It is now after midnight in Paris. Peter Lindbergh the photographer and I have been talking for much of the day. He is home. I am in New York. We’ve discussed his early interest in becoming a conceptual artist (and making “big” paintings before that). Silent German cinema and Berlin cabaret have been topics of…
In the beginning, there was only one Valentino. Not Valentino of the startling but stylish screaming red cocktail dress. But Mario Valentino, the son of a Neapolitan cobbler who made elegant bespoke shoes for Italy’s King. Both had shrewdly mounted their conquest of America early in the 1960s by personally cultivating and gaining patronage from…