Today, of course, he is most well known for his photographic and film work with his weimaraners, which began in the mid-’70s. A breed originating in Germany, weimaraners are also known as the "gray ghost" because of their silvery coat color and amber or blue-gray eyes. They are primarily hunting dogs and retrievers, alert and protective of their owners. Their built is svelte and they are not as prone to overweight problems such as labrador retrievers. You can almost say they are the perfect canine models — obedient and sexy. Or maybe those are just Wegman’s dogs.
In one of his bestselling photo books and touring exhibits, Fashion Photographs, Wegman dresses up his dogs in haute couture by the most well known design houses including Giorgio Armani, Valentino, Issey Miyake, Anna Sui, Moschino, Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent, Dolce and Gabbana, and Jean Paul Gaultier. Another book, Fay, traces the development of his relationship and work with his second dog, Fay Ray, and her litter, which includes his current models, Battina, Crooky and Chundo.
The dogs are photographed in a variety of humorous and satirical poses in clothes designed for humans, not dogs. Sometimes they are simply dogs wearing very expensive clothes and shoes (a winter coat by Todd Oldham or high heels by Gucci for a night on the town) or sometimes as full-blown anthropomorphic images, half-man, half-dog – a witty parody of man and his best friend. (It brings to mind that Mel Brooks Starwars send-up where Chewbaca is a half-man, half-dog with the quip, "I’m my own best friend.")
The best thing about working with dogs as models is that you don’t have to put up with bulimia or tantrums. If a dog gets restless, all it needs is a milkbone, a chew toy or a walk. And they won’t be giving you Linda Evangelista-esque one-liners such as "I won’t get out of bed for less than $10,000."
Using 20"x24" Polaroid format, Wegman captures the essential beauty of the world of haute couture with his props of elaborate hats, wigs, leather gloves and shoes, handbags and evening dresses in imaginative anthropomorphic representations. (Anthropomorphic means assigning human characteristics or motivations to animals.)
He didn’t always dress up his dogs in signature wear or make them appear as having human limbs. For many years, Wegman collected all kinds of potential props and would use them in his work. But to understand the evolution of his photographic work, one must understand his relationships with his weimaraners and their relationship with each other.
First, there was Man Ray, his first dog in the 1970s. Man Ray had a blue-gray coat that "soaked up studio lights" and appeared black in photos. If Man Ray was a model looking for a job, he would be cast right away for a variety of jobs. All he had to do was present his astounding portfolio of original photos compiled in the book Man’s Best Friend where he metamorphoses into other animals — an elephant, a frog — using everyday objects such as socks. Or one of his most loved photos, "Dusted," where he appears ethereal, almost like a spirit ready to go into heaven, blanketed by white flour. Man Ray became a celebrity not just in the art world, but in mainstream media as well. He appeared on the cover of Avalanche, ArtForum and Village Voice. He guested on The David Letterman Show and in short videos for Saturday Night Live, among others.
"Without him, I went unrecognized," William Wegman writes in Fay.
Ironically, it was Wegman’s first wife that wanted the dog. In September 1970, he had promised her they would get a dog when they moved from Wisconsin to California. Says Wegman in an interview, "Someone said weimaraners are good dogs, and they were svelte. I had never heard of them. The next day we saw an ad in the newspaper, ‘Weimaraner puppies for sale: $35.’ We went to see. Only one male, round, plump, gray — disinterested. She wanted him. I wasn’t sure. A coin toss would decide. Heads, no; tails, yes. Tails. Five straight. His name came to me in a ray of inspiration. ‘Man Ray!’ He looked like a little man. He had a lot of ideas for me."
So loved was this dog that Village Voice named him "Man of the Year" in 1982, the year he died.
For three years, William Wegman was dog-less. He started to paint again — "Not dogs. Anything but. I wanted to be far away from dogs. I got used to the idea of not having a dog. In a way it was kind of a relief. I could travel. I hate to travel." Besides, Man Ray was irreplaceable and Wegman was still in mourning.
