Terryworld By Terry Richardson Taschen 2004 What THEY don't teach in Visual Communication Schools at universities. How long have cameras been around? What hasn't had its photo taken twice? Hating Terry Richardson is a religion, watching college students hate on him inside of sterile class rooms while they go take photos of homeless people and Cuban youths playing baseball with a sympathetic vibe glazing their work like coin-grease so they can snag gigs at The Sun-Sentinel is not; it's government-loan-parent(s)-Dairy Queen savings-funded torture. Why are Richardson's photos important, what is IT exactly? I think it comes down to the fact that, like the Internet porn the gets feet rubbing into the carpet for extra grit, traction and sensation, Richardson's subjects are consumed by him. You know those machines that remove the beaks off baby chicks and then smoooosh , they're in the crate? That's what happens when this guy takes photos of people, road signs out in Bum Fuck, celebrities, even porn stars on the fringe of infinite sadness (you know the eyes when you watch them). Before the flash, they're bitten, and when the photo is developed, there's no sign of hesitation or nervousness on their part, certainly not his. Their souls have become his for an instant, or in the case of Harmony Korine, Johnny Knoxville (give in), or that nubile VICE model Bonks they're dancing on the same hell-on-earth plane. Where's the psychology in photography? All you really need to know is the one essential rule in punk: see it through to the end. Few people do, but few people can even do it until they're 30. I don't know how old Terry Richardson is, but when this arrived in the mail, it weighed more than the thickest Bible I've ever been shown, and when it was out of the box, it glowed like a winking means to an end. And inside those fucking hokey trademark glasses (Want to be an icon? First step: Wear the same different shit all the time) are yellow highway dashes. He's not even "there" yet. Damn. That said: A recent pointless 10-page spread in Rolling Stone of that forgettable band...Kings of Leon was a counterpoint (re: it looked forced, that band is shite), but it's not in the book. Thankfully, neither are the photos he took at The Delano: watching four 40-year old broads jump naked into a pool that's supposed to be filled with hundreds of nymphs half their age was also a counterpoint. This dude's work is a crystal ball. He got on first. Who exactly is at the wheel of this bandwagon is unknown and has such a head of energy to stay awake probably a decade, but I like where this is going. - Hunter Stephenson Back Next