Last week, I was asked by the editors at Hyperallergic to fly to Miami and document the attendees at their Aqua Art Miami party. Of course, at first I was insulted and hung up on them. After all, I hadn’t taken party photos since hosting my own infamous events at the Mudd Club, Cave Canum, Garage, Area, Mars, Nell’s, MKs, the World, Danceteria, Limelight, Palladium, and Club USA. And, of course, those photos had all been used as evidence against me in the famous “Psycho Club Kids Go Bonkers With Hammers and Sex” trials of the early 90’s that made Rudolph Giuliani mayor. So I had resolved never to make that mistake again. I instituted a “no documentation” rule at the studio and haven’t so much as held a still camera in my hands since. But, as the day wore on, the more I thought about it, the more my shutter-release-button finger started itching. Finally, after a delicious cocktail, I said to myself: “Grossmalerman! It’s time you showed those bastards at the Federal Bureau of Investigation who’s boss — and, also, Terry Richardson.”
I immediately signed all of the legal paperwork Hyperallergic sent me! Even the stuff about “no vagina pictures” and the “blah blah blah” about not making myself a nuisance or drinking on the job. None of it was important. You know why? Because I’m going to be taking pictures again! The old man is back … with a vengeance!
I’ve been practicing all of my party photographer patter, like “You look great tonight … can I take your picture?” That’s a great starter. Or if I’m feeling playful I use “Uh oh! Did someone leave the gate open in Heaven? ‘Cos there’s an angel running loose here on earth!!” That one always gets a smile.
I admit. It’s going to be pretty hard to stop there. I won’t be able to use the tried and true “You know, I have a room in this hotel and it is full of cocaine and perhaps you and your friends could come up there and wrestle on the bed without your panties and I could take pictures?” or my signature “Hey! What do you say we all go to my room and not be uptight and explore the deepest, darkest, most debased impulses our psyches have to offer and then I take pictures?” Generally speaking, If they respond positively to that last one you’re pretty much good to go. It’ll be a shame to not have in my back pocket.
But, really, in the end, I’m just so happy to be taking party pictures again I don’t care if I have to follow a few rules. I’m simply picking out my flip-flops, sun hat (I burn), and swim trunks and can’t wait to see you at the party Friday night!
FYI, I’m in room 407. You know … in case.
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