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The Weston family is one of the most influential families in the history of photography. Born in 1919 Cole Weston is the senior living member. One of four sons sired by Edward Weston, an icon of twentieth century photography, Cole is himself a father of five and equally famous.<\/p>\n
His life has followed a varied course first from theater, then to the Navy, on to working for Life magazine, and later to portraiture, before he moved to Carmel, California in 1946, at his father\u2019s request. In the years that followed he became his father\u2019s personal assistant, companion, and confidant. As Edward struggled with Parkinson\u2019s disease, Cole became the keeper of two careers, his father\u2019s and his own. Throughout the years, Cole has kept both bodies of work flourishing and circulating widely.<\/p>\n
Cole\u2019s work shines too brightly to be obscured by the shadow of his father\u2019s success. In 1988 he stopped printing his father\u2019s work to devote himself exclusively to his own work. It is exhibited internationally and resides in many of the world\u2019s finest collections. He teaches workshops extensively both at home, throughout the United States, and abroad. His work has been the subject of four books including Eighteen Photographs, Cole Weston Fifty Years, At Home and Abroad, and most recently Laughing Eyes, a collection of letters between father and son.<\/p>\n
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Cole Weston <\/strong>So what do you want to know? I\u2019ve done this so many times I find myself saying the same things, so I\u2019m going to leave that to you. You ask and I\u2019ll talk.<\/p>\nJohn Paul Caponigro<\/strong> What was your earliest memory of photography?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, my earliest memory is my father\u2019s darkroom sink, up in Tropico, and my sailing little boats in his darkroom sink. Then my brother Neil and I used to break out all the windows in his darkroom, so dad would give us his glass plates. “Here, take these, dip them in lye, and clean them off.” Then he would put them in his windows again. Those are two of my earliest memories of my father and his studio. Also, I have another very strong memory. He used to have these women, I swear they were old women, but they were young women, that worked for him. I remember this one. He was in the darkroom showing her something. He told me to go out and see if the red streetcar that ran from Glendale to Tropico to Los Angeles was coming. I went out and came back quickly. Here was my father holding this girl, kissing this girl. I\u2019ll be. He didn\u2019t live with my mother then at all. They lived apart. I was born in 1919 and my father had mistresses then. I always wondered how I was ever born. They must have gotten together just for old times or something. How was I conceived? I never remember sitting down at the dinner table with my father \u2013 never. We never had a family dinner. I have the strongest memory of my sitting at our big table in Glendale at my mother\u2019s place. My father\u2019s studio was a couple of miles away. M mother was a school teacher, and she was wonderful old gal, but she didn\u2019t cook much. She used to go to school, teach, come back, have a cigarette, which she wasn\u2019t allowed, and go to bed. I remember one Thanksgiving or Christmas sitting down at this table with a big turkey, all by myself. I was the only one there. It was pretty lonely. We traded off a great deal with my mother and father. They were amiable, on good terms, all their lives, at least that I knew them. They were divorced so we went back and forth to my father\u2019s and then to my mother\u2019s.<\/p>\nI talk about my letter from my son Kim, my second son. He writes a beautiful letter. It reminds me of my father and my brother Chandler. Chandler just hated my father, you know. He was older than me. Kim wrote to me about his bringing up, his childhood, putting me down pretty much. I wrote him back. I didn\u2019t contradict any of these things at all. I said, “You know, I had a lousy bringing up, too. I mean, my father left me when I was five years old and went to Mexico. I never saw him as a father. He never played baseball with me or took me skiing.” I just talked to my older son Ivor. He lives up in Shasta and just spent the whole day yesterday skiing with his sons. He skis with them all the time. I never had that sort of relationship with my father. But I loved him. He was a wonderful guy. When he did come home he\u2019d read to us. I don\u2019t remember any strict American sense of the father sitting down there, with the mother here, and the kids here. We never had that. So I told Kim, “Come on, your life wasn\u2019t so bad.” I divorced his mother when he was 14 and my older son, Ivor who was then 15, came and lived with me. He decided he wanted to live with me. Then Kim had to be the father of the family. There were four children. That was pretty hard