Returning to New York, he hired on at Vogue magazine as an associate; his job was to prepare layouts and suggest ideas for covers to the magazine’s photographer. The magazine’s Art Director, Alexander Liberman, looked at Penn’s contact sheets from his recent travels and recognized “a mind, and an eye that knew what it wanted to see.*” Liberman encouraged Penn to do more with his photographs, beginning a collaboration that transformed modern photography. While at Vogue, Penn traveled the world utilizing an old theater curtain as a backdrop, or a tent studio that could be dismantled and taken from location to location. Penn felt “in this limbo [of the tent] there was for us both the possibility of contact that was a revelation to me and often, I could tell, a moving experience for the subjects themselves, who without words—by only their stance and their concentration—were able to say much that spanned the gulf between our different worlds.”

Offset print production declined in the 1960s, increasingly frustrating Penn with how his images looked on the page. In response, he became an alchemist. Utilizing extensive research and experimentation, Penn sought out and implemented nineteenth-century printing methods in search of greater control over the subtle variations and tonalities he sought in a print. In the end, he perfected a complex process for printing in platinum and palladium metals, enlarging negatives for contact printing on hand-sensitized artist’s paper, which was adhered to an aluminum sheet so that it could withstand multiple coatings and printings.

Penn’s work trims away anything nonessential to his compositions and focuses on his subjects. Nothing feels frivolous yet the images aren’t dour. His work primarily filled the pages of Vogue, particularly the haute couture collections of Paris, but he also produced a series of nudes, cigarettes (yes, really), and street materials. These series were rarely enjoyed, many found them repulsive, but Penn saw in the subject matter “a treasure of the city’s refuse, intriguing distorted forms of color, stain, and typography.”

In 1950–51, inspired by old prints of street criers, Penn began a series of photographs depicting representatives of the Small Trades in Paris, London, and New York. The project began in Paris, where he was assisted in the selection of subjects by French Vogue editor Edmonde Charles-Roux and photographer Robert Doisneau. Penn’s reflections on the tradespeople:

In general, the Parisians doubted that we were doing exactly what we said we were doing. They felt there was something fishy going on, but they came to the studio more or less as directed— for the fee involved. But the Londoners were quite different from the French. It seemed to them the most logical thing in the world to be recorded in their work clothes. They arrived at the studio, always on time, and presented themselves to the camera with a seriousness and pride that was quite endearing. Of the three, the Americans as a group were the least predictable. In spite of our cautions, a few arrived for their sittings having shed their work clothes, shaved, even wearing dark Sunday suits, sure this was their first step on the way to Hollywood.

One of the major projects of Penn’s career, which he pursued intermittently between 1948 and 1971, was a group of photographs made during his travels which he called Worlds in a Small Room. Following an experience in Cuzco working in a daylight studio, Penn sought out other opportunities to improvise or bring a studio with him to make portraits in a neutral environment. These encounters attempted to bridge the gaps of language, culture, and geography, to connect on a human level.

* Quotes and images from The Irving Penn Foundation (website).

Quick note: apparently down in the weeds of Spanish internecine arguing there are debates about what the English name of this town even is. It says “A Coruña” on the maps, we’ll stick with that.

The trip was novel for us almost from the outset. First, we were guided to a different route than we were used to, presumably avoiding traffic. Cool, seeing new parts of the countryside! The next novelty was a little more embarrassing. Apparently, Portugal and Spain are in different time zones. Isn’t Portugal surrounded by Spain everywhere there isn’t water? Why yes it is! We don’t know why, probably because Portugal says “up” whenever Spain says “down”, but there ya go. So, since we were as innocent of this knowledge as Adam and Eve in the Garden, we watched out phones click over an hour and immediately throw our lunch reservations into disarray. Oops. Other than having to rearrange a few plans on the fly, though, it was actually a very pleasant ride up – nice scenery, good roads, the whole shebang.

The drive lasted 2.5 hours (or 3.5 if you count the time change, ahem) so we hit town at a little past 3pm. Fortunately, the restaurant our search engine redirected us to was open until 4 pm, so all was well. We found great parking that’s underground directly beneath a central plaza (a lot like Braga, actually) so we popped our heads up into fresh air with plenty of time to spare. In fact, we’ve learned that the parking is fan-freaking-tastic, just a few minutes from basically everywhere we want to go.

UN-fortunately, the search engine (you know, it’s the one beginning with G) had not been accurately updated for Carnival hours and the place we had been assured was green and open, was in fact closed up tight. We’re not usually fans of absolute blind darts thrown at restaurants, but needs must when our hunger drives. Happily, Meson La Rueda turned out to be a lovely, locals-only kinda place where, despite the fact that neither our command of English nor our plaintive requests of Portuguese did us any good, we ordered and consumed plates of langoustines (grilled shrimp), stuffed mussels, and a soft white cheese. All of this was accompanied by a chewy crusty bread and appropriate beverages (cola for himself, and the house white — an Albariño — for her).

Happily stuffed, we found our digs at Noro Plaza which, despite some peculiarities with their fancy new technologies has been an incredibly comfortable stay as of this writing. For about $105/ night, we scored a one-bedroom with a terrace that felt a lot more like a suite. A long hallway to a 2nd door was lined with plenty of rack space and room for suitcases to be unpacked. Two full baths. The sofa pulled into a bed, making this a perfect room for a family. On the terrace, a table for six would be perfect in warm weather for pre-dinner snacks, or breakfast, and there were a couple of chairs inviting us to sit in the dusk and read.

Smeg appliances — toaster, juicer, and electric kettle — added to the luxurious feeling of a well-considered kitchen area. Not much in the way of cookware, but a good (American-style) breakfast could be cooked. Noro Plaza was one of the best places we’ve stayed at in several years. (Easily in the top ten of all travels since 2007.)

A wander through the streets a bit after dark revealed masses of people in costumes — mostly cute, with a strong thread of cross-dressed men (usually fathers or family men) — out to celebrate Carnival. Nothing like the grand spectacle of Venice, but fun to see. Closing the doors to our terrace also shut out the noise from the nearby “rock” concert, and we were able to drift into a sound sleep.

Tomorrow is the real show, when we check out an international touring exhibition in a customized space (inside a converted silo complex) and then settle down to the tasting menu at really, really great restaurant.