“Timeless Wisdom: Bruce Weber Shares the Impact of Diane Arbus’s Unforgettable Advice”

“Bruce Weber: My Education,” is presently exhibited at the Prague City Gallery, inviting viewers to explore the oeuvre of one of photography’s most unique and mysterious personas. Spanning more than 400 works across photography, film, video, and immersive installations, the exhibition provides a wide-ranging exploration of Weber’s varied portfolio, from his instantly recognizable fashion imagery to private portraits, sweeping vistas, sensual nudes, and, naturally, animal photography.

This retrospective—which was brought to life through the curation of Helena Musilova and Nathaniel Kilcer, production by Milosh Harajda and Marketa Tomkova, and design by Marek Cpin—also delves into the narrative behind the visuals. Here, Weber offers a rare, personal insight into the growth of his perspective, which has influenced and challenged the photographic field for over half a century. In a discussion with CULTURED, the artist contemplates his illustrious career, the imagery that continues to motivate him, and the lessons he absorbed from Diane Arbus, which he aspires to share with the upcoming generation of image creators.

CULTURED: Your work frequently evokes a sense of closeness and authenticity. What methods do you employ to foster genuine connections with your subjects?

Bruce Weber: Frankly speaking, articulating a photograph or the process behind it is not something that comes effortlessly to me. It diminishes the essence of whatever enigmatic occurrence transpires in the moment, but I will do my utmost. I believe that the cornerstone of forming any relationship with a person I’m photographing is rooted in respect, first and foremost—and in many instances, a sincere appreciation of what they do, represent, create, or their lived experiences. Curiosity stands as the most crucial element for me. It makes no difference whether I’m capturing someone renowned or a stranger I encounter on the street. The impulse remains unchanged—the most extraordinary thing may occur, so I remain ever curious about where this experience will lead us.

CULTURED: After reflecting on your archive for this exhibition, how would you characterize the development of your photographic style from your initial works to the present?

Weber: I never spend a moment contemplating my photographic style. Each day is a new day for me, just as it is for every photographer. Back in 2015, I composed a story about the remarkable war photographer Lynsey Addario in All-American, an arts journal that Nan [Bush, Weber’s spouse] and I publish annually. Lynsey is an incredible individual—she visited our studio and shared her experiences with us. Her charisma and engagement made the entire encounter thrilling for us all. In the years since, I’ve observed many of her photographs in the New York Times, depicting the conflicts in Ukraine, the Middle East, and beyond. Her images convey the harrowing intensity of war, yet I also sense Lynsey’s presence within them. The fact remains, she’s the one right there, experiencing it firsthand. For me, photography transcends style. It embodies the essence of the person capturing the image.

CULTURED: Where do you seek inspiration nowadays?

Weber: I strive to read extensively. I feel invigorated when I encounter a poem, a book, or an intriguing article in the newspaper. During my childhood, we received LIFE Magazine, and it was exhilarating when it arrived in our mailbox—the imagery of individuals, but also the way the writing immersed me into their lives. My thirst for inspiration remains as strong as ever, and I hope to sustain this through to my final photograph.

CULTURED: Did you uncover anything new about your craft during the process of assembling the exhibition?

Weber: As we progressed, I found myself pondering, I have so much to learn.

CULTURED: Why did it seem like the proper moment for a retrospective?

Weber: Honestly, I don’t view this exhibition as a retrospective—I consider it a fresh start. This exhibition has allowed me to revisit photographs I’ve taken of friends and individuals I admired, and was fortunate to meet. However, the entire experience left me with the impression that there’s so much more I desire to accomplish—new places to discover, new people to connect with, and additional revelations within the archive, even.

One room in the exhibition is entirely devoted to figurative works I created in the late ’80s and early ’90s, which culminated in a book titled Bear Pond. One of my favorite shots in that section is of a guy I knew named Claes, who is lying under a picnic table beside my dog, Little Bear. I found myself curious about his current endeavors, so we tracked him down, discovering that he has become a successful architect, dividing his time between New York City and Sweden. We reconnected this summer and created new photographs together, and it was an incredible journey. The odyssey of photography has no conclusion. As my friend Helmut Newton used to remark, photographers are perpetually capturing the same image. I believe I share his view. The nuances, light, and circumstances may shift, but it’s invariably the same individual pressing the shutter.

CULTURED: Is there a lesson or insight you’ve gained that you wish to impart, which holds significance for individuals working today?

Weber: As a photographer, it’s crucial to co-exist alongside your own feelings of uncertainty and a profound intrinsic urge to explore the questions you pose to yourself. I was blessed to have a remarkable mentor early on, Lisette Model at the New School. We frequently discussed Diane Arbus, and I eventually had the chance to meet her as well.

Diane recounted her encounter with Eddie Carmel, the “Jewish giant” she famously photographed at his home in the Bronx. I always cherished that image and regarded it as a splendid portrait. Yet Diane shared how Eddie and his parents continued to reach out to her afterwards, and how she carried their story with her long after the photograph was captured. That experience and that image became a pivotal part of both their narratives. What I would convey to a young photographer is that you can never truly close the door.

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