on him. Then his mother died of cancer when she was very young, 36. Then his brother, my son Reese, was killed in a car accident. Then his best girlfriend was killed in a car accident. So I said, “You know, you had a bad time, too. There\u2019s no reason to lay all this on me. I\u2019ve done the best I can.” We are who we are, and we do what we do. And we\u2019re the result of our parents. We can\u2019t help it. That\u2019s just the way it is. So life goes on. You\u2019ve got to say this is the way it exists and then go on. We cannot mope about the way my brother Chandler did. He died an 84-year old man, hating his father, and blaming him all his life. He was an alcoholic. I said, “Why do you drink so much?” He said, “I just want to prove to the world that my father and mother did a lousy job of bringing me up.” He was a 50-year old man. You can\u2019t go on forever blaming your parents for what they did or did not do for you. You just go on and do what you can do.<\/p>\n
JPC<\/strong> Where did the title for the recent book of correspondences, Laughing Eyes, come from?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> One of Dad\u2019s letters to me begins, “Dear Laughing Eyes”. Laughing Eyes is a fascinating book. Dad talks a lot about his life. You should do your own thing. Don\u2019t be pushed by somebody else. Do what you want to do. All of my letters were saved. Even when I scrawled “Daddy, come home.” he kept them. And there are pictures.<\/p>\nI\u2019m not a letter writer. My son is a beautiful letter writer. He writes to tell me all these things that are wrong with me. I\u2019m a lousy letter writer. Everything\u2019s ruled by the internet. I don\u2019t use that even. I phone. I just get on the phone. That\u2019s the simplest way for me to talk.<\/p>\n
JPC<\/strong> What was your experience growing up in a photographic family and then later becoming a photographer yourself?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, I didn\u2019t set out to be a photographer. I graduated from high school and my father gave me a 45 pistol and somebody else gave me a bottle of whiskey. That\u2019s what I graduated with in Los Angeles in 1935. Anyway, he said, “What do you want to do?” I said, “I don\u2019t know, maybe the theater.” So he introduced me to Nellie Cornish from the Cornish Schools in Seattle. I ended up there. I had a working scholarship and I was there for three years, \u201937 to \u201940. I graduated in theater. I was in Cunningham, dancing with the famous dancer Arthur Graham – the best. He was my roommate. Although he was gay and I didn\u2019t know it then. I don\u2019t think he knew it then. I graduated in theater in \u201940 and I had a chance to go under the Dashold Youth Theater. I was going to set the world on fire. My friends in LA said, “What\u2019s the sense of doing that? You may as well go to work for Lockheed. There\u2019s a war on. We\u2019ll be in the war before \u201940.” This was \u201937. You weren\u2019t even born then. So I went to work for Lockheed and became a rivetter, and went to work for Lockheed for 51 cents an hour. I thought to myself, “I\u2019ve got to get to 75 cents an hour.” The rent was $20 a month. I was married then to Dorothy. She was a dancer. She married me instead of going and studying with Martha Graham. I went in the Navy and did theater all along. There\u2019s a sort of avocation in the theater. But while I was in the Navy, I got myself into the photo lab. That was interesting because we had unlimited film and unlimited cameras. We were doing commercial work, but I was at least out working, and I was out photographing. I had a truck, a Navy truck. And that\u2019s how I really got into it. When I was a kid and I learned real basic stuff. In the Navy I really got into it. When I came out of the Navy I went to New York to see dad in \u201947 and he went to see Wilson Hicks, who was the head of Life. Hicks said, “You go back to Los Angeles and we\u2019ll put you on a retainer.” So I went back to Los Angeles and went on retainer working for Life. I had a few things for Life. Then my father was in the middle of a divorce, had Parkinson\u2019s disease, and he was up here in Carmel. He said, “Can you come and be my assistant? I said, “Sure.” That\u2019s how I came into it. I had to develop and print my father\u2019s work, which I did pretty much until \u201988. So I had a chance to work with him before he got Parkinson’s disease too bad. See, I came here in \u201946 and he died in \u201958.