even there. Having a portrait made was a scheduled event, and selfies were unthinkable and almost impossible with the technology of the day.
I never liked the hustle it took and was less than satisfied, more times than not, with the result, especially if I was in it. I was always taller and skinnier than most my age, and like many young people grappling with their self-understanding, I let the image I had of myself come from what others said about me. Unfortunately, the picture our young peers paint can be distorted and stain how we see ourselves. And sometimes it can take years, if ever, to erase.
I was in college when a fraternity brother asked if I wanted to make some extra cash and do a fashion show at the local mall. He said they needed some guys who were taller than the girls in heels. I was tall and broke, so I went.
I was surprised when the lady in command of the event said I might be able to make even more money to help pay for college, but she needed pictures to send out to a few “connected” people she knew. I was skeptical but gave her all I had, some fraternity party pics and a photograph from a professional photographer that was made a year earlier, before my father died.
News got around the frat house about the big show and, of course, several came to gawk and laugh as we walked the mall runway. I was impressed by the creativity of at least one of my brothers when home from class days later, I found a note on my door with a number that said, “Calvin Klein called.” I laughed and blew it off but the prank continued the next day when another note appeared, saying a man in Atlanta was looking for me and to call his number or Calvin Klein in New York City.
Our house phone didn’t allow for long distance, only “collect”, which billed the person you were calling. I called New York thinking whoever answered would hang up when they were asked to pay for the call, but instead she said, after I introduced myself, “Yes, they are expecting your call. Can you hold for just a second?” I was stunned.
A week later I was flown to West Palm Beach to test with world renowned photographer, Bruce Weber, who was featured in a marketing book at my university talking about the influence he had had on the fashion industry. I was very nervous about what he would say when he saw me in person. Just months before, my father had decided the world would be a better place without him, so he took his own life. It was tragic and very difficult to comprehend all the circumstances surrounding and leading up to it.
I had always been thin, but struggling still with the aftermath, it was obvious I was lacking caloric intake. I was questioning everything about the world I thought I knew, my own identity, and life’s worth.
I remember meeting Bruce. Music was playing throughout the most amazing house I had ever seen. All the doors were open and a breeze brought in the smell of the ocean just steps away. He was kind and soft spoken, nothing like I had imagined. And…he didn’t send me home when he saw me. Although he did ask, after he took some photos of me in the ocean, why I was so thin, and seemed genuinely concerned about my well being when I explained what I had been going through. Later that night, he told me he was spending time in Florida to be with his father, who was dying. I was envious he was able to say good—bye on his own terms.
The next year of events and experiences that unfolded, leading up to being told an image I was in had been chosen for an ad campaign for Calvin Klein, changed my life forever. At that time, in the '80s, there wasn’t anything bigger for a male model, which I had coincidentally become. It was similar, in a way, to a woman getting the cover of Vogue. It would be seen world wide.
After my father’s death, strangely, I felt I had lost a part of myself, part of my identity, that the image others saw of me was less than it was before. I struggled with my worth, the meaning of life, and why my father thought it wasn’t worth living anymore.
Having someone see me for who I was, capture an image, and decide it should be seen across the world, representing one of the biggest brands of that time, toyed with my mind. If a skinny kid from Tennessee, questioning life and his worth can end up there, then anything is possible. That carries with me to this day, almost forty years later, to step outside my comfort zone. To try things I might otherwise not. To never give up. To dream.
Even though, in today’s digital age, 60,000 images are taken every second and billions and billions are shared every day, images still hold great power. The right one can change a life forever, or it could change a million. It can amaze, horrify, bring joy, regret, and even make tears. Never underestimate the power you have or what can happen when you pick up your phone or camera, press that button, and hear…“click.”
HERB RITTS
Text by Adam Rausch + Photos by Herb Ritts
Recalling Hollywood in the late '80s to early '90s — some decades before I was born — my view of the past is reliant on the iconography: Madonna’s wedding photos, Stephanie, Cindy, Christy, Tatjana, and Naomi delicately embraced in the nude, Mark and Kate in their Calvins, the birth of Victoria’s Angels — all of these notorious images share one man in common – Herb Ritts.
Ritts grew up in Los Angeles and was an economics major in college. His father was a furniture designer and manufacturer, and Ritts was working for the family business while dabbling in photography.
Ritts was self-taught as a photographer, and his story is a tale of the early images he had taken of his friend Richard Gere (before he was famous) on a road trip in the desert. His spontaneous shots of Gere at a roadside mechanic shop were featured in Vogue, Esquire, and Mademoiselle; this is seen as the jumping-off point for both of their careers.
His images have a clean feeling with a lucid light that he uses to create the image, bringing his subject and his universe into harmony. There is nothing ambiguous about his work, with a decisive straightforward construct that makes a statement. His work is real, sensual, always in the moment, seizing the moment, moments constructed to be taken into the future to be shared.
Always wanting to push past the editorial assignments and do something for himself helped him make his mark. His work is very L.A. but whether he was shooting in New York or Paris, his work was distinctly his own.
Working among the greats like Bruce Weber, Steven Meisel, and Peter Lindbergh, Herb Ritts's work always stood out.
