By Corina Knoll Photograph by Eric Sueyoshi
Stephen Stickler is weary of the notion of celebrity.
“It used to be, if you were a celebrity, you were famous because you were good at something,” the photographer says. “That’s just not the case anymore. Andy Warhol said everyone’s going to be famous for 15 minutes, and you can see it happening now. Celebrity’s no longer tied to talent or any other special quality. People are totally interchangeable.”
Stickler is only 42, but he’s old school. Not old school in a curmudgeonly grandfather way, but old school like Bogart. The kind of guy who can be cool and slick, but principled. Perhaps old soul is the more correct term.
Consider how he’s dressed today: pink-collared shirt peeking out from under a V-neck pullover, pinstripe slacks, canvas slip-ons — none of it trendy and yet all of it sophisticated. Even his hair is classy, styled in loose finger waves. Stickler is what came before today’s metrosexual; he is yesterday’s dapper.
“You were probably expecting a flashy celebrity photographer personality,” he says. “I used to be that guy, sort of the center of attention.”
That was back in the mid-‘90s when Stickler was working simultaneously as executive editor of Bikini magazine and fashion and photo editor of Ray Gun magazine. Alternative music magazines known for edgy content and design (both founded by Marvin Scott Jarett, the same man who started Nylon magazine), they allowed Stickler to create an impressive portfolio. Photo shoots with Beastie Boys, Rage Against the Machine and Porno for Pyros helped him land gigs with Spin magazine and Entertainment Weekly. It was during that time that Stickler also shot the debut album cover of nu-metal band Korn. Its creepy depiction of a young girl on a playground approached by a menacing shadow was, at the time, controversial. Now, Stickler says, album covers are a lost art.
“When I was growing up, I’d buy a record and it was kinda like going to church or something — putting on a record for the first time and sitting there on the bed, looking at the album cover sleeve,” he says. “But now it’s just like something that pops up on your iPod. I think that’s one sad thing about the change in technology — you don’t have the multisensory experience of listening to music.”
While the digital age — with its vast image-manipulating abilities — has intrigued the photographer, he thinks he’ll make his way back to good old-fashioned prints one day. It’s an organic process, he says, and more of a precious thing. The quality of digital cameras has allowed everyone to point and shoot near-professionally nowadays.
Stickler’s photos, however, are of a different class. Captured on his negatives are powerful images of well-known characters. Snoop Dogg sits upright with OG-attitude in a designer suit and rep tie; a stopwatch dangles in mid-air. Pop rocker Pink snarls at the camera while biting on a pink record, the only thing covering her naked torso. Kate Winslet, stylized like some ‘80s pop icon, cops an attitude while her awkward stance is reminiscent of a young girl.
“He comes up with simple ideas and tries to find innovative ways to do it — but never over-complicating it, always paring away,” says friend Emily Marshall, who has worked as a prop and wardrobe stylist on Stickler’s shoots. “He’s very professional, he’s not impressed by fancy people; he doesn’t do fancy things. He’s just as respectful to the photo assistant as he is to the celebrity.”
Celebrity portraiture, says Stickler, is all about collaboration where artist and subject create together. Some celebs get it. Most hide behind PR people and handlers.
“Publicists are there just to be party poopers,” says Stickler. “They have nothing to do with the creative process. I love it when I’m surprised by celebrity talent that shows up with no publicist, because that means they’re secure with themselves. Snoop was like that, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Jack Black — I find that people who have already made it are more relaxed.”
Since purchasing his own studio (an expansive loft that was once part of a bowling alley) in the Echo Park neighborhood of Los Angeles, Stickler’s own approach to his subjects has changed. He’s become more hands-off, less ready to impress.
“When I was starting out, my idea was — and I think a lot of photographers work this way — I’m going to show Joe Cool or Jane Famous that I’m on their level. I’m cool, sophisticated and worldly. ‘Hey, I’m like you! You can relax around me because I understand you.’ But that only gets you so far, and some photographers take it a little too far and get strung out from touring with bands. They kind of cross that line and never come back.”
Stickler insists he never meant to become a pro in the industry. He had shown an interest in drawing and painting while growing up in Seoul where his father had been a military man. (Stickler’s parents, John and Soma Han, are accomplished in their own right. She, a painter and illustrator; he, a former journalist and writer. The two have even published a book about Korea together.) It was after his family relocated to Northern California that he took his first photography class. Making prints in the darkroom offered the kind of instant gratification that trumped the hours required of an illustration. And he was taken with the power a real image possessed. Still, even while attending Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, Calif., he thought of photography as an activity, never a career.
He can’t remember if it was Henry Rollins for Mondo 2000 magazine or Perry Farrell for Spin, but one of the two musicians served as the first photo he was paid for. That led to other freelance gigs. It was a charmed life for a while — backstage passes, free CDs, managers who paid for swanky dinners, chilling with bands. The perks, however, didn’t pay the bills, so Stickler looked into fashion advertising and eventually stock agencies — the kind of places that sell things like the generic photos pre-programmed into your cell phone.
It’s hardly as sexy as an all-day shoot with Milla Jovovich or Iggy Pop (“some of my favorite subjects”) or Christian Bale (“super polite, I was so impressed”), but it offers Stickler refuge from an era rife with the need to be known.
“I like the idea that my work is gonna be on thousands of phones. No one knows or cares where that picture came from. I like that anonymous aspect. It’s the total opposite of being a well-known photographer. In a way, it’s refreshing.”
Today Stickler seeks a career outside of the one he’s created. He envisions traveling, lots of traveling, and a focus on conceptual photography — art pieces hinged on intention, not reputation. He lives alone, and says he stopped going out long ago, cooks a lot, hangs out with his two cats, watches sports, practices yoga and endures parental requests for grandchildren.
He hasn’t severed ties with the A-list, just faded into their background. And anyway, he doesn’t count himself among them.
“It’s still a surprise to me when people know my work. I guess the way I feel about myself is not really tied to what I do.”
He’s sounding relaxed and secure in his talent. Which, by his own definition, is the mindset of a true celebrity. The old school kind, of course.
Turn the page to take a peek at Stephen Stickler’s portfolio.
