This may be the creepiest photograph I have ever taken.  It surely is the oddest.  Definitely creepy.  Might even the weirdest.  It’s downright artistic, though, and for that reason I love it.  It was a one in a million shot taken in my office in a moment of complete serendipity. All I really know is I will forever need to explain it.

At face value, you may have figured out who it is.  Was.  Is.  Or isn’t.  Yeah, he’s dead now. Well, not dead in this photo, but died after this plaster face mold was made.  Well, he didn’t die from the making of this mold.  He died in 1993, the plaster mask was made in 1990 and I shot the photo in 2014.  Hell, this really will be about explaining forever.

This is a plaster face mold of the famous actor Vincent Price. 

It’s not mine, but one morning suddenly it was in my office.  I was merely doing e-mail from my computer seconds before and sitting quietly at my desk.  The disconnect was palpable.  TV Land, cue: “Lucy, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do!”

Ok, let me rewind just a bit.  Vincent Price was famous for a career starring in campy horror movies, many of which were directed by Roger Corman.  I have since learned from my cheap late-night date, Mr. Wiki Pedia that “Roger was an American independent film producer, director and actor. From 1960-1965, Roger Corman released eight films that were billed as being based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe and all but one of them starred Vincent Price.”

So now go ahead, take a closer look at the photo. It’s ok, he won’t mind, he’s dead. Yup, that is Roger Corman’s autograph signed on the forehead of Vincent Price, done years after he died.  A downright macabre autograph decision which Vincent himself probably would have loved.  If you top it off with the fact that I think this face mold was made during the filming of Edward Scissorshands, which was directed by Tim Burton and not Roger, then it makes this an art mystery of myriad proportions.

It seem my colleague Joel Washington bought this gem from a famous Hollywood make-up artist named Tom Savini when he was in Louisville, Kentucky.  One day Joel came into my office and ever so casually took it out of a small, plastic bag to show me, which then scared the bejeezus out of me. Just another work day in paradise.  And people wonder why I never get bored at work.

So, on this early morning Joel had gone out of his way to find my office which is not typical to our daily routine as we do very different jobs, have overlapping hours and just work in the same building, floors apart. Joel is a well-known freelance painter for whom I have much respect.  His works are commissioned all over, even by dignitaries, half way around the world.   For almost twenty years we have had an early morning chit chat routine, crossing paths downstairs.  We often pause to talk about painting, theatre, family and photography.  We check in with each other to learn what the other is working on these days, or what shows we might have coming up.  Sometimes we talk so much the elevator opens and closes several times before I ever get on it.  Joel and I have a concentric respect for all things art and all souls artistic.  But this moment was different as it wasn’t about his work.   He wanted me to see this piece as he knew I’d really appreciate it, and all the theatrical layers it held.  He was right.

It seems that holding a replica of a dead man’s face conjures up a lot.  It has depth, and way too much realism. It’s a new way to see art, and a ghastly reality check.  A moment that seems too intimate, almost a violation of some kind and yet draws you in with how it is so tremendously accurate.   There are wrinkles and sagging skin, eyes not opened and words not coming out. It’s mesmerizing and magnetic.  Repulsive and seemingly wrong.  Artistic and amazing.  Deathly, ghoulish, chilling.  In a way it seems to have an artistic life of its own.

With Vincent in hand, it occurred to me that I never met this world famous man and yet now “knew” parts of him in ways most never will.  What do you do with that sort of cognitive dissonance?  I just stared and stared, in quiet.  After a bit, I gingerly placed him down on the table between us.  It seemed the least I could do.  His eyes were closed so it was like he was napping, sans the body.

All three of us quietly were together as the morning sun streamed in.  The work day was now here and staff outside my office were beginning to clatter into place.   Joel and I chatted about Vincent’s face and the artistic intricacies of it all as he shared the story of how he bought it.  I kept glancing down at Vincent, as if at any moment he might open his eyes or have a cryptic line to share.  I began to remember his distinct voice from movies and its melodious, smooth delivery and low register. 

Then I saw it.  The sunlight coming in and forming shadows onto the table. Slowly they moved, ever so slowly.  I kept watching in fascination and meditation. It was changing form in every new second and yet we kept talking.  Then I realized what I saw.  Vincent was now perfectly framed in a shadow that looked like a window frame.  The most cogent moment of art imitating life.  Vincent was in the window as if from another dimension while we were sitting here.

I leapt up and apologized to Joel as I stopped the conversation, while rushing to find my phone camera as my 35mm was at home.  “I’m so sorry, just a second… sorry, this’ll just take a minute…” I began taking several shots as the light changed with each one.  Joel understood.  “I see an amazing photograph here and just have to take it! Keep talking Joel, I’m listening, but I just have to get this shot or I’ll regret it.”  A photographer’s forever lament.  Then moment passed as quickly as it came.  Vincent was put back in the bag, and we casually went back to work.  Three artists took a break that day and one forever changed.

That’s a wrap.  Thanks, Vincent.  Got it.

“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” Edgar Allan Poe