Then he met Fay in 1985. A female weimaraner with a coat the color of cinnamon (her original owner called her "Cinnamon Girl" after Neil Diamond’s song). She was the second dog that Wegman vowed not to get or photograph. It so happened that he was invited by a professor and breeder at the university where he was giving a talk to look at her dogs. She offered him one of her puppies. "I was stunned, but found the words: No, thank you."
The next day, Wegman went to her house. "Damp dogs like wet sweaters covered me as I knelt down to pat them in the rain. I didn’t have to worry about choosing a puppy. I was just looking. I could just enjoy the moment."
Then he saw her. "She had the eyes of a jungle cat, a young lioness by Rousseau." Wegman fell in love. "I couldn’t get Cinnamon Girl out of my mind. That night all night long I dreamt about her. Fay Ray I would name her."
On a Sunday, he called the breeder and said, "Send Cinnamon Girl."
When Fay Ray got to New York City, everything frightened her. When they would go out for a walk, and someone made a noise, she would go out of control "like a downed helicopter."
Wegman wanted to return the dog to the breeder in Memphis, but what would he tell her? It wasn’t until the day that Fay found the tennis ball in his apartment that she began to relax and feel at home in the city. Over and over again, they played fetch and "from that moment there was joy."
Fay’s debut as a model would come many months later. "It was hard not taking Fay’s picture but I solemnly swore not to. She was attractive — more elegant than Man Ray. I looked at her admiringly but I didn’t take her picture. The memory of Man Ray was still pulling me away from that."
In Maine, as he was taking photos of his props in the midst of spruce trees, a frustrated Wegman included Fay in the composition. Fay sitting with a Wonder Woman mask on her face. He had broken his promise but not without guilt.
Back in New York, he was commissioned to do a short video for Saturday Night Live. He did a dog baseball video, which had humans batting and pitching, and several dogs guarding the bases and catching the ball. Humans won: 2-0 and Fay debuted on national TV.
Her public photographic debut was at the Penn Station, an installation work commissioned by New York City Public Art Fund. Wegman photographed Fay and Charlie, a black-and-white "everyday dog who knew both Man Ray and Fay." Applying theatrical makeup on their faces — red for Charlie, yellow and blue for Fay — Wegman photographed them and later mounted the photos in 10 light boxes. One passerby asked him, "Is that for Playboy?"
Like he did with Man Ray, Wegman worked with Fay at the Polaroid 20x24 studio 12 blocks from where he lived. The camera is for actual-size portraits, which inspired Wegman to take her picture while she was seated on a stool or table or chair, putting height to her posture.
Fay was a pretty model. Under different lighting, her coat appeared to have different colors. It was purple brown in the dark-blue studio, cinnamon and dusty rose against pink set paper, gray against another color. "Fay Ray the chameleon" he called her. Think of a supermodel changing her look with every dress, then remove the ego and eating disorder from the picture.
Unlike other dogs, Fay was an obedient model. She liked being fussed over, adorned with props. She was relaxed even when the strobe lights surrounding her flashed, even when she was put under a net or in an artist’s box or wrapped in foil.
"Once I committed to photographing Fay, there was no turning back. Picture followed pictured followed pictured. I never, even for a second, did not know what to do next. And it was enjoyable work."
His work with her included many more short videos, this time for Sesame Street. Fay would teach kids how to add and subtract with a blue ball. In 1991, Wegman and Fay made station IDs for Nickelodeon. "In households where there were children between the ages of three and five," says Wegman, "Fay became a household name." In 1995, he made a short film called The Hardly Boys in Hardly Gold, starring Fay and her children, which was screened in the 1996 Sundance Film Festival.
One day, Wegman took a long beige dress and jacket from his chest of props. Fay sat on a stool and he slung the jacket still on a hanger over her head with the length of the dresses covering the stool. The photo appears to be of a stern "woman" glaring at somebody who had done wrong. Fay was also an actress.
What followed were photographs of Fay in dresses and costumes bought from flea markets in New York. Wegman learned to take her photo only from the front because if he took it from the side, she appeared like a hunchback. In one photo, which was taken with Alexandra Edwards, both girls are wearing lacy, romantic dresses. Alexandra’s is long-sleeved while Fay’s is short-sleeved, making her look "like an amputee." Fay’s eyes are focused on Alexandra, her expression is priceless. Wegman titled the piece "Arm Envy."
