Heads

A hat designer, Punk musician, sculptor, fireman, professional rent-a-Buddha, heavyweight boxer, peace movement worker, gourmet chef, United Nations official, dog trainer, chiropractor, sanitation worker, Marine Corps pilot, tire retreader-these and many more: 184 men and women with only one thing in common. They are bald. Unmasked, void of make-up and shorn of hair, stripped of civilized disguise, what does a human face say? And how does it make us feel? Avant-garde photographer Alex Kayser launches us on an odyssey into the emotionally charged topography of the human countenance. Kayser shares the story of his work in a delightfully candid conversation, and National Book Award winner Richard Howard provides a brilliant and provocative afterword.

Other Details: 184 duotone illustrations 128 pages 11 x 11" Published 1997

did you decide, then, who was going to be in the book?

AK: This was simply a mathematical decision, and not an aesthetic or even personal one. It was hard, though, since these pictures are all the same in any of their qualities. I felt like I wanted to pick and choose with closed eyes.

LM: But, as an artist and photographer, didn't you get bored doing the same kind of shot over and over again?

AK: One would think so, but I could still do more. Originally, I had planned to do a series of twelve, maybe twenty heads. But then the response I got from people, their suggestions and introductions, was so overwhelming that I just went on with it. Also, since I was making groups out of the individual pictures, I would always need another particular face to match the one of Duane, Bill, or Annie. Or I was waiting for another black guy with a big beard. Each of the models brought his or her own aura into the picture. So, somehow, when I put the groups together, these different auras became like different colors when you paint or different spices when you cook. Depending on how they are put together, each group turns out to have a very specific feeling of its own. I went on and on. Even when this work started to become routine—and the shooting itself took only ten minutes—meeting with this incredible variety of people remained enormously interesting. Some days you had to be up very early to receive a Wall Street broker at 8 a.m. So, over a small breakfast, you would hear some news from the stock market. Then at 9 a.m. you would shoot this yoga teacher, who has to be out by 10, because he is teaching an 11:30 class at Riker's Island prison. At 3 p.m. a rock musician would show up, playing you a cassette of his group's latest concert, commenting on his work. At 4 you would have an inspector from the New York City Health Department, a man who inspects hospitals. He is very kind and modest and at first does not quite know why I would ask him to model for me. Then at 5 p.m. the actor Harve Presnell, already with some make-up on for tonight's show (or for me?), would tell me about what it was like playing Daddy Warbucks in Broadway's Annie 1,600 times. . . .

Unmasked and stripped of makeup and hairdos, what do the human face and head tell us? This striking book provides the answers.

A hat designer, Punk musician, sculptor, fireman, professional rent-a-Buddha, heavyweight boxer, peace movement worker, gourmet chef, United Nations official, dog trainer, chiropractor, sanitation worker, Marine Corps pilot, tire retreader-these and many more: 184 men and women with only one thing in common. They are bald. Unmasked, void of make-up and shorn of hair, stripped of civilized disguise, what does a human face say? And how does it make us feel? Avant-garde photographer Alex Kayser launches us on an odyssey into the emotionally charged topography of the human countenance. Kayser shares the story of his work in a delightfully candid conversation, and National Book Award winner Richard Howard provides a brilliant and provocative afterword.

Other Details: 184 duotone illustrations 128 pages 11 x 11" Published 1997

did you decide, then, who was going to be in the book?

AK: This was simply a mathematical decision, and not an aesthetic or even personal one. It was hard, though, since these pictures are all the same in any of their qualities. I felt like I wanted to pick and choose with closed eyes.

LM: But, as an artist and photographer, didn't you get bored doing the same kind of shot over and over again?

AK: One would think so, but I could still do more. Originally, I had planned to do a series of twelve, maybe twenty heads. But then the response I got from people, their suggestions and introductions, was so overwhelming that I just went on with it. Also, since I was making groups out of the individual pictures, I would always need another particular face to match the one of Duane, Bill, or Annie. Or I was waiting for another black guy with a big beard. Each of the models brought his or her own aura into the picture. So, somehow, when I put the groups together, these different auras became like different colors when you paint or different spices when you cook. Depending on how they are put together, each group turns out to have a very specific feeling of its own. I went on and on. Even when this work started to become routine—and the shooting itself took only ten minutes—meeting with this incredible variety of people remained enormously interesting. Some days you had to be up very early to receive a Wall Street broker at 8 a.m. So, over a small breakfast, you would hear some news from the stock market. Then at 9 a.m. you would shoot this yoga teacher, who has to be out by 10, because he is teaching an 11:30 class at Riker's Island prison. At 3 p.m. a rock musician would show up, playing you a cassette of his group's latest concert, commenting on his work. At 4 you would have an inspector from the New York City Health Department, a man who inspects hospitals. He is very kind and modest and at first does not quite know why I would ask him to model for me. Then at 5 p.m. the actor Harve Presnell, already with some make-up on for tonight's show (or for me?), would tell me about what it was like playing Daddy Warbucks in Broadway's Annie 1,600 times. . . .