#American photographer Lee Miller

[t-jfh]

Detail of Self portrait with headband, New York Studio, New York, USA c1932 by Lee Miller.

© Lee Miller Archives England 2023

Portrait of Space, Al Bulwayeb, near Siwa, Egypt 1937 by Lee Miller.

© Lee Miller Archives England 2023

Fire Masks, Downshire Hill, London, England 1941 by Lee Miller.

© Lee Miller Archives England 2023

Nude bent forward, Paris, France c1930 by Lee Miller.

© Lee Miller Archives England 2023

A beauty who captured war’s ugliness, Lee Miller’s time is finally here: Surrealist Lee Miller is at Heide Museum of Modern Art from November 4, 2023 to February 25, 2024.

The model, muse, photographer and trailblazer is the subject of a new exhibition - and a film starring Kate Winslet.

The exhibition, Surrealist Lee Miller, at Heide Museum of Modern Art features more than 100 photographs, spanning portrait, fashion and surrealist photography in Paris and New York in the 1920s and ’30s, along with landscape, architecture and World War II.

By Kerrie O'Brien

The Age - October 29, 2023

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Lee Miller

On April 30, 1945, photojournalists David E. Scherman and Lee Miller produced one of the most controversial photographic series of the twentieth century; while documenting Hitler's apartment on the day of his suicide, they photographed each other bathing in the Führer's tub. In Hatje Cantz's new release, Elissa Mailänder writes, "Within Germany, Hitler represented less horror and mass violence than he did rebirth and the ambitious project to Germanize Europe. Miller observed Hitler’s neighbors in Bogenhausen with perplexity: 'The attitude of these Germans was odd. They talked quite normally about... that Hitler was a great man with the right ideas, but he had been badly advised and controlled by gangsters.' Considering the widespread goodwill and profound respect for Hitler, Miller’s and Scherman’s action, as a woman and especially as a Jew, can be interpreted as an act of provocation. It was a (successful) attempt to deconstruct the Führer as a (German) identification figure and hereby to undermine his aura at a time when the war had not officially ended. Although Hitler and his wife had just taken their lives, Germany, which lay in ruins, had not yet capitulated. Embedded in that contemporaneous context, the bathtub photographs sent a clear and defiant message to Germany and international society: The Führer is dead. And now we are here."

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Lee Miller

Hatje Cantz

$45.00

Pbk, 8.25 x 11.5 in. / 160 pgs / 70 color.

Pub Date: 8/25/2015 | Not available

U.S. $45.00 CAD $60.00

ISBN 9783775739559

Edited by Klaus Albrecht Schröder, Walter Moser. Text by Anna Hanreich, Astrid Mahler, Elissa Mailänder, Walter Moser, Ute Wrocklage.

Lee Miller (1907-77) began her artistic career in 1929 as a Surrealist photographer in Paris. She produced images, often in collaboration with Man Ray, in which she isolated motifs by means of tight framing and experimental techniques, and in doing so rendered visible a paradoxical reality.

This publication surveys Miller's best works, including early Surrealist compositions as well as travel photos. At the end of World War II, Miller traveled through Europe as a war reporter, producing harrowing photographs of considerable historical significance. One of her most spectacular pictures originated in late April 1945 in Adolf Hitler's city apartment at Prinzregentenplatz in Munich: Lee had a photo taken of herself sitting naked in the dictator's bathtub--not long after having captured on film the crimes committed in the concentration camps in Dachau and Buchenwald immediately after their liberation by the occupying forces (Miller was one of the first photographers to do so).

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[the-cricket-chirps]

Man Ray

Lee Miller

c. 1930

[aiiaiiiyo]

[meazalykov]

dance moms

laura freigang x dancer!reader

summary: after moving back to germany, to escape the chaos you've suffered in the states, you meet a photographer (who happens to be a footballer as well.)

a/n: if you don't know what the american reality show "dance moms" is, I'd do some basic research in order to understand the first part of this fic <3

growing up at the ALDC felt like being in a pressure cooker. 

you were only two years old when your mom, isla, moved the both of you from germany to pennsylvania in the united states. 

she put you in dance classes as soon as she could. at first, it was exciting—you loved the way your body could express emotions through movement. you loved gaining flexibility and having a routine. you loved performing and getting to put on pretty costumes. but that changed the moment dance moms came into the picture.

at just eleven years old, you were pulled into the chaotic world of reality TV. cameras followed your every move, every mistake. 

abby lee miller’s constant critiques weighed you down, her screaming echoing in your head long after rehearsals ended. she changed since the cameras started filming her. 

