The concept of the one-of-a-kind to me has been a
sacrosanct topic. I have to note here that I may be changing my mind. I have to admit that I began to question the concept in 1968 when I
met and married my Rosemary in Mexico City.
Until then I thought that the loveliest legs anywhere
were my mother’s. In those days when flyers deplaned onto the tarmac (and in
some cases the doors were opposite the viewing area) I always knew which
passenger was my mother by noting her legs. For years I have boasted that I
inherited my mother’s legs.
The fact is that when I noticed Rosemary’s legs, the first time I saw
her walking away in her mini skirt in a school we both worked, I was smitten.
Her long legs led to my now 47-year marriage. And, yes, there has to be more than
one-of-a-kind of anything and everything.
This most certainly applies to the many one-of-a-kind
women I have had the luck and pleasure to photograph all these years.
One of them is Inga Vollmer. The first time I saw her she
seemed to be like a young beautiful ice queen (she can and could look down on
you on either side of her patrician nose). But she wasn’t as scary as that
first impression. Here she is when I was still a tad afraid.