Martin Schoeller

Courtesy Martin Schoeller/Hasted Hunt Gallery

Martin Schoeller, "Piraha Grid" (2005)

Courtesy Martin Schoeller

Martin Schoeller

Chuck Close Bernd and Hilla Becher Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz Martin Schoeller Living Well is the Best Design The Best of Intentions When in... Chicago

Send a letter to the Editor

Save to Del.icio.us Digg this

Some of the people Diane Arbus was shooting were mentally challenged.

But even, like, the kid with the hand grenade, he looks like a crazy monster. The giant in his parents’ living room, they all look like a family of wackos. It just reflected her own personality to some extent that she would pick those frames.

How do you choose your final images?

I shoot 200 frames. Sometimes I don’t like any, sometimes I like five. Then I have to make up my mind which of those five are the best.

People sometimes compare your work with Chuck Close’s.

I’ve photographed him, and I just saw the documentary about him. I really like his work, but I have to say I’m glad I didn’t see it earlier, because I feel like it might have discouraged me, since it is very close to my work. Either out of ignorance or incompetence I only saw his Phillip Glass painting at the MoMA when I was way into doing these headshots, which I’ve been doing since ’97. I was like, “Oh my god. Everybody’s going to think I’m ripping this guy off.”

Whose work were you influenced by?

I was more influenced by [Bernd and Hilla] Becher, by the idea of finding a common ground for looking at everybody in the same way. I put all of my friends in front of an 8-by-10-inch camera, measured everybody’s eye height, and worked with a German idea of trying to categorize things, trying to find conformity. Nobody was allowed to wear makeup, everybody had to pull their hair back, everybody got the same lighting. That was my first portfolio. It didn’t go over very well with the magazines.

Then I saw Thomas Ruff’s work. He did these humongous portraits and they’re all almost completely expressionless. It’s very German. I was impressed.

Sometimes ignorance is good for an artist because if you’re totally aware of everything that’s been done, you feel like there’s nothing left to do.