<\/p>\nAlthough there was the big project printing that was done by Dick McGraw, involving nearly one thousand of dad\u2019s negatives. Dick McGraw wanted Brett to print them. Brett was so much more of a photographer than I was and so he got the job at $15 an hour to print all of dad\u2019s negatives. But by then, dad was suffering pretty badly with Parkinson\u2019s. So actually I chose all the negatives with dad. We sat down and looked at each negative and said, “What do you think?” Over three thousand negatives, which I still own, were shipped down to the Center for Creative Photography. We ended up with about 800, and they made eight sets of those 800. It was a huge job. Brett did it very fast. Willard Van Dyke used to say, “Well, you know, Brett, all those prints are beautiful, but some of them are pretty shoddy.” He went too fast. He would do five 8 x 10 negatives, eight prints each, before noon. Because at noontime he wanted to go down and lie on the beach. He didn\u2019t care about this job. It was good income. Until his dying day, we had arguments about this. I was there. I watched it. Brett would come out with a print, and dad would just look at it shaking, “I guess that\u2019s all right.” And then Brett would go back and print. Brett was a wonderful photographer and a wonderful printer. But he printed a certain way, you know, his prints were very contrasty, much more so than dad. But Brett\u2019s project prints sell for a lot of money, because he could say that dad was alive when they were printed.<\/p>\n
JPC<\/strong> Brett\u2019s work is very graphic and abstract. Your dad\u2019s work is smoother tonally and volumetric. They\u2019re both about form, but entirely different aspects of form.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Yup.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> I\u2019m sure going through that, looking at the work, being so involved, certainly must have been an influence on you and your vision.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> You can\u2019t help it.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> I don\u2019t know if there\u2019s any point in trying to help it. It might be a good thing. I mean, it certainly could be good thing.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Thank God I had the influence.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> Yes, exactly. I feel similarly. But there\u2019s also the process of keeping your own vision developing in parallel. It\u2019s the continuation of that and the personalization of that. At some point you possess some of the forces of that influence and disassociate from others. Rather than being possessed by them you possess them. How have you dealt with challenges of maintaining and clarifying your personal vision?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, it\u2019s been tough. You know, people say, “Well, how does it feel to be the son of Edward Weston?” It\u2019s tough.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> I\u2019ve never heard a question like that.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Yeah. Oh, yeah. Well, sure, it\u2019s tough for you.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> Because it has both positive and negative aspects, I prefer to think of it as a challenge.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> It\u2019s a challenge. It\u2019s a constant battle with people. That\u2019s why I took up color, because it was my own, period. Dad and Brett. I couldn\u2019t compete with them. So color was perfect for me. Dad did just a little bit of it. Brett hated it. And so for me it was logical.<\/p>\nEastman Kodak wrote to dad and they said, “We\u2019d like you to photograph Point Lobos in color.” Dad wrote back and said, “Well, I don\u2019t know anything about color, but I know Point Lobos better than any man alive.” And so they sent him Kodachrome and Ektachrome to work with. It was good stuff. I went with him. I was holding his hands. He\u2019d say, “Well let\u2019s look at it here.” And I did. He had all this leftover film. I said, “Well, God Almighty, if he\u2019s not going to use it, I may as well go out and use it.” So I did. That\u2019s how I got into it. When he saw the first few that I did dad said, “Gee, those are quite lovely.” He was very complimentary, to anybody. Beginners would come to show him work and he\u2019d often say, “I wish I had done that.” He had a wonderful humility, which a lot of people don\u2019t have. This man was very humble about his work. And so anyway, he encouraged me, and I went on.<\/p>\n
JPC<\/strong> So you pretty much developed color from that point forward? Did you do black and white as well?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Oh, yeah, I do black and white. I have black and white negatives that I never print. I just have too much to do to print my own color. I\u2019m a color photographer. That\u2019s what I do. Whether you like it or not, that\u2019s what I do. There is nothing wrong with black and white, but I am into color. And I like it!<\/p>\nTelevision, museums, workshops \u2013 oh, it\u2019s too much. I don\u2019t want any more. I don\u2019t want to sell any more. I don\u2019t care any more.<\/p>\n
