Michael Ho, dancer, Kew Gardens, London 1984
Born in Poland, Boleslaw Lutoslawski has spent the last four decades photographing leading figures from the worlds of stage, screen and the arts. His black-and-white portraits burst at the seams with depth and sensitivity, digging beneath the skin of the subject.
Here, he discusses his approach, revealing his overall technique – and his experience of working with the actor Glenda Jackson.
Glenda Jackson, actor, Lyric Theatre, London 1982
How did you first get involved in the world of portraiture?
When I was 17 and preparing for an entry exam to The Łódź Film School in Poland, I needed a set of photographs on any subject – reportage, landscape, people, urban spaces and so on. I soon understood that I liked taking portraits of people most of all, people who were special to me, because for most of the time they are somewhere else. I wanted to remember their presence and the wonderful moments we shared together.
I thought that a portrait was like an imprint of what we shared while being with each other, a unique permanent shadow created by gestures, smiles, movements, fleeting looks, atmosphere of what was said, light permeating the place, where we met. Everything I desired to retain forever while time was passing away and distances between us widening after we departed. I wished to keep those images, because they were portraits of real people, reflecting their personalities at that moment in their lives.
Simon Callow, actor, National Theatre, London 1987
What, to you, are the key components of an outstanding portrait?
Here is my motto: observe, listen, stay honest, truthful, instinctive and above all – fearlessly creative.
Sometimes I am being asked by my model, 'Will you catch my soul?' I feel that this question is born out of a desire for a poignant, true image of oneself, but also because of an apprehension that a sudden loss will take place, that I will snatch away the most elusive part of someone’s psyche. My answer is always the same: 'That is the intention.'
Sir George Martin, producer, Air Studios, London 1982
Describe how you work with your subject on the day of the shoot.
I do not think about composing the image at the start of a photographic session. At that stage the light, space and most of all the personality of my subject are of prime importance. The focus is on the potential for a truthful portrait. While I am observing gestures, eyes, lips and feet, visual solutions are unfurling in my subconscious. Hence the composition grows out from our meeting – it is my formal response to the most elusive expressions and moods.
William Goodchild, composer and conductor, wrote to me:
I love the sense of humanity, being human, that pervades each and every one of your photographs, Bo. Somehow too, at the heart of each, the mystery of our condition caught in light and shadow. I so enjoy seeing and reflecting on these beautiful images.
Sir Robin Day, journalist, at home in London 1982
How does working with a performer compare to photographing someone perhaps less used to the camera?
In my experience this makes no difference. The character, personality, and attitude to life are of critical and only importance. It is fascinating, but also tricky, to take portraits of a person who is hugely inspiring to others.
At the start of a session, when I focus on the eyes of my models, when I probe into their personalities, I can see their understanding of me reflected in their gaze. There is no room to be shaky in my gestures, in my command of technical aspects of photography, or in instructions I give.
If I were to become hesitant or unsure the session would fall apart instantly. Probably for this reason, as if it was a ritual ceremony, I speak as little as possible and watch like a hawk the dynamics of the situation all around us, allowing my models to be true to their personalities. In this way, together, we are building the foundations of our brief relationship, the fountain of a true portrait.
Helaine Blumenfeld, sculptor, at home in Grantchester, Cambridge 2018
Talk us through your experience with Glenda Jackson.
I came to the Lyric Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue in London, perfectly on time, and was guided to Glenda Jackson’s dressing room. A few minutes later I was introducing myself to her. She had just come out of the shower, wrapped in a white bathrobe, and was smoking a cigarette.
She was attentive from the beginning, reacted to my directions with her natural alertness and at the same time was completely open to the unfolding situation. I felt that for her the fame, Oscars, multiple awards were external, that she simply took them in her stride.
John Peel, DJ, BBC Broadcasting House, London 1984
We talked a little about politics, about theatre, about photography … Glenda Jackson’s fascinating personality filled the space, and for most of the time I was taking photographs with both eyes open so I could observe her reactions, movements in advance of shooting.
Until, that is, when I asked Glenda Jackson to lean against the mirror, such a quintessential part of a dressing room in any theatre.
I came close, within arm’s length. She looked intently into the lens, and I was watching her through the lens; after a few seconds of total silence, I pressed a shutter button. The composition of this portrait is governed purely by Glenda Jackson’s psyche.
Then I asked her to sit in front of the mirror. A moment later she glanced at her reflection, while I watched her through the lens. Her body, her face, her eyes were so touchingly natural, because she never loses the truth of her inner soul, which dwells inside an amazing woman. This was a wonderful gift that I wasn’t going to miss.
All images by Boleslaw Lutoslawski.
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