I became a photographer from one day to the next . . . by “accident”, the summer of 1978 in Paris. I had been a model and an actress for fifteen years. Modeling for me was over, and the movie world was elusive. Alan, my husband then, had given me a Nikon camera as a gift. I picked it up to kill time, I thought, between two acting jobs, but it was an instantaneous passion.
From my years on the other side of the lens, I had learned a couple of things from both good and bad photographers I modeled for: I could feel the difference between wonderful and a poor light, and the best photographers always made me feel comfortable.
After barely a month of testing, although I knew little more than how to load my camera, my neighbor across the street, a creative director at Young & Rubicam, gave me my first job, an advertising campaign, for which I shot husbands and wives, fathers and sons or daughters who were running the gas stations of France’s deep countryside. My portraits made them look like movie stars. Then I dared to present my beginner’s work to the French Elle magazine, and with fortunate timing, I began to shoot portraits of celebrities, weekly. It was then, on the spot, that I honed my craft as fast as I could.
I moved to Los Angeles in 1980 and fell in love with the city. More than the proverbial “American dream”, it’s the “California dream” or the “California way of life” that is so attractive to Europeans, and so attractive to me. There are two places I call home— L.A. and Paris.
I began to shoot one celebrity after another. Still honing my craft as fast as I could, I learned to work very fast and to rely more and more on intuition. Then, and to this day, I have used primarily natural light and settings, and my purpose always has been to capture the beauty, sensuality and intimacy of my subjects.
I shot Jack Nicholson, for Paris-Match, at his home in Aspen, Colorado, where I stayed as a guest for a night. In the morning, Jack woke up, unexpectedly, as early as I had. Both of us were in pajamas and we sat on his sofas to have tea. His dogs jumped on him and half sleepy I said, ” That would be a nice shot”… He said, “Take it”. I grabbed my camera, delighted that he didn’t say, “Let me fix my hair first”– or something to that effect. It was the best picture of the day.
The second time I photographed Gene Hackman, he brought his daughter along, telling her to watch and learn from me. She was studying photography, and it was a moment in my own still-beginning career I remember feeling proud of.
One of the rewards of my years of working with natural light/ daylight is my ever-growing amazement at its infinite range. Something feels magical in the rays that highlight and flirt with beauty.
Also, it takes far more effort than it seems to create what appears to be a candid shot. I learned early to help with wardrobe, posing, directions and over-all encouragement. I shuffle hair and unfasten shirts. I distract my subjects away from their self-consciousness, and self- image so that I can capture a glimpse of their radiance. Often I make them laugh. Sometimes when they meet me with my small camera bag, and my couple of reflectors, I know they are thinking, “No artificial lights? No backdrop?” Usually they learn at once that it will be just them and me and the beautiful day waiting to offer up the moment.
“Ed, do you like to wear your jean shirt for the shoot?”—“I don’t care, Mr. Harris said, you want to choose something else?” –In his closet, hanging on a nail was a beautifully worn-out shirt—“this one?“ I asked— It was his favorite one—and his mood totally lifted.
I don’t know if I’d have the same career if I had stayed in Paris. Hollywood, of course, can have many complications, disappointments, and changes. But I’ve been lucky—and very stubborn. I’ve photographed so many of the people I’ve wanted to, and when I look at my files, I feel amazed and grateful.
I’ve stayed true to myself, and to being French… Working with Andie MacDowell at her apartment in New York, a little rain came. “Andy, why not slip on some nice lingerie with a raincoat over it– that would be so sexy”. She did and closed her eyes, withdrawing sensually into herself. Francois Truffaut would have approved, I thought.
I have, also, been given a most important and unique gift: Both my parents were deaf.
I learned from them to never look without seeing.
Albane Navizet