JPC<\/strong> What do you want to do now?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> I want to be healthy. I want to be able to do the things that I physically used to be able to do and I can\u2019t do them. I am a good director, and I\u2019ve directed for fifty years at Forest Theater in Carmel. I don\u2019t do that any more. I have three great loves in my life \u2013 theater, sailing and photography. I had to cut out something. I did my last play three years ago. I sold my boat. So I\u2019m down to photography now. Which is okay. To be 80 and be able to decide what you want to do that\u2019s okay. I don\u2019t have the stability that I had when I was a young buck like you. That\u2019s going to happen to you.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> You still have the eyes though.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, you have the eyes.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> Do you still enjoy working?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Yes. You have the eyes, but you don\u2019t have the strength. I can\u2019t carry the 8 x 10. I could, but I don\u2019t. So I carry the 4 x 5, which is a beautiful camera. But I don\u2019t really have the drive that I used to have. I just say, I\u2019ve done a fair amount; nothing compared to my father. But I never tried to compete with my father or my brother. They did tremendous quantities of work. And I don\u2019t want to try and beat that. When I get to work, I\u2019m terribly excited about it.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> When did you know that photography was the thing for you?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, it was osmosis. It happened, you know. As I grew up, I had it around me all the time. The war changed my whole aspect because I stopped theater. Then my father asked me to come be his assistant, and I was constantly working with photography and doing my own. I did good portrait photography. I made a lot of money. Then I ran for Congress on the Progressive Party ticket. Things just evolve in your life. Then of course dad died and I had the whole thing dumped onto me. I kept his work going. I kept shows going all over the world. Books would come out because of me.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> So in a sense you\u2019ve been the keeper of two careers, your own and your fathers.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. As a matter of fact I probably keep my father\u2019s more than I do mine. People say, “How does it feel to be the son of Edward Weston?” Well, it has its great moments and it has its bad moments. You think, “What am I successful for? Because of my name, my father\u2019s name? Or because of what I do? What do they want me there for?” Gradually I\u2019m more or less on my own. I\u2019m doing my own work. I have a tendency to negate me, because all my life I\u2019ve negated it and put my father, who\u2019s a great genius, in the forefront. Now people say, “We want to hear about you.” I want to talk about me and my work.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> What are a few of the good things, and what are a few of the difficult things about being your father\u2019s son?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> I have no problem seeing. I see with my own eyes and I, naturally, have a different sense of seeing. I photographed one pepper in my life and he photographed fifty peppers. I do things and he\u2019s done similar things. Having looked at my father\u2019s work all of my life, you can\u2019t help that. But we\u2019re different.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> It\u2019s inevitable and inescapable.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Just do it. Photograph differently.<\/p>\nMy father was a very quiet person, you know, he was only five foot five, and he was very quiet and I\u2019m much more like my mother, very outgoing..<\/p>\n
My youngest son is your age. I have six children. My oldest one, Ivor, read Laughing Eyes. I wrote to him and said, “You read this and then you will see why I am who I am, or have an idea.” We talked just yesterday, and he said, “You know, reading those letters I never realized how difficult your father was. He was always thinking of himself. He\u2019s talking about you and your needs and then he goes immediately on himself.” I don\u2019t think that at all when I read this. To me it\u2019s a great deal of his own philosophizing and so forth. So we each have a different interpretation. My father, I thought, was a very loving and wonderful person, whenever I saw him. And fortunately, I had a chance to live with him quite a bit of time.<\/p>\n
