If you can get the online New York Times,
here's the four-page obituary.
Non-photographic, but something I liked: He married a fashion model -- not unusual -- but then
stayed married to her for 42 years, until her death at age 80. "A devoted husband and friend," says the
Times obit. I can think of worse epitaphs.
Looking through the portfolio accompanying the
Times piece raised another thought: the pictures are brilliant, but there's almost nothing
to them. Nobody would look at one and say, "OMG, how on earth did he shoot that?" Nobody would pay for a book of Irving Penn lighting diagrams. It would seem irrelevant and unnecessary; you can see everything you need to see just by
looking. His work makes almost everything you see in today's commercial photography -- all those fawning "how it was done" features in
PDN with the details of all the generators and flash heads and assistants -- seem overlit, overdone, and underthought.
This quality of sheer transparency, of being able to see right through the technique into the work, is something I also see in the photos of Elliot Erwitt, and also in the work of choreographer Merce Cunningham (another titan who died this year.) Imagine going to Las Vegas and seeing a very unusual magic act: The magician comes out and calmly explains exactly how he's going to do his next trick. He demonstrates it slowly, showing each step. He repeats the demonstration, pausing periodically to make sure you're not missing anything. He answers any questions until it's clear to everyone in the audience.
Then he does the trick -- and it's still amazing.
That would be some kind of magician.