It's an incredible thing when a photographer can powerfully and authentically capture someone’s essence, but Ritts’s work goes beyond just that. What intrigued me about Ritts’s photography was his ability to see his subjects in the past, present, and future. As example, when he photographed Patrick Swayze as a rodeo wrangler because that’s what he did before acting. One of my favorites, his photograph of Vladimir in Hollywood, in 1991. Ritts shoots this Cirque De Soleil aerialist, a beautifully composed photograph, but what struck me was Ritts’ ability to see Vladimir. As Ritts remarks, “He was a coal miner before in Ukraine, and when you look at his hands, you can see someone who has worked the earth forever. He has this whole creative side to him, uninhibited, one of those great Russian performers. That he could have a hair net on, and bobby pins, all that makeup, and transcend it all and be so masculine was very, very powerful.” – Herb Ritts, Notorious, 1992
Ritts’s success seems woven in his ability to think outside the box. Ritts images still have an impact on me, and I like to look at them and marvel. He has several different collections of books: L.A. Style, Work, Notorious, Duo, Africa, Men, Women, and Pictures.
THE INTERSECTION OF ART AND SCIENCE:
A Photographer’s Visionary Approach
Interview with Patricia von Ah + Photography by Patricia von Ah
A conversation with Patricia von Ah, an artist, photographer, and filmmaker, also a researcher and founder of SEETHINK Lab, dedicated to the investigation of what we see, and once we see it, how it influences us.
You’re an accomplished photographer. What type of work truly feeds your soul?
Patricia von Ah: For me, photography—and film—is all about experimentation and discovery. Every project I take on holds the potential for something new, something unexpected to be uncovered. It’s within these moments of surprise that I find the most memorable and meaningful experiences. Opening up that space for the unknown is what feeds my soul, allowing me to explore beyond the ordinary and find beauty in the unexpected.
Do you see yourself more as a photographer or a researcher? How do these roles influence your work?
Patricia von Ah: I consider myself both a photographer and a researcher. At their core, photography and research are both about observation—seeing what’s there, uncovering what’s hidden, and learning from the process. My research on the Zero Baseline of Photography is a perfect example of this intersection. It's driven by a desire to inspire others with a sense of wonder, to offer them a different way of experiencing the world through scientific and artistic photographic firsts. The images that emerge from this research are born out of innovation and experimentation, just as the scientists, artists, and photographers who created them were driven by a pursuit of discovery.
When did the idea for SEETHINK Lab and the Zero Baseline come to you?
Patricia von Ah: The SEETHINK Lab was born out of my master’s thesis, which explored seeing and thinking and the phenomenology of the photograph. During my studies in Visual Communication and Iconic Research, I noticed a significant gap in the accessibility and documentation of both scientific and artistic photographs, which are currently dispersed among many varying archives. That realization led me to create the Zero Baseline of Photography, an interdisciplinary research project that not only celebrates photography’s past but also redefines its future.
Do you differentiate between visual artists and the general public as your audience? Do you see this project extending into education?
Patricia von Ah:This project is truly for everyone. With the Zero Baseline of Photography, my goal is to provide a comprehensive resource that helps photographers, artists, and the general public to appreciate photography’s transformative power—something that influences all of us, whether we realize it or not. By connecting the past, present, and future, I hope to leave a lasting impact on how photography is perceived and practiced, not just by artists but by anyone with a passion for the medium.
Ultimately, I envision the Zero Baseline of Photography becoming a cornerstone of photographic education and appreciation—a living archive of first photographs continuously enriched by contributions from around the world. I’m already working towards this goal by conducting educational workshops, aiming to foster innovation and provide a personalized, engaging experience. In a world saturated with images, the Zero Baseline of Photography seeks to preserve our photographic heritage for generations of today and tomorrow.
When was the last time you did something for the first time? What have you done recently that’s new?
Patricia von Ah: Photography is a constant journey of experimentation for me. Recently, I’ve been exploring the world of infrared light, fascinated by the way different wavelengths can be isolated and captured. Another new adventure has been experimenting with sustainable darkroom techniques using natural materials. I recently experimented with a rosemary developer—a technique I learned from an amazing organization in London called, The Sustainable Darkroom.ⅰ The results were incredible! It’s amazing to see what can be achieved using natural materials, and I believe it’s something every darkroom photographer should know about.
Beyond photography, I’ve had some other firsts as well: learning to wing surf, playing the handpan, and making bagels with my own sourdough starter. I believe that as curious beings, we have endless opportunities to learn and grow—when we are willing to try, experiment, and embrace failure.
How do you find calm?
Patricia von Ah: I find calm in nature. I love going for long walks, often visiting my favourite stone in the forest or heading to the lake to connect with the water. It’s in these quiet moments that I feel most at peace.
How often do you take photographs?
Patricia von Ah: I always have my camera ready—recently, I’ve been particularly focused on capturing evening thunderstorms. There’s something mesmerizing about the subtle and unusual changes of light that occur within the clouds, and I’m always on the lookout for those fleeting, magical moments when everything lights up.
What was the last book you bought?
Patricia von Ah: The last two books I bought are both closely related to my passion for photographic printing processes. One is Re·source, one of the first books published by Hannah Fletcher and her colleagues at The Sustainable Darkroom in London.ⅱ They’re doing incredible work, and I highly recommend checking out their website. The other is a second-hand copy of The Keepers of Light: A History & Working Guide to Early Photographic Processes by William Crawford.ⅲ It’s a fantastic resource on historical approaches to printing photographs, and I’m thrilled to have it in my collection.
What does success look like to you?
Patricia von Ah: For me, success is finding pleasure in the work I do. It’s about embracing the process as much as the outcome.
