“In a shocking display of impracticality I am flying back to Tucson tomorrow…”
A sheepish text to my sister.
I was always doing this. Not the impracticality, but the over-explaining. As if I could nullify the judgment of others by doing it myself first. I’m wild! I’m crazy! I’m stupid!
Less than 24 hours after touching tarmac in NYC, I was ready to turn on my heel and fly 2,000 miles back to Tucson.
Just a week earlier, I had never been to Tucson. Or Arizona, for that matter. Along with several friends and colleagues, I flew out for the annual Tucson Gem & Fine Mineral Show. I was in town to visit Wilensky Exquisite Minerals’ groundbreaking exhibition “Lore,” featuring a curated selection of fine minerals alongside (and depicted within!) several supernatural paintings by the artist Mark Rogers. The exhibition itself was staggering in its vision; a decisive disruption in an otherwise conservative market.
Ahead of the trip, I was told Eric Kroll lived in Tucson. Naturally, a girl took note.
I don’t remember when I first discovered Kroll’s photography. Probably my high school Tumblr days. At 22, I displayed my copy of Fetish Girls in my bedroom like a painting, a rich splash of cherry red latex. In my eyes, Kroll was a legend; a man with a delicate yet playful grasp of eroticism and female sensuality. (In other words, a rarity.)
When we finally met at his home in the Catalina Foothills, I found him stooped on a stool in his garage, surrounded by all the fine trappings of womanhood: vintage girdles, stockings, bras, and heels. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to play dress-up. I was game. (I’m wild! I’m crazy! I’m stupid!)
In short, we got along well. His unfiltered humor and profanity put me at ease. So, when he invited me back to Tucson for a cover shoot mere days after my return to NYC, I was willing to consider it. What say rationality?: That’d be crazy! What say curiosity?: That’d be crazy…
I tend to follow curiosity. And then explain later. Actually, this is exactly what I’m doing now. Rationalizing, justifying… Sometimes I think of this quote from Elena Ferrante’s The Story of a New Name:
“I felt wild, reckless, but I was glad about it. There was a part of me that was sick of being a sensible person.”
Man, I’m so sick of being a sensible person.
Interestingly, Kroll sensed my internal division, this endless vacillation between curiosity and caution, sure-footedness and shyness. You’ll see this dynamic reflected in our exchange. Our interview followed a day of shooting together, and I’m embarrassed to admit I suggested I have a ‘good side’ (Ladies, y’all know what I’m talking about). He immediately bristled at this, and didn’t mince words:
“You think there’s a right side to be photographed on! That’s the beginning of the end right there. Why do you care? You should never care what you look like, A., and B., you just shouldn’t care. You’re your person. Whatever is coming out of you is you.”
And so, in a shocking display of impracticality, I’ll share this exchange with you now…
In the spirit of Freud, we’re going to start with your father.
Eric Kroll: My father? He ain’t in heaven, I can tell you that. Well, maybe he is. Actually, he would know better than I.
You mentioned he was a textile designer, very successful.
EK: I learned design from my father. If you remind me later, I’ll show you a picture. It’s a picture of him and I looking at a metal rim of a staircase. He’s pointing out to me why it’s dangerous. He had such a cool understanding of design and beauty that I really appreciated and learned from.
So that influenced you early on.
EK: I think I had no choice. I had to learn design. And that, of course, leads me to you, and suggesting this or that (to wear). Early on, particularly women figured out that I actually had an inside track on that stuff. It makes me want to send you for a little field trip. So there are three women in my shower at three corners. Each one of them is peeing down into the shower. You should go look at it. It might free you. You’ll notice right away what’s going on. It’s at three different spots in the shower.
The Holy Trinity. Ok, I’ll check it out.
[I walk off and investigate.]
I love those photos.
EK: They’re cute, right? So, I want to talk about the importance of the movie with Jack Nicholson that has Ann-Margret in it. Carnal Knowledge. Do you know it?
No, I don’t.
