Boyfriend Chronicles

1977 - 1988

Women were stepping out of their traditional societal roles during the 1970s, and exploring a newfound freedom of expression. It was the atmosphere of that revolutionary time that gave me the courage to take a different path; I suspended my studies to follow a deeper calling within myself to discover who I was outside of conventional expectations. I bought a ticket to Athens, Greece, a place I’d never been and where I didn’t know anyone. 

What unfolded was the Boyfriend Chronicles, a documentation of my experiences while seeking adventure and romance. I photographed these young men not to objectify them, but to know myself. One would think that this was a sensual journey, but it was one of connection, and my camera was an extension of these connections. 

What I remember is not what happened between the sheets, but the meals that we shared together, the walks that we took, the seas that we swam in, and the conversations that carried into the dawn. The encounters were unique unto themselves, some painful and shameful, others endearing and light-hearted. The series ends with a self-portrait of myself and the man who would become my husband of thirty-seven years.

Chronicles

Jonathan from London in the English Countryside, 1977
Jonathan was a well-dressed British banker, who sauntered toward me while I was drinking a rum punch on the veranda of a pensione in Haiti, where I was teaching art classes. We made plans to have dinner together, when he proceeded to tell me that he normally preferred girls with larger breasts than mine. Two years later, in 1979, I was devastated when he broke up with me, in my mind we were headed towards matrimony.

Luc from Paris in Paris, 1978
Luc and I were roommates in a beautiful Parisian apartment in the 6th arrondissement, during the winter of 1978. Together we hosted many dinner parties, and before long we were sharing a bedroom. I would ride through Paris on the back of his motorcycle, and we would take photographs of each other with the city as our backdrop. I don’t remember leaving him, or even saying goodbye. 

Adonis from Cuba in Ibiza, 1978
Adonis was riding his motorcycle down the streets of Ibiza in 1978, when he drove by me, our eyes locked. He turned around and drove back to me; he asked me if I was lost and if he could help me. I jumped on the back of his bike, and then ended up living in his house with him for two weeks. When it came time for me to leave, he tried to bribe me to stay by baking me a polenta cake.

Art from Australia in Rochester, New York, 1979
Art was a distraction from dreary, cold Rochester, New York in 1979. I had never met anyone from Australia, and his accent charmed me. Together we learned how to make Spaghetti alla Carbonara, using a raw egg. I asked him to model for my photography homework, and after showing more than I asked for, I had to cut that frame out of my contact sheet, deeming it unsuitable for class. The professor inquired about the empty rectangle, and said he was more interested in what was missing than all the photographs shown. 

Arnoud from Netherlands in Yosemite National Park, 1982
Arnoud was from the Netherlands. We met in 1982, while waiting at the airport for a flight to San Francisco, when I asked him for a cigarette. We sat together and before the plane hit the tarmac, we had decided to take a road trip to Yosemite. Later, I cheated on him with Jeremy from Israel; even now seeing the depth of feeling in his embrace in this photograph, breaks my heart.


Jeremy from Israel in Los Angeles, 1983
Jeremy was working at the camera shop I frequented, in 1983. He was tall, dark and handsome. We started spending time together with our cameras, though I was still technically dating Arnoud. One morning Arnoud called, it was apparent I was not alone in my bed, and my relationship with Arnoud came to an end. Jeremy and I were inseparable for the next year together, he was ready to settle down and start a family together, but I had a different vision. When I was accepted to graduate school at California Institute of the Arts, we said our goodbyes, and the last time I saw him he was working on his car.

Don from Los Angeles in Santa Barbara, 1988
Don and I met at an Irish pub in Santa Monica, California in 1988. I was waiting for friends, and I had arrived early at my mother’s insistence, for she had a premonition that I was going to meet the man of my dreams. Don was 6’4” with curly hair; he was surfer, very fit and from Los Angeles. He asked if he could buy me a beer. I declined, though I did accept the next offer of half his hamburger. He asked for my telephone number, and after our first date we were inseparable. I was now ready to fully commit and we were married eight months later.