I'm trying to remember the impression I felt the first time I saw one of Helmet Newton's photographs. It probably depicted a tall, naked, muscular, and busty young woman—his usual. I think I was a teenager when I saw one of his pictures for the first time, because what I'm remembering of the impression was a flickering combination of shock and intimidation, and the only reason I can account for such impressions is because I had likely never seen such an image before. I do however remember explicitly a yearning I felt whenever I looked at his pictures, a yearning that had nothing to do with eroticism: I wondered what the pictures would look like, how I would feel about them, if they had been shot by a woman.
Today I learned he had a wife who was also a photographer, June Newton, though she used the pseudonym April Springs at his request. They shot each other incessantly over the course of their long partnership. They collaborated together deeply, by which I mean she was heavily involved in his work and his vision. Later in life, they wore matching white tennis shoes. Her work was really good, some of the photographs even fantastic, but their greatness isn't as consistent as his were. But maybe if he had been as involved in her work as she was in his, that consistency might have been ensured.
I wonder how often she was on set with him, how often she gave the instructions for lighting, whether they got into fights about what type of prop to use, whether they both felt that tremendous sense of elation when you know you got the shot. I guess now I also know something: probably more so than we realize, it was a woman taking those pictures.
-Eugenie Dalland