EK: We should probably watch it. Anyway, he’s so jaded. At the end of the film, he comes into Rita Moreno’s apartment. She gives him a drink. There’s something kind of interesting going on between them. It’s moving along and all of a sudden he says, “No, you did it wrong.” Meaning that she had to do it exactly the way he wanted for him to get hard. And she makes one stupid little mistake. The mistake is minor, but in his world it’s major, so he loses his hard-on. That hasn’t happened to me, but I can imagine it.
You can relate to it.
EK: No, I’m just saying that when you have something as beautiful as you, how could anyone compete with that? You know what I mean? It’s a lot of sensory pleasure. You know? So I understand where that guy was coming from, this Carnal Knowledge guy. And it’s a great moment. I hope you’ll see it. He’s showing his slideshow of ballbusters on parade. There’s all these women he’s fucked. So Garfunkel, the character, is watching it with him. Bam, bam, bam, bam. And all of a sudden, there’s Candice Bergen, his wife. Obviously he’s fucked his friend’s wife. And he’s like, “Oh, that’s a mistake!” But it’s a really funny movie.
In one of your interviews, you quote Marcel Duchamp: “All great art stems from lust.” What has your art revealed to you about your desires?
EK: Well, everyone needs to know that they’re in the right game, and anything Duchamp does, particularly in the way of women, is supportive for me. There’s an interview with Man Ray and Duchamp at the end of their lives. The interviewer asks, “What’s the most important thing from your life?” They both said exactly the same thing: “Women.” So, you know, I admire them both, so that gives me the kind of reinforcement I need to be the perv I am. But I don’t feel very perverted. I wish I was, but I’m not.
Really? No?
EK: No. I don’t have too many blockages, you know, like you. You have more than enough for both of us.
You’re accustomed to shooting with women who are more uninhibited?
EK: Well, that helps. That helps the photographs. I mean, I’m terrible in that respect, because I don’t know how to rein in my imagination. So, for example, I have a friend. I really like him, Dave Naz. He’s got lots of money. He’s a good photographer. I used to stay [with him]. I didn’t like staying on the bed because it had too many rods in it. Anyway, I was [at his place] with this fabulous woman, Melissa Domino. So, I brought her into the circle, and she’s a fabulous woman. And she and I have gotten stoned, smashed, crazy, in all kinds of places. She’s too Mexican macho for my taste. Not enough femme. But she’s a fabulous person. I love her… Where am I going? Do you have any idea where I’m going with this thought? I don’t.
We were talking about what art reveals to you about your desires.
EK: Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t say it that way. The only thing I need is affirmation. And I get the affirmation from knowing about art. I know a lot about art because it fascinates me. Artists and art give me the affirmation I need to know that I’m somewhat on the right path. I don’t want to go on a path that someone else has gone on, but I like to know that I’m in some respects—Oh, I just remembered what it was. So, there I am at Dave’s place. He says, “There’s a woman coming. She’s very skittish. Don’t upset her.” So, I’m there. I know why I told you this, because I’m there with Domino. And she and I are very close, whatever. So, this woman comes. Dave goes to do something in his house, and I see her take her skirt and wrap it like that, and I said, of course, “Do you think I’m trying to look up your skirt?” Because it was so bizarre to me. She burst out crying and left the sitting space. Out. Right? So, that flips Dave out, because when I first met his future wife, she cried from what I had said. I don’t even know what it was. But thank God Domino was there. She knew I didn’t say fuck. I didn’t say anything. So, those two ladies were on the extreme. But most people know that I’m pretty comfortable with everything.
I’m curious to hear about your professional trajectory. I know you got your start shooting for mainstream publications, like Elle and Vogue. How did you get into that? And at what point did you start getting disillusioned with it?
EK: I thought it would be easier. It was nothing easy about New York. Because, as [Richard] Avedon says, you’re completely replaceable. So here I am in a field where you think you can have some integrity, not if you think you’re going to get any attention or any exposure or anything, really. So you have to sort of suck it in and take it until you can’t take it anymore.
