Peter Lindbergh might very well be the man responsible for “the supermodel.” After all, it was his 1988 series of photographs of a small clutch of very hip but then not very well-known models—Christy Turlington, Linda Evangelista, and Tatjana Patitz, among them—sooty-eyed, rumple-haired, clad only in white men’s button-downs as they cavorted on the beach for Vogue, that lit that particular spark, one in which the viewer began to connect with these impossibly glamorous creatures, to fixate, to fascinate, and to dream on them. Even before then, and since, his work has been synonymous with a certain feeling, a palpable tenderness in the manner in which he treats his subjects, not as “girls” (as is so often used in fashion parlance) or as clothes hangers or as another object in the frame, but as women, with all of the inner life and mystery that the word implies. Not that he’d admit it. “I don’t see the difference between a girl and a woman, really,” Lindbergh says, surveying a series of portraits from his latest tome, Images of Women II: 2005–2014. There, in his now-trademark rich monochrome, is a reflective Diane von Furstenburg, an androgynous Lara Stone, a coquettish Kate Moss, Natalia Vodianova, Mariacarla Boscono, Uma Thurman, Tilda Swinton, Charlotte Rampling, all caught in a moment of shared intimacy—as good a cross-section as any of the photographer’s breadth of influence and inspiration.
Diane Von Furstenberg.