In a black-and-white photograph, Lyle Lovett stands on a deserted, rocky road that is flanked by dried vegetation. His gaze looks off into the distance, while a rope is wrapped around his body from his shoulder to his feet. His arms are restricted, but his face is at ease.
This iconic photograph was made by Cincinnati-based photographer Michael Wilson, who has been working with Lovett since 1992. Over their 32-year collaboration, they’ve developed a rapport that allows Wilson to capture Lovett not just as a performer, but as a person. There is a quiet ease in their work together that reveals itself in every composition.
Seeing Music/Hearing Pictures, now on display at The Sheldon, presents a never-before-seen collection of Wilson’s photographs of Lovett, along with his album cover photography and portraits of his Cincinnati neighbors. The exhibit runs through May 10.
On April 10, Wilson and Lovett will sit down together for an artist conversation titled “Michael Wilson and Lyle Lovett: Collaboration and Conversation,” at The Sheldon. This event is free, though registration is required.
Ahead of this talk, we spoke with Wilson about how he began photographing album covers, how his relationship with Lovett has evolved over the years, and whether the longevity of their relationship makes it easier to capture the essence of a person.
(Some answers have been edited for clarity.)
How did you begin photographing musicians?
In college, music was my main interest outside of photography. I spent lots of time in record stores, flipping through the LPs and reading who played bass and where it was recorded. If I saw a record cover with a beautiful photograph, I would turn it over to see who the photographer and art director were.
After college, I was a photographer’s assistant at a textbook publisher in Cincinnati. I worked in a darkroom and could say I was working professionally as a photographer, but my interest in photography was being sort of sapped. I would go to record stores and would be reminded that there are people doing this kind of work. A friend of mine, who was in illustration and had gone freelance about a year before I did, was sick of hearing me complain. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but what I heard in my gut was him questioning: Have you told anybody you want to do this work? With his prompting, my wife helped me bind a set of portraits, and I sent them to a name I saw on the back of a bunch of record covers. It turned out that that name belonged to the head of the art department for Warner Brothers Records.
She wrote back and connected me with a band called The BoDeans. I photographed them, and they ended up using one of the images for a project. On a visit to Los Angeles for another project, I met with Jeri Heiden. I showed her some of the work I had been doing as a freelancer, including a few personal pieces—and one of those ended up becoming a cover for a band called The Replacements.
In those days, the art directors at Warner Brothers were all friends with the art directors at Capitol and Sony. They all moved in the same circles. That connection actually ended up leading to Lyle Lovett.
You’ve been working together for 32 years. How has your relationship changed through that time?
At first, I wouldn’t have expected to use the word relationship in connection with someone I’m going to work for, but when we talk there is a history there. He knows my family, my children, and asks after them when we talk. Likewise, I know his family. There’s a lot of knowledge built into those years.
Are there any particular shoots with Lovett that stand out to you?
There are strong memories associated with each of them. There have been times when I’ve traveled with him on his tour bus, but the one that jumps out to me was the first time I photographed him. I wanted to find a really simple beautiful light to make a formal portrait. We photographed at his house and had done some other pictures around, but I really wanted to set up a backdrop, and the place I would end up doing it at was a modest motel, like a Motel Six, where I was staying in a town outside of Houston. It was a fairly bleak motel room. He was so willing to do it, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. I’m glad he was up for that, but I’m also glad we’ve moved on from that hotel room. That picture is hanging at The Sheldon.
Speaking of the exhibit at The Sheldon, can you speak about that collection?
It’s an interesting show because it brings together work from two very distinct places—work I was commissioned to make and personal work driven purely by the desire to make pictures. I don’t know if the contrast makes it harder or more interesting for the viewer, but The Sheldon is the perfect place for it to happen because it’s also a music venue. One of the galleries has a collection of portraits that are artists I’ve photographed who have performed there, and another gallery is dedicated entirely to the Lyle Lovett work.
And the title, Seeing Music/Hearing Pictures?
The title was designed to speak to the pictures that are specific to the music business, but as a photographer, I want to make pictures that look like how a certain band or musician sounds. I think the act of photographing, which is very quiet when I’m by myself, is very much like listening.
When you’re trying to capture the essence of a person, does the long relationship you have with Lovett make that easier since you know each other so well?
It gets rid of some of the throat clearing that you might go through when meeting a stranger, but it doesn’t make it easier. It does eliminate needing to get to a place where the person being photographed knows that they can trust you. You don’t have to do all that again, but it doesn’t make the pictures easier to come by.