So you reached that point, obviously. You couldn’t take it anymore.
EK: Well, I don’t know. I was married to a very wealthy woman and the idea was we were going to split the cost of raising our children. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have any money. So it was always this hell. Never enough money. And that gets to you after a while. Not that I have to be the guy supporting everybody, but it would have been nicer if it had been easier. It was never easy. And so I was sort of depressed a lot. Did I answer your question right? Is that your answer? I worked for them all. It was such a quick lesson. It’s not even funny.
You burned out on it quickly.
EK: Well, anyone would. I was shooting for Vogue, the front section of the magazine. And I asked the editor if I could have an infant in the picture. Because I was having kids, Christie Brinkley was having kids. And [the editor] flipped out. She said, “What, are you crazy? You can’t do that!” Well, within a year, everyone was doing it. So that’s the kind of world that is. It’s not particularly full of integrity. And if you work for anybody, you realize that unless you get lucky, it’s going to happen to you. So I would shoot Oscar de la Renta, and they’d run the picture 4 inches high. And at the same time, I started doing erotica. There were two women who were the chief editors. One was Dian Hanson of Leg Show, and the other was Pat Reshen of High-Heeled Women. They were both very nice and they would run the picture. It was huge, big. A nice cover, you know. I had this fake name for running in girly magazines, Eric Aperture. So I really liked the way I was respected with girly magazines and didn’t like the way I was treated at straight magazines, because they could get anybody they fucking wanted. And I had a style right from the beginning that was unique. The women weren’t stupid. They knew that this guy was going to shoot in a way that could be good for the mag.
When did you first start shooting erotic photos?
EK: Well, Susan Smith, that woman right behind you?
This one here?
EK: Yeah.
I fucking love that photo. She’s gorgeous.
EK: So I’m living on 31st Street and 2nd Avenue. I see her across the street, and I go, “Fuck.” I didn’t know whether I should approach her. It was a mistake on my part because I’d be with a woman and some other woman would be there and I’d ignore the woman I was with because I was looking for the next great picture. It wasn’t fair to the woman I was with because they were fabulous anyway. I was wrong about that, so I wasn’t going to say anything to Susan. And then the truck driver on the other side whistled and I saw her smile. And I thought, “That’s what I want. Someone who appreciates that kind of a thing.” So she came to my place. I can show you the picture somewhere. And it was right out of Balthus, one of the most important Swiss artists ever. He was famous for painting very young girls. They were like right out of an Epstein party. I’m sure he was not perverse. Or maybe he was. But I think that’s wrong. I wrote about it. I said, “Looking at a Balthus painting in the Met freed me.” And it did. What am I worried about? If he could have that painting in the Met...
What is it that makes you want to photograph someone?
EK: Well, you know, the Plains Indians had this thing where they didn’t care to scalp somebody. It was just as interesting to them to ride their horse up and touch him on the head or do something. Tag him. They didn’t have to kill him. And that’s kind of how I felt about sex. If the woman let me go down on her, that was as good a sense of capture. The idea of performance anxiety… I thought it was bullshit, that the woman expects me to be hard and excited. Fuck that.
[I start laughing.]
EK: I’m serious! It was too much pressure. I wanted to look at the woman, not, you know, grind into her. That never appealed to me. I could see much better looking up and looking down.
Interesting. So you felt like taking photos was another form of capture?
EK: Well, my father was very artistic. And I had no talent as a painter. I was in the woods and I had a pool, so photography was the perfect way. Some friend of [my father’s] gave me a camera. And the idea was I was never going to do this professionally, but that changed through the years, you know?
So it started out as a hobby.
EK: Well, growing up in Westchester County in comfort, I didn’t have the guts to say, “This is what I’m going to be, a photographer.” That seemed presumptuous.
…TO BE CONTINUED. SUBSCRIBE FOR NEXT WEEK’S INSTALLMENT OF ROT.
So good