SECOND SHOOT: MAKING MISTAKES AND LEARNING FROM THEM
My next subject was designer James Victore. Adobe had bowed out of any involvement with this one because of the no-holds-barred political content in Victore’s work, which is part of what had drawn me to him in the first place. What I love about James’ work is the energy and bold simplicity. His pieces tell quick, cutting stories. Often angry, they’re never truly cynical, never cold or ironic. In the interview James said, “I know my work is going to piss people off.” It was a nervy little moment, one that summed up his style and intent as a designer, but I had let the tape run out as he said it and when I went back to edit, it wasn’t there.

And then there were the visuals: James is Italian American, so his skin is an olive tone. The background I chose consisted of beige posters. Here I’ve got this dynamic guy whose design work is decidedly edgy, and when it came time to review the footage, everything looked kind of, well, brown. Here’s the long and short of it: I walked into Victore’s studio and basically blew the shoot. The look of the footage was less than dazzling and some of the best quotes were off tape. How could I salvage this interview? Basically, I made a music video out of his work. I created montage sequences built on the steady reveal of posters through close-up shots. I intercut these sequences with shots of James at his drawing table telling stories. I learned that what I’m doing is different from a straight-up documentary. It’s an interesting conundrum in these pieces: how I must walk a line between two worlds.

In documentary, you’re not supposed to tell people what to wear, for example. It’s pure reportage. Images aren’t manipulated during the shoot. The editing process, by nature, involves choice—which is in a sense manipulative —but the shoot itself involves the practice of recording what’s actually there. (To their credit, the people at Adobe, besides trying to remove some overtly political content—which I refused—didn’t demand anything. They realized that they’d benefit tremendously by brand association, that their tools and their brand would be—and in fact, for the most part are—tied to the creativity of these individuals.)

But I’m also trained as a graphic designer, and graphic designers often go to photo shoots with a truckload of wardrobe and props to make the shoot look perfect. And there’s a part of my brain that wants to control the process. I am fashioning a look to some extent. With just a few minutes to capture the essence of this creative individual, I want every shot to look great. So I try to pay more attention to the overall look and, oh yeah, make sure I remember to change the tape. Still, I’m pretty happy with the method I have. It helps me to develop an intimacy with my subjects. I show up to these interviews on my bicycle, with my few pieces of gear. No matter what happens, there’s no one I have to check with before I make a move: I don’t have a crew following the subject and me around, dragging mikes, lights, etc. The subject and I get to establish our own space, and a deeper conversation.

THIRD SHOOT: GETTING BETTER
Next up: Paula Scher, a partner at Pentagram and one of my all-time favorite designers. Paula was a gas to hang out with and her shoot went extremely well, despite the fact that we taped in a room that overlooked Fifth Avenue and was extremely noisy. If you listen carefully you’ll hear the roar of New York City throughout the spot. I got everything and more in one fascinating hour of conversation with her. She clearly loves what she does and generates energy as she speaks. With Paula, I went in thinking I knew much of her work and walked out realizing I’d barely scraped the surface. I’m amazed and inspired by all that she’s created in her 34 years as a designer. In terms of visuals, I lucked out with Paula because she was wearing black, has blond hair, and I set her against a black backdrop. The look was high-contrast, foxy, and dramatic. This shoot was great for two reasons: I got deep insight into the mind of one of my design heroes and I was getting better as a filmmaker.

FOURTH SHOOT: INTERVIEWING A LEGEND
Finally, Milton Glaser. This was a difficult edit and a somewhat difficult shoot. Milton’s staff is among the most loyal I’ve ever encountered—they’re very protective of him. Initially, when I showed up to do the Milton piece, the reception was a little guarded. It’s fair to say they were dubious, and probably for good reason; I imagine they get countless requests for Milton’s time. I was also intimidated because Milton is so revered, and he’s older, highly intelligent, articulate … believe me, it was easy to feel stupid asking questions like “What’s your process?” And when I asked, he tended not to answer but instead replied with “big picture,” existential answers—i.e., how to create meaningful work, what’s important in the craft, and so on. Despite his depth and thoughtfulness, in the initial stages of the interview he seemed a bit disengaged. Having spoken to one of his suitemates later, I don’t think he took it that seriously because I had so little gear. I think he expected me to show up with a camera crew.

We sat across from each other, me next to my tripod and Milton up against a wall, with a black backdrop behind him. Midway through the interview I could sense both of us growing uncomfortable. Doing these things on my own, I have to think on my feet … there’s no one else to prop me up. Not getting the answers I thought I would along with the physical stillness of the interview forced me to improvise. I suggested Milton show me his building. I quickly unlocked the camera from the tripod and kept the tape running as we explored the four floors of his brownstone. This is when the interview really began to happen; it’s very clear that his work is what he’s all about. And he keeps everything!

The basement was full of thousands of posters, and the top floor of the brownstone full of his acetates, books, sketchbooks, and paintings. It was a wonderful experience listening to Milton as he leafed through those sketchbooks —some over 30 years old—his posters, book jackets, and paintings. As soon as he got near his work, he loosened up, and then, so did I.

From the start, mostly because I feel my best work emerges from the limitations I set for myself, I established a time limit for these spots: no more than seven minutes, and preferably even shorter. With Milton, though, the hard part of the edit was just choosing between what to leave in and what I’d be forced to take out. Our conversation contained so many revelatory moments … it became hard to let them go. In the end, though, I tried to build four strong sections, united in what I hope is a perceptible theme: his life and work in retrospect.