The Landmark Hotel, London.
We were promised an hour and 2 changes of clothes.
After the usual tense wait, Kanye arrives.
Demure but steely, he insists he will be holding a Louis Vuitton bag in all the pictures and won’t be taking off his sunglasses or his scarf. I will have 15 minutes maximum.
We take a few images against a paper backdrop and it occurs to me that he looks as though he’s on his way to, or from, somewhere. In transition.
5 minutes to go and I bundle him into the goods lift of the hotel.
When he left, he put on his duffel coat. A hip-hop Paddington bear.
Back when I was starting, when photography felt inspiring and true, I first encountered Martin Parr.
We went along to Plymouth Arts Centre to see his seminal ‘The Last Resort’, and I was blown away.
I bought a poster and it was a constant on the wall of my student bedsit.
Lovely then, if a little nerve wracking to photograph the maestro 2 weeks ago for the Independent on Sunday.
Genial if slightly brusque, I managed to stretch our time to an hour by suggesting we do a few pictures with his wife, Susie.
Without a support structure, artists very rarely achieve longevity so it’s always good to celebrate ‘the power behind throne’.
No man is an island.