
I read that George Tice had passed away. Tice may not be a household name but he was a great photographer and one I feel a kinship with. We both live lived in Northern New Jersey in the 1970’s and both later migrated to Maine. Perhaps that is enough, but as I read the obit and subsequently went through a book of his I own, I was interested in visual similarities we share.
I dont intend to compare my skill level to anyone of his stature. Being a photographer by profession takes a commitment that evades me. I like taking pictures, even love it, but great photographers such as George Tice lived to take pictures, all day, every day.
What explains the similarities I see with Tice’s work? Perhaps I could find similar consistencies in anyones collection?, but as I looked through his images I found myself thinking, gee, that reminds me of this picture and that reminds me of that picture.






It wasn’t just my images I found in his work. I realized when I saw Tice’s photograph of the Chrysler building that the iconic photo of those gargoyles wasn’t his, but the one in my brain by Margaret Burke-White? Was Tice consciously paying homage to White when he pushed the trigger, or did he just think it was a photo he needed to take?


There are two photo axioms which are forever embedded in my brain. One is a quote from Annie Liebovitz who when asked “What is the best camera?” replied “The one you have with you“. She said it as the iphone became ubiquitous, but it still carries the the thought that it doesn’t matter what you take pictures with, it is the picture that matters.
The other concept has been a lifelong conundrum for me. When you see a photo and think or say, Well, I could have taken that!. The truth is you didn’t, or in my case I didn’t. I was not standing in that place at that moment with a camera and deciding to pull the trigger.
This idea has both plagued and confounded me my whole life of taking picture. Even though I know I will sometimes hide behind my lens, take pictures rather than engage with people, I have never been a photographer who can speak through their lens, or just be spontaneous when something presents itself that might be photographic. Tice did. In 1959 he was a Navy photographer’s mate when a catastrophic accident on a navel vessel occurred, he took pictures. One (below) wound up on the cover of the New York Times where Edward Steichen (who was then the head of the photography department at the Museum of Modern Art) saw the photo and bought one for the museum.
I dont know why, but this idea of talking with the camera brings to mind a good friend who is currently dealing with the aftermath of the Los Angeles fires. He is a very seasoned photographer and it feels to me that he has turned to his camera as a way to both process what happened and to share what happened. I find his photos of his life remembered through the ashes meaningful in a way that I would not try to put words to.

He had ordered the stencils and paint to redo his faded curb number before the fires, He then went back and finished the job.
I have owned two photos by George Tice in my life. One was considered his most famous. It is at the top of this post. It was a huge print that I bought on eBay when it was still possible to find photographic treasures. prints with unknown and sketchy provenance. I was scared of it along with most of the photos I had collected over the years, living in fear they would be forever lost to an act of god. I sold all but a few of the one that meant the most to me. The Tice photo is entitled Shaker Interior, Sabbathday Lake, Maine, 1971 is one of them. It doesn’t remind me of anything I have taken.

I still think almost daily about taking photographs. Not that I take them daily, I just think about it. I love the idea of taking photos, remembering the time of day for the best light, what lens would be best for a given shot, but the difference between that and actually taking photos everyday and then spending countless hours printing an re-printing is the reason why I never think of myself of a photographer. I am only able to commit up to a point. The great ones never stop committing.