A colorful, insider portrait of '70s surf culture, with a foreword by Pulitzer Prize-winning author William Finnegan
If you were there, even just for some of it--Hawaii, California, surfing, the '70s--the memories and stories will flow freely from these photographs. Jeff Divine was there for all of it, and these images have been culled from an enormous personal archive. Divine was shooting for Surfer, the monthly magazine that was the bible of the scene. His photos from this archive show the precommercialized era in surfing when the hippie influence still held sway. Surfers had their own slang-infused language and were deep into a world of Mother Ocean, wilderness and a culture that mainstream society spurned. Surfboards were handmade in family garages, often made for a specific kind of wave or speed, for paddling, ease of turning, and featured all kinds of psychedelic designs. Some were even hollowed out to smuggle hash from Morocco.
The color and black-and-white photographs collected here, taken throughout California on the coastlines at Baja, Dana Point, Laguna Beach, La Jolla, Malibu, San Clemente and Oahu, give a vivid image of this close-knit culture and the incredible athletic feats of its heroes and heroines. Raised in La Jolla, California, Jeff Divine (born 1950) started photographing the surfing world in 1966. He held jobs as photo editor for 35 years with Surfer magazine and Surfer's Journal. His works have been displayed worldwide in museums and galleries, as well as in books, magazines and media. In 2019 he was inducted into the Huntington Beach Surfing Walk of Fame for his contribution to surf culture in a career lasting 50 years.The definitive record of the surfing iconoclast who became an icon
The surfing iconoclast who became an icon, Miki Dora was the epitome of 1960s beach culture. His dark good looks were the envy of Malibu. His talent earned him trophies (which he disdained) and the nickname Da Cat. And in the end, when he didn't like the commercial direction of the sport he helped define, he turned his back on the beach, wandered the world, served time in jail, and, finally in 2002, suffering from pancreatic cancer returned to his father's house in Montecito, California to die at age 67. A Malibu graffiti that appeared during his years on the road sums up his role in the surfing imagination and still holds true: Dora Lives. Years in the making and compiled with the cooperation of Dora while he was alive and his family after his death, Dora Lives is the definitive record of the legend. Transcribed interviews with Dora and texts by former Surfer magazine editor Drew Kampion and writer C.R. Stecyk are combined with nearly 100 photos and stills from photographers, filmmakers, and Dora's personal albums. The story starts out in Budapest, Hungary, where Miklos Dora was born in 1934, follows the child émigré to Hollywood High (except when the surf was up), and finds him at the center of the post-Gidget surf boom of the 60s. At that time, Dora stunt-doubled in a few films and competed when he felt like it, but mostly he embraced the hedonist milieu and burnished his antihero legend, culminating in a mid-wave mooning of the judges at the 1967 Malibu Invitational. Shortly after, he left for points (and point breaks) abroad in France, Indonesia, Australia and Madagascar until 2001, when he returned to the West Coast to die.This sorry episode has been illuminated in books and documentaries. But I've never felt its emotional texture--the unexpected mix of dereliction and upstanding hopefulness--so vividly as in this set of photographs taken by Ansel Adams and Dorothea Lange and five others, among them an artist incarcerated at Manzanar. -Pico Iyer
In the weeks following the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, American suspicion and distrust of its Japanese American population became widespread. The US government soon ordered all Japanese Americans (two thirds of them American citizens) living on the West Coast to report to assembly centers for eventual transfer to internment camps, openly referred to by the New York Times as concentration camps. Within a few months of Pearl Harbor, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066; soon after, the War Relocation Authority (WRA) was established and by the end of March, the first of 10,000 Japanese evacuees arrived in Manzanar, an internment camp in the Owens Valley desert at the foot of the Sierras. Families were given one to two weeks' notice and were allowed to pack only what they could carry. Businesses were shuttered and farms and equipment were sold at bargain prices. Upon arrival at Manzanar, each person was assigned to a barrack, given a cot, blankets and a canvas bag to be filled with straw in order to create their own mattresses.
Dorothea Lange was hired by the WRA to photograph the mass evacuation; she worked into the first months of the internment until she was fired by WRA staff for her sympathetic approach. Many of her photographs were seized by the government and largely unseen by the public for a half century. More than a year later, Manzanar Project Director Ralph Merritt hired Ansel Adams to document life at the camp. Lange and Adams were also joined by WRA photographers Russell Lee, Clem Albers and Francis Stewart. Two Japanese internees, Toyo Miyatake and Jack Iwata, secretly photographed life within the camp with a smuggled camera.
Gathered together in this volume, these images express the dignity and determination of the Japanese Americans in the face of injustice and humiliation. Today the tragic circumstances surrounding displaced and detained people around the world only strengthen the impact of these photos taken 75 years ago.
Dewey Nicks' ebullient fashion photography reminds you that people have forgotten how to have fun in fashion. -The New York Times
American photographer Dewey Nicks roared into the 1990s magazine world by filling his shoots with fascinating people and a vibe of boundless energy and nonstop fun. Publications such as Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, W and Vanity Fair kept Nicks moving seamlessly between celebrity, fashion and advertising assignments, his portfolio amassing a who's who of iconic women, including Cindy Crawford, Natalie Portman, Sofia Coppola, Patricia Arquette, Shalom Harlow and Cher, to name only a few.
Nicks recently found a forgotten box buried deep in his archive with thousands of Polaroids from his 1990s photo sessions. These one-of-a-kind favorites saved from hundreds of shoots, both private and assigned, offer an intimate portrait into Nicks' life, friends and work. The immediacy of Polaroids combined with the natural fading of the physical print after decades in a shoebox makes each of these images singularly unique and tangibly genuine. Nicks was so smitten with this time capsule of images that he immediately shared them with his frequent collaborator, book designer and publisher Tom Adler, and this beautifully produced book was born.
Snapshots from the moon: NASA photographs from the earliest manned space flights
NASA's Apollo program landed the first humans on the moon in 1969. In the next three years, Apollo sent 10 more men to the moon in five subsequent missions. The first moon landing in particular is a legendarily well-documented event, representing one of those rare moments in which the world was united in awe, witnessing the feat together on their television screens. But each Apollo mission also generated hundreds of photographs, many of which have only recently been released by NASA. A selection of these images--shot by the astronauts themselves with suit-mounted and handheld Hasselblad cameras--are gathered in this beautifully designed, affordable volume.
Many of the photographs, though shot originally for scientific, documentary purposes, have an extraordinary snapshot quality, boasting inadvertently artful compositions and effects: in one, a pair of astronaut's legs emerges upside down from the bottom of the frame; in another, a striding astronaut appears to glow against the black recesses of space.
Contextualized with background information about the Apollo Missions and the role of photographic documentation in them, the photographs in The Moon 1968-1972 are fascinating documents of the majesty of outer space, but also record the surface of the moon as a landscape of wonder. This is the moon of which E.B. White wrote in the July 1969 issue of The New Yorker: The moon, it turns out, is a great place for men. One-sixth gravity must be a lot of fun, and when Armstrong and Aldrin went into their bouncy little dance, like two happy children, it was a moment not only of triumph but of gaity.