photography because it’s portable
… because of
storytelling … because I can hide behind a camera …
and because my father was an inveterate shutterbug. He
always had a camera in his hand. And I guess most
youngsters always try to emulate their parents somehow
or another, even if the association otherwise is not superb.
So long story short, I began to carry that easiest and most
transportable of personal possessions as I moved from
place to place to place to place. And that is…. STORIES. I
had a weapon whenever I crossed a new threshold - into a
new environment - which was: I could entertain people. I
could tell them things about from whence I’d come, which
they knew nothing about. And that might save me from
being turned into a punching bag, because the newcomer
is usually the guy with a target on his forehead ... It was up
to my fast-footedness and my wit, and my storytelling, to
keep me out of harm’s way as much as possible.
Sherman: Photography’s an interesting art form. People
take photographs for different reasons. Why do you think
your dad took photographs? Was he a storyteller? Was he
trying to capture time? Was he an artist?
Mayor: He was a time-capturer. He recorded with
his camera, as the old timers used to record with their
diaries. And he was so devoted to it that we rarely saw
him without a camera, somewhere on his person, usually
in his lap, and he would fire from his lap. So we’d get a
remarkable number of photographs of people’s knees or
the tops of their heads, if his aim was slightly askew. But he
had what we always referred to as that remarkable, “eighth
of a second.” He could see something coming, so his
photography was extraordinarily well-timed for
spontaneous human interaction. Most of us see something
terrific and go, “I wish I had my camera up.” He had his
camera up. He saw it coming. He was a good reader of human
nature along those lines, but he did so in a normal scientific
way. He was not the world’s most empathetic, human being,
but he was a good analyst. He could study situations,
including his fellow species-members, and I picked up a
fair amount of that, but I then expanded beyond it.
Sherman: What about your mom?
Mayor: My mom was born and raised in Argentina …
She did not bother trying to train us in a foreign language.
So, curiously, although I speak a couple of languages - and
can stagger along in a third or fourth - Spanish is not a
strong point, which is a great shame. But it was just
practical; she had six kids and a lot of stuff to run. She
didn’t want to translate everything twice. So we lost what
was so natural to her … I’m not even sure she graduated
from high school - it was a different system, so I don’t
actually know - but her impulse was one that I took on,
which was an insatiable ignorance and curiosity
combined. And that’s what I’m saddled with. And that’s
part of the reason that I do what I do: I want to abate my
ignorance - and so did she. She was a voracious reader
and museum visitor, and she found a willing compatriot
in me. I was the one she always grabbed when she headed
out on her cultural mind expansion journeys. We would
travel all over Europe, or wherever we happened to be.
Sherman: You said, you’re [the youngest] of six. Are any
of them involved in the arts or humanities?
Mayor: I have one sister who makes jewelry. One played
the guitar, nothing outstanding. I can’t say that any of
them made a living at an artistic pursuit, [but] there was
that influence in the family. My great aunt was Anna
Hyatt Huntington, who was a very famous sculptor of
monumental stuff. You know, dying men on horseback,
that kind of thing. She would get these commissions. In
1913, I think she was among the highest-paid American
artists … so she was very well-regarded, and they’re very
handsome pieces. I’ve got small throwaway things
loitering in various corners of my house. She was
certainly an influence, because in these peregrinations, I
would go to her house … That was a home base, more
secure than any other I had available to me. I would
go to see Aunt Anna, and she would leave me alone. I
would wander in to her studio, because she worked until
her 90s. She would get on these scaffolds and start do-
ing these things that were as big as two story buildings. I
mean, these are not small, throwaway statues. They were
big, big puppies … I liked her a lot. She was a flat-footed,
plain-speaking, Yankee woman. Took no crap from no
one and had the wherewithal to stand on her own two
feet. She made her own money, and she married extreme-
ly well, so got a double- whammy. And she was allowed,
therefore, by circumstance and talent to do what she
bloody-well pleased - and that was a nice person to have
in one’s life.
Sherman: You used the word “peregrination”.
Mayor: Correct
Sherman: That’s not a word that you hear often these days.
How do you define “peregrination”? It’s an S.A.T. word.
Mayor: Yeah, it’s sort of more associated to birds than
anything. And it’s wanderlust / wanderings about /
roaming / ramblings. I am in love with the language. And
part of the reason I am, is because I was deprived it for
quite a few years when I was overseas. When I came back
to the United States, I had missed out on all forms of
English grammar or instructions. So I learned all the
languages I know by ear, including English. That just
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