Interview with a Photographer from the American Magazine "Life" - Part One

Author: (American) Lorne Gaud
Publisher:
Publishing Date: Not available
Features: Alfred Eisenstaedt (hereinafter referred to as Eisenstaedt): In my life, who have I photographed the most? I tell you, it's Sophia Loren. I met her in 1961. An editor from Life magazine called me and said, "We have a good assignment for you. When will you finish your story?" I was then photographing a story about Harvard's graduation ceremony, and I wanted to expand on it a bit, so I replied, "Perhaps tomorrow or the day after." The editor said, "You must go to Rome right away to photograph Sophia Loren." "I'll finish in 15 minutes," I said. The next day, I left for Rome. Sophia was filming a movie there. She was very kind to me, and I could shoot freely. About a year later, a text reporter from Life magazine asked Sophia, "Why did you let Eisenstaedt take photos freely?" She said, "Because he reminds me of my gynecologist."
When I first started taking photos, I never thought photography would become a profession. My first camera was a birthday gift from my uncle, given to me when I was 11 years old in Berlin. It was a Kodak No. 3 Folding Camera, and I took pictures of fountains, leaves, street scenes—things amateur photographers shoot. I developed the photos myself. I stopped taking photos when I was drafted into the army in 1916. I was just a child soldier until 1925, when I bought a Zeiss Ikonta 3 camera with 9×12 cm plate film, and that's when I started photographing again. I still took pictures of landscapes, spiderwebs, forests, and such. By 1927, when I went on vacation with my parents to Bohemia, I took a photo of a woman playing tennis at 4 p.m. Her silhouette captivated me, so I took another photo that included other elements. Upon returning to Berlin, I showed the photo to a friend who also enjoyed photography. He said, "You can enlarge this." I asked, "What does enlarging mean?" I had never heard the term before. I went to his place, where he showed me a new invention mounted on the wall, made of wood. He demonstrated to me how it could enlarge the woman playing tennis in my photo while cropping out the messy background. That's how my photography career began. I saw all the things I could do—before, I was only printing photos, which were only 3×4 inches. I bought an enlarger and turned my parents' bathroom into a darkroom—no one could use that bathroom anymore. Someone said, "You should show this photo to someone at the magazine 'Der Welfspiegel.'" The magazine means "Mirror of the World," a bit like the Sunday supplement of The New York Times. The editor told me, "I really like this photo." When the photo was published, the caption read: "Sunset, Shadows Lengthen." The editor said, "Give me some more photos like this." Two weeks later, I went to the Achte Bahnhof in Berlin and photographed an elderly woman crossing the tracks. There were parked there, and the sunlight was hitting her hair. The editor liked the photo, and they paid me three or four dollars—about 12 marks—I didn't even know photos could make money. At the time, I was a button and ribbon salesman, and photography was just a hobby—I knew nothing about it. I was never a good salesman, and I had no interest in the job. What I loved was art, theater, and music. That editor told me, "If you want to keep going, you should buy a camera like the one Dr. Erik Salomon uses." Dr. Salomon quickly became a hero in my eyes—he photographed important politicians and could capture their natural expressions while avoiding guards. So I bought an Ermanox camera and started shooting night scenes. I liked this type of photography, and I also took photos of theater celebrities. P21-22