Everybody’s a nightlife photographer now. Our iPhones and Instagram allow us to document all of our social engagements, from #gettingready to the #afterparty. But when Mauricio and Roger Padilha were growing up in Long Island, they relied on the party pages of the New York Times, W Magazine, and Interview and lensmen like Dustin Pittman to see what was happening in the big city. Together with Pittman the Padilhas have produced a book, New York After Dark, featuring hundreds of the photographer’s never-before-published images of everyone from Candy Darling to Calvin Klein, Iggy Pop (who stars on the cover) to Yves Saint Laurent.
“Dustin always used to say to us, ‘you have to see my archives. I have everything,’” Roger says. And indeed Pittman does. “Dustin was there at all these parties, but in a different way than the paparazzi,” explains Mauricio. “He worked at Fairchild [the publisher of Women’s Wear Daily], he was friends with all these people. It was almost like being at the party again—the party that we were never invited to, we finally got to see everything that was happening.”
The Padilhas liken Pittman to a Zelig figure or a Forrest Gump. Woodstock, the Monterey Pop Festival—he was there. Warhol’s Factory—he was there too. Pittman documented the rise of New York designers like Perry Ellis, Calvin Klein, and Donna Karan—the bedrocks of American sportswear—and all women who wore them. And he was photographing the 1980 Met Gala, which celebrated “The Manchu Dragon: Costumes of China,” when he overheard a security guard get a call on his walkie talkie that John Lennon had just been shot. He ran across Central Park to the Dakota in his tuxedo to get that shot, as well.
What animated Pittman then, and what animates him now—he’s still out most nights shooting—is “he doesn’t think that his photos of Diana Vreeland are better than the photos he took of a punk guy on St. Mark’s Place in 1991,” says Roger. “He sees everything as equal.” That spirit informed the way the Padilhas, who have previously published books about Antonio Lopez, Stephen Sprouse, and Chris Von Wangenheim, organized this one.
“It’s more about eras, and seeing them through Dustin’s eyes,” says Roger, “like… this photograph of [the socialite] Jacqueline de Ribes looks great next to David Johansen of the New York Dolls on stage at Max’s Kansas City.” New York looks different now; gloss has replaced the grit, the passed-out party goers Pittman captured at Studio 54 are but one reminder in a book full of them. But if it was grittier then, there was no shortage of joy. The book concludes with a series of photographs of people greeting each other with kisses: Jack Nicholson and Brooke Shields, Calvin Klein and a runway model, Liza Minnelli and her dad. Pittman Zoomed in for a chat about the book, and his memories are as expansive as his photo archives.
On why he hasn’t published a book of his work until now:
A lot of people wanted me to do a book through the years, but I didn’t want to do a book, because doing a book, as you know, takes time. And I really wanted to kind of hop, skip, and jump until I couldn’t hop and skip and jump anymore. We’re talking about over 60 years…
On his early days in New York, when people carried books in their hands, not camera phones.
My older brother lived in the West Village at MacDougal and Bleecker. And my parents would let me come down on the Greyhound bus from the Adirondack Mountains to visit him way in the early ’60s, when it was beatniks and we had the Tin Angel and the Bitter End and the Gaslight, and all those places. My brother would drag me to these places, so when I was ready to come to New York, I knew the Village. And in those times, in the early ’60s, people would always carry around books in their hands, and there would be poetry readings and folk music, and low-key stuff in these little cafes, you know. Community! No phones, nothing, People had real-time conversations, and they talked about politics and this and that, whatever, you know. So that was really great.
On meeting Andy Warhol…
I used to hang around in ’68 or ’69 at Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. I love that place, it’s very spiritual, it has a vibe that’s forever. At that time, Central Park was a great place because there were no boundaries. People used to come and parade around Bethesda Fountain, peacock-style, like, you know, Kings Road, in their boots and their crushed velvet and their black leather pants. It wasn’t what you wore, it was how you wore it. You know, there wasn’t a lot of Balenciaga labels and that stuff, right, right? I ran into Ingrid Superstar, one of the Andy Warhol superstars, literally bumped into each other. And she said, I want you to meet somebody. So she dragged me by the hand down to 32 Union Square, and I met Andy Warhol. Andy was still doing little movies. you know, cinema verité, underground movies. I started getting to know the Andy Warhol superstars, Candy Darling, Holly Woodlawn, Jackie Curtis, Jane County, Taylor Mead, Sylvia Miles. It just happened. I just rolled with it, and that was the magic of my photography. I was never a paparazzi. I did journalism, but I considered myself more a participant in the community that I was passionate about and loved. I did the Andy Warhol superstars, I did the first women’s rights march, I did gay liberation. All that stuff, because I was a participant. It was important to me to be a part of it, because I believed in it.
On the way the runways used to be…
How it was different then? First of all, most of the models would do their own hair and makeup. I m talking about way back with Molly Parnis stuff, you know, Pauline Trigère, the early stuff. And they used to change in the sewing room. So that s number one, and also, as you know, there were no tents then; we did it in the small showrooms. And that s why, when you see Stan Herman’s book and the title, Uncross Your Legs, it’s because he didn’t want the models, tripping on the people in the front row.
On his favorite designers…
Azzedine Alaia. I was in his atelier, which was also his house. I used to love going to designers’ design rooms, from Halston to Calvin Klein to Azzedine to Karl [Lagerfeld] to Yves Saint Laurent to Ungaro to Jean Paul Gaultier to Sonia Rykiel, and my favorite thing was looking at their mood boards. I couldn’t get off the move boards because there was everything there, not only pictures. I remember Calvin and Frances Stein, when she used to work for Calvin, she used to bring in these chips that she used to find in the street, that were a certain color, and then put it on the mood board. I said, Francis. I said what’s with the chip? And she’d say Calvin’s going to do a whole line with this colored chip. I learned so much from them, and it was so amazing, watching them work—how they would put together the outfit. It was all new. And that’s what I always gravitated to. I always gravitated to the new, and that was my thing, all my life. Before WWD, I was doing a lot of fashion. This was like ’73, where I was shooting a lot of Vivienne Westwood, Malcolm McLaren, Let It Rock clothes. This store, Ian s, would bring it over from London: great stuff, mohair sweaters, pants. I loved shooting it, and my studio in the ’70s was Times Square. I loved Times Square, it was so gritty, so dirty and so nasty, that it was the perfect place to contrast to shoot. You could take something like Oscar [de la Renta] or Bill [Blass] or Calvin or Norma [Kamali], and bring it to Times Square and find these crazy nooks and crannies and get these great shots.
On the one that got away…
There’s so many people I wish I photographed. Joan Didion, Susan Sontag. So many people got away. I had the opportunity in 1972, there was a Canadian heavyweight wrestler who came down to New York, and I knew his daughter. And he wanted to bring me to a special place and bring my camera. And I said, I got something to do. But you know where it was? It was at the Garden to photograph Muhammad Ali wrapping before a match. What a picture that would’ve been. He fought Muhammad Ali and lost, but they were friends. So, I’ve got some regrets.
On the power of fashion…
I know this sounds sacrilegious, maybe, but this is my quote from those days. ‘Halston’s studio at the Olympic Towers was as grand as he was. From his office, you could see the spires of St. Patrick’s cathedral. It made such an impression on me that even today, when I look up at those spirals, I know I should think of God, but I think of Halston instead.’
