So here’s a story that’s hardly new to the four sides of Los Angeles County: a young man drops out, finds himself and his voice, becomes somewhat of a legend by being not much more than themselves, and then enjoys a culture-wide enjoyment of their work. Like I said. Hardly a new thing. From Axl Rose to Jimmy Cagney to whoever the kid that got off the bus from Iowa this week with a great idea, Los Angeles is a cruel town that occasionally looks kindly on those that don’t take it too seriously. Terry – I’m sure – though I’ve never met the guy – would hardly be the first to consider himself one of those people. He got his start in photography using the same point and click Pentax camera that thousands of couples in the late 1980’s surely themselves used for their wedding or spring break pictures: not to photograph the young, the beautiful, and the damned in photos that showed them in a wholly selfless light: the Pentax camera he still has come to use to this day as one of his favorite cameras is exactly the same kind that you could pick up at any Wal Mart.
However, the camera – in all of its unpretentious, has come to represent the quality that you’d find in any of Terry’s pictures. Terry does not exactly come off friendly: his handlebar mustache, evil-substitute-teacher physicality, and penchant for photographing himself and his penis in a (fairly large) number of his works has led to the sort of infamous best reserved for askew politicians and wayward youth. But in his picture, Terry does a remarkable job of stripping the pretentiousness of a photoshoot and makes his pictures come off as natural as you’d ever see them with your own two eyes: not as one would see for the cover photo of a mainstream magazine. In deed, you’ve probably seen countless examples of his work on things as diverse as the majority of the last two years GQ covers to Justin Timberlake’s multi platinum selling album “Futuresex/Lovesounds”, to a coffee table book so vulgar (”Kibosh”) is has to be shipping in a black plastic bag. Terry is, well, just taking pictures, sure, but he’s build up a near empire out enigma as well.
Capturing everyone from Johnny Knoxville to Leonardo DiCaprio to Barack Obama in the last ten years while still having a reputation as one New York’s ultimate hipster playboys, Terry’s been doing a bang up job of keeping too much of his personal life from getting out. Indeed, the most I’ve found written on his was the forwarding to “Terryworld” – his 2004 coffee table book slightly less dubious than “Kibosh” – and a GQ interview from several years ago. His father was famed fashion photographer Bob Richardson, he was raised predominately in Hollywood in the early 1980’s before later finding his way to New York, and before his father passed away he was able to again see his Dad get the recognition he’d deserved after a bout with schizophrenia. Other than that, facts about Terry lend themselves more to the gossip variety, with stories about a Thanksgiving that our sponsors here on Manolith wouldn’t let us publish (short version: he fucked a turkey. This rumor may not be factual).
It’s hard not to write a piece on Terry without sounding like some gushing, mouth-breathing fan boy, simply due to the little that is known about the man in contrast to the images that he produces. But still, it’s well worth checking out. Especially if you like coffee table books that are best enjoyed not in the presence of others.
T-shirts and books are available at his site.
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