Dear Bill,
I wake up this morning and I hear both your and disappearance your sanctification, reading these posts adoration worldwide. I wonder what effect it might make you, this pedestal, you who wish to appear so little, did with so much discretion wherever you are. You had it hard not to get noticed, the world of fashion worshiped you. We watched with a beatific smile your tiny frame, present at almost every show.
the more visible the invisible, it was you.
Today is perhaps the opportunity to say that you were at those who have never heard speaking of you. As we all know, death is a great teaser . Despite the night she plays, she suddenly puts things into focus.
Light, you deserve.
You were born in 1927, if I remember correctly (we talked about a day when you limping a bit, and you saying that your only big shoes lestaient you and you held – thank you – god on earth … and I feel that you eat very little, and more)
A year before you, born Vivian Maier photographer, like you, and passionate about the street, like you. A discreet, too. Worse than you even!
You had in common, except you, what you liked, it was mainly the clothes. Oh, you had that famous “Adoration of fine clothes” despised by so many people. It is said that you were the first street photographer, but this is not entirely true, of course: you have the first photographer of the fashion style of human street. It’s different. The first to understand that this permanent incarnation of the garment, it was a huge part of human beauty. That was what made us take.
There are photographers looking situations, it gives fabulous things. Others scandals. Further, information. Further, physical beauty.
You, you hunt, like a safari, possible look of your fellowmen.
It is said that everything we do in life, it is only mirror to ourselves . And your speed to you, unstoppable (this slimming! This exquisite bust, still bent, as if to apologize! This head to Henry Fonda!), Was fully consolidated. Beige pants, a farm worker indigo jacket, large tatanes. By this uniform, you were a vestige of the past, this time where the stars could be symbolized by three clothes and not in a complete wardrobe in which we lose ourselves where our density, talent sometimes dissolve.
is easily recognized you, because of this immutable held. Later it was learned your lack of means, to put it euphemistically. The bike was not a break from hipster, clothes eternal either. But regardless, there was another wealth, thousands and thousands of pictures that you take, constantly, in the street. As the composer Erik Satie, you store your creations under your bed along your walls. It ate you.
Even working (since 1978) for the Times , even revered, even with an accomplished documentary you ( Bill Cunningham New York , by Richard Press), even with small videos where you could hear your voice for some time on the Site NYTimes , you’re lagged the media recognition, artistic or sociological.
the trailer for “Bill Cunningham New York” by Richard Press (2010)
Scott Schuman (the Sartoralist), street styler he too was accused of a time “as you do.” Yes, it was like you, and like so many others who would come to revolutionize our view of fashion reporting, but he did it by going constantly tribute. As a kid. He did (and still does, purist) dazed gratitude. Anyway, who could you steal anything while you were there, among the other street stylers, the oldest, most beautiful, the smartest, the most poetic. Were you happy to have, somehow, started a family? And what a family! Garance Doré, who started also as a street photographer, said fine with what respect it faded when she saw you darken, camera in hand, stretched before you like a Selfie stick, except that c ‘was to go towards the other, to see each other. Others, as they say. Ah, that long arm, a dip net, as I think about writing these lines. How I wish I also catch me. Be one of your butterflies.
You take your photos exactly as another photographer, Marc Riboud . Also, coincidentally, very elegant man. You dégainiez, you would think it was random, and you claim that it was, sometimes. The one who was caught on camera did not see you, it was going too fast. However, there are so many pictures of you doing these miraculous shots. We examined all of you … if not your words, your legend was drunk.
Bill Cunningham summed up the end of a Fashion Week in video for the NYT
I’m not sad. You will be there a long time.
Now is the museum that we meet again. The museum where you do not really want to go, is not it, Bill? Because the museum, you said, it is for the giants. Look at you grow up, Billy, this is now.
Sophie Fontanel
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