JPC<\/strong> So talent, do you think it\u2019s inherited, learned, or earned?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Oh, I think you inherit a great deal. You can\u2019t help but learn. It\u2019s osmosis. It\u2019s just being around it. You can\u2019t help yourself.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> Was there a defining moment when you felt you had discovered your own vision?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, it\u2019s still developing.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> Yes, it always does. But was there a moment when you felt, “This is mine.”<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, I\u2019ve done that almost ever since I got into color, because nobody else was into it in my family.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> So for you it was the revelation of color?<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Yeah. It really just happened. I didn\u2019t think about it.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> One of the things I still find most mysterious about photography is that while the world renders itself, in the hands of different people it renders itself differently. It\u2019s a matter not only of where you look but also how you look. The placement of the edge of the picture frame, or how you crop, is often be the most important decision. “This!” is also, “Not this.”<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> I don\u2019t crop.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> Well, you do with the edge of your camera.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, you crop with the camera. Actually, this image is cropped.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> There are times when I get frustrated by the border of the camera being so rigid. I\u2019d like a camera that would let you change its proportions. Sometimes I wonder if we learn to look within a certain set of proportions in mind. We may be so used to working with them that we pass up an image that would work with another set of proportions.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, I have a perfect story on that. Dad and I were out at Point Lobos in the early years, \u201946. I had a really tough time because I saw his images everywhere. Anyway, I was out on the north shore photographing this wall. A cypress up here and a cypress down there. I looked and looked at it. Dad was down below. He was very immobile. I finally said, “Come take a look at this dad.” So he clambered up the rocks, and he didn\u2019t move the camera at all. He looked at it, converted the camera to horizontal and changed the vertical. That\u2019s PO46, L of 1, which is one of his most famous photographs. What he did was pick up a round boulder right at the bottom. It made this beautiful picture. He always said, “You know, that should have really been signed Ed and Cole Weston. And I said “No, you saw it and I didn\u2019t see it. I didn\u2019t have the vision to see it. I didn\u2019t have experience and maturity to see it, and you did.” That\u2019s the way things go. So it was a perfect example. He said I should be able to look at my feet and see something good in that. And he did. He was able to. He could make something out of chaos. He had that tremendous ability.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> I\u2019ve found myself shoulder to shoulder with my father. We use nearly the same equipment and photograph the same subject and it comes out entirely different. You must have had the same experience.<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> I have. We\u2019ve also photographed the same thing. There\u2019s an image of two rock forms. I don\u2019t even remember him doing it or me doing it, when we did it. He must have done it at close to the same time because the shadows are pretty close. Mine is a very direct form, “Rrrrrr!” Just like that. And his is, “Mmmmm.” Something like that. I usually use this with my classes about how one person sees one thing one way and one sees another. I show them one and then I say, “All right, how many of you think that is my father\u2019s?” And they all raise their hands. And then the next one I say, “How many?” And they all raise their hands. I say, “That\u2019s okay. Don\u2019t feel badly because what you thought was dad\u2019s was mine. He said he liked mine better.”<\/p>\nCW<\/strong> Well, have I answered all your questions? I\u2019ve told you my whole life. If I get going, I just don\u2019t stop.<\/p>\nJPC<\/strong> I have a feeling we could go on for a life time.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Read More Photographers On Photography Conversations.<\/strong><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_column][\/vc_row]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
[vc_row row_type=”row” type=”full_width” text_align=”left” video=”” css_animation=””][vc_column offset=”vc_col-lg-offset-2 vc_col-lg-8″][vc_column_text] . Cole Weston See more of the artist’s work at The Weston Gallery. The Weston family is one of the most influential families in the history of photography. Born in 1919 Cole Weston is the…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":38787,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"spay_email":""},"folder":[4186],"yoast_head":"\n
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Cole Weston See more of the artist’s work at The Weston Gallery. The Weston family is one of the most influential families in the history of photography. 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