I was amazed when I first saw Grace Jones. She was the first to take radical fashion out of its predictable Parisian context and bring it into the music scene where I had always thought it belonged.
The first night watching her at Le Mouche I already had decided to work with her. That night she was singing her hit song ‘I need a man’ to a room full of shrieking gay bobby-soxers. The ambiguity of her act was that she herself looked like a man. A man singing ‘I need a man’ to a bunch of men.
I could see how the average guy could be a little scared by her physical appearance. It was so powerful. I thought she was… I thought she was great.
I photographed her in different positions. I cut her legs apart. Lengthened them. Turned her body to face the audience.
Soon I found myself living to the very fast rhythms of Grace Jones. We would go out dancing all night, every night. I was completely neglecting my work. An intense, hysterical romance developed between Grace and me. But I run out of money and realised I had to stop all this bullshit and get back to work.
I had this idea of using Grace as the ideal vehicle for my work. She had inspired me. On tour we used to improvise thinking of an idea at breakfast and working out directly onstage. I decided deliberately to mythologize Grace Jones. Black, shiny, muscular people, aerodynamic in design. It was to emphasize this belief that I painted Grace Jones blue/black.
I am no longer sure what I fell in love with, Grace or my idea of what Grace should be. But the two years following the birth of our son, there was nothing else in my life. Grace let me take her over completely.
Slave.
But then I discovered that what I was making was speeding too far beyond what was there. By the time our one man show reached the US I knew I had lost her.
Oh the action.