This image was made in the days when I had serious pretensions toward being a world famous photographer. I always admired Ansel Adams, certainly, and Edward Weston. But there was Philip Halsmann, too, who was one of the best portrait photographers ever. Between him and Arnold Newman and Karsh, most of the really significant people of the 20th century were preserved in photographs that were as amazing as the people themselves.
Dad was a machinist then. Eight hour days in stifling heat, wrestling steel and machinery. He always made things. That was what dad was all about, making things, often massive things. I caught him one night, just after work, before his shower. I did do a straight portrait, but then I thought, those hands…
About 1973, ’74.