The concept of anthropomorphism would not have progressed until a little incident in the Polaroid studio. Wegman’s assistant Andrea Beeman was standing behind Fay, adjusting the dress and she gestured towards Wegman with her hands. Wegman looked up and was astonished to see the picture: Andrea’s long arms looked like Fay’s. He asked Andrea to duck down and snapped the picture: An invisible human and a dog with arms.
Thus began the many anthropomorphic pictures of Fay. Fay as an Egyptian god with six pairs of arms, as a long-haired singer, as a woman with long legs, a woman going to market. This concept would be extended to film where Fay would play the mom of two Hardy Boys-like detectives. In it, the dogs are playing golf, paddling a canoe – long arduous filming. The narrative is voiced over, the dialogue short. Wegman refuses to digitally manipulate his work. That would "destroy the inherent beauty and integrity" of the work.
Wegman’s anthropomorphic photos look like they have been Photoshop-ed into their final images, but they’re not. Wegman just has very good models: A dog who would sit still on a stool or a chair and some very big dresses or yards and yards of fabric to hide the stool and the person (with long arms, of course) behind her. A dog who would wear a wig and fake eyelashes, roller skates or Texan boots for a good shot.
Did Fay know how famous she was? How humorous these poses were? "Like Man Ray, Fay showed no interest in the actual physical photograph, nor in the moving video image beyond a momentary glance. TV sets and Polaroid photographs offer nothing to a dog. Fay kept to her own realm, leaving me to my complicated agenda while tantalizing my imagination with moments of intersection."
What Fay found extraordinary was twins. "A visitor and his twin brother came by one day. I thought she would never stop staring at them — first one then the other and back. She didn’t stop, back and forth the entire visit. You should have seen her."
When Fay was four, she was mated with a weimaraner that was bred in Germany. The owner had to ask permission for the "marriage" from the German breeders.
Fay had eight whelps: Blaise, Art, Speedy, Glenn, Ken, Chundo, Crooky and Battina. Like any dog lover, Wegman’s heart was won over by the runt of the litter: Battina. The rest of the dogs were given to his family members and friends.
With Fay and Battina in the house, Wegman was able to create a series of photographs based on their relationship. Fay had become domineering and Batty learned her lesson early but not without incident. She wouldn’t touch her treat until Fay had hers; she wouldn’t pass through the door until Fay did; she wouldn’t catch the ball until Fay showed no interest in it.
What followed was a series of photos between the two girls titled "Mother and Child" with Fay in a housedress holding Batty with her human arms; "Underdog" with the two girls on a chair, Batty under the cushion and Fay on top; and the most compelling in the series: "Innocent and Guilt," with Fay looking stern and angry and Batty with her eyes closed, like she was awaiting the dressing down.
When Wegman began doing the fairy tale series, it was easy to cast Cinderella and the wicked stepmother.
In between all this, he and his wife Christine had their first child, whom they named Atlas and the dogs took to him immediately.
When Batty turned five, they decided to breed her. In May 1995, Batty went into labor. "The day was eventful but not joyful." One pup did not survive.
That month, Fay who had mastered the art of feigning illness was diagnosed with acute leukemia. At the animal hospital, Wegman stayed with her outside her cage and fed her intravenously. After a week of chemotherapy, Fay seemed stronger and Wegman took her home. A few days later, she was brought back to the hospital and on June 7, 1995, Fay — who had graced the covers of Vogue, The New York Times and Vanity Fair — died.
"Some years have gone by and I have yet to release her," writes Wegman, who dreams of another summer at the lake with Fay.
Wegman’s work as a photographer overshadows his talent as a writer (and as a painter and filmmaker). His books are not only lighthearted and warm, but also a tribute to the rich relationship he has had with his weimaraners. His work for children include films and books that teach kids the ABCs and how to count, and several fairy-tale books.
Fashion Photographs is the culmination of his work with Fay and her litter (Batty, Crooky and Chundo), the third generation of his artistic partners. While it is for the fashionista to savor, it is his writing in Fay that truly wins the dog lover’s heart.