I devoured this book and am ready to go back to the beginning and start again. I am fascinated by the lives led by artists in the early part of the 20th century; writers and photographers in particular. So this book was an easy choice to try.
I am confident that if any photography enthusiast were to assemble a collection of the 100 greatest photographs of all time, there would be at least one Edward Weston and Charis Wilson would be the subject (there would certainly be more than one Edward Weston among the collection, and likely some of those would also feature Charis Wilson as the subject). To read the story behind the photographs and about their life together as told by Charis Wilson presents a truly unique and ideal perspective.
As I read her accounts of their years together I found myself, at times, at polar opposites regarding their lifestyle. I can admire the simplicity of it and the focus on the art Weston was creating. But can also be amazed by the depravity that they had to endure to survive with a sporadic income through the depression years. I am envious of the collaboration they shared both professionally and emotionally. But struck back at the thought of Charis Wilson sharing cramped quarters with Edward Weston and his sons. Sons from Weston’s current Marriage to Flora Chandler; sons who were who were the same age as Charis Wilson. Only late in their 14 years together did Weston divorce Flora and marry Charis. I am not judging. Weston and Wilson clearly were deeply in love, but man that had to be awkward.
This is certainly and honest biography. From describing their first time making love (she made the first move), to an admission of one homosexual experience, infidelity late in their relationship, and even when and how Weston preferred to defecate, she covers it all. The last item may have crossed the line over to TMI. However, these details give the impression that this memoir is truly unretouched, just like Weston’s prints.