Still Life: Bill Cunningham 1929 - 2016

This weekend the photographer Bill Cunningham passed away from complications due to a stroke. The New York Times fashion photographer edited two columns—On the Street and Evening Hours. Cunningham was on the other side of the lens at one point in his life as the subject of an incredibly moving documentary entitled Bill Cunningham New York.

Bill was often on the corner of 57th and 5th, taking photographs of the many eclectic styles worn by New Yorkers. Donning his signature blue smock, plain pants and sensible shoes, Bill was a hawk of an observer, supremely focused on his strutting prey. He quickly snapped pictures of unique individuals sauntering through the concrete jungle. At the end of an expedition, he’d unlock his bicycle and ride back to The Times to edit the On the Street layout, which showcased style trends. Bill also worked nights as an event photographer covering all-things high society, which was compiled into the Evening Hours spread.

Charming and ironic, the film allowed the viewer to see a man living an incredibly simple life amid all the flash of New York. Here’s a man who sometimes wore a black poncho and instead of throwing it away when there was a rip in it, he’d repair it and say, “…a little tape and we’re back in business.”

Bill Cunningham New York is a touching reminder that a simple, honest life can be a content, rich life, filled with passion for career, some good friends, and respect from others. Bill’s smile was full from ear to ear and was seen a lot throughout the film, especially at his 80th birthday party. He also poignantly reminded us on his trip to Paris of the old adage: “He who seeks beauty will find it.” And he made that search his life, however with that, seemingly came certain sacrifices, as captured in a emotionally raw scene between the film’s director, off camera, and Cunningham, sitting in front of his many filing cabinets. The subjects of romance, religion, and regret briefly revealed a crack in the armor, and like that rip in the pancho, it’s Cunningham’s smile that metaphorically served as the tape that got him back in business, always moving—or in his case—biking forward.

Cunningham was 87.