“you’ll never be good enough if you don’t push harder, y/n!” she’d shout during practice, her words biting deep into your skin like needles.

there were moments where you had solos. those were the dances you loved the most. you always scored very well and got on top of the pyramid whenever maddie wasn’t. 

sometime during season four, there was a significant moment that didn’t leave your mind for a while. 

you stood in the wings at a competition in san diego, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath after your solo. the adrenaline rushed through your veins, but it was dulled by the sinking feeling in your stomach. 

you’d stumbled on one of your turns—something that wasn’t like you at all. but it was there, clear as day, right in front of the judges and the audience. and now, you were about to face abby.

as soon as they announced the results, you knew it wasn’t going to be good. 

second place. you’d lost to maddie. again. but what made it worse was that you weren’t just up against anyone—this was a week where you were up against the candy apples. abby’s biggest rivals. 

this meant that her mood was already sour, and you knew this was going to tip her over the edge.

the second you stepped into the dressing rooms, abby’s gaze was already locked on you, her face a storm of frustration and anger. 

she didn’t even wait for everyone to sit down before coming at you.

“second place?” abby barked, her voice sharp as a whip. “second place, y/n? you know that’s not acceptable. not here!” 

you flinched but kept your head down, your heart racing. you wanted to explain—to say that the stumble was a mistake, something you couldn’t control—but you knew it wouldn’t matter. not to abby.

“what happened out there?” she demanded, sitting down in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. 

“you stumbled on a turn, y/n. a turn! something you should be perfect at by now.”

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. “i know, abby. i’m sorry. i—i just—”

“sorry isn’t good enough,” abby cut you off, her voice dripping with disappointment. “you don’t get to be sorry when you’re given this great opportunity! maddie would’ve never done that and her first place showed that!” 

the mention of maddie stung more than anything. it always felt like you were in her shadow, no matter how hard you worked. no matter how much you tried to prove yourself. 

abby’s golden girl could do no wrong, and you were left picking up the pieces when you didn’t measure up.

“you’re better than that,” abby continued, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

“you’re one of my best dancers, but today? you danced like an amateur. you embarrassed me, y/n. you embarrassed this entire team.”

her words hit you like a slap, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. you didn’t want to cry—not in front of abby, not in front of the other girls—but it was hard to hold it in.

“abby, i’m—”

“don’t say you’re sorry again,” she snapped, her voice rising. 

“i don’t want to hear it. i want you to do better. no more mistakes, no more excuses. if you want to be a star, you need to act like one. and today, you didn’t.”

you stood there, frozen, trying to keep your emotions in check as abby continued to berate you. 

it felt like the weight of the world was crushing you, and all you wanted was for the ground to swallow you whole.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, abby huffed and shook her head. “go. i don’t want to look at you right now.”

with those final words, you turned and walked away to get ready for the group dance, your body feeling heavier with every step. 

backstage before the group, you caught maddie’s eye, and she gave you a small, sympathetic smile. but it didn’t make you feel any better. nothing could right now.

you wanted to scream, to cry, to ask your mom why she let you stay in this mess, why she let abby tear you down like this. 

your mom stood by you and seemed like your biggest supporter. but as the years passed and you became a fixture on the show, you started to wonder why she allowed it. 

why she let abby break you down, week after week. 

“mom, why do we keep doing this?” you asked one evening after a particularly brutal competition weekend. 

“why do you let her treat me like this?” 

“it’s for your future, y/n,” isla had said, eyes clouded with hope—or maybe guilt. 

“you’re going to be a star.”

but that wasn’t how you felt. you didn’t want to be a star anymore. 

after six seasons on dance moms, you were burnt out. drained. you’d lost your passion for dance, the thing that once gave you joy now filled with dread. 

when you turned sixteen, you’d had enough. 

“i can’t do this anymore,” you told your mom one night after another exhausting filming day. “i want out.”

isla had hesitated, but eventually, the both of you left the show. the cameras stopped rolling, but the damage had already been done. 

the chaos, the constant pressure to be perfect—it stripped you of any love you had for dancing. you couldn’t even look at a dance studio without feeling a knot form in your stomach. 

you grew distant from your mom too. it was hard to understand why she had put you through it. 

“why didn’t you just protect me?” you’d whispered one evening, tears filling your eyes. but isla didn’t have an answer that made sense.

by the time you turned 19 in 2019, you were desperate for a fresh start. you packed your things and moved back to frankfurt germany, your birthplace. 

germany felt different—calmer, quieter. your mother didn’t come back with you which relieved you.

it was exactly what you needed. 

over the next few years, you dove into therapy, trying to unpack the trauma of your childhood. it was slow, difficult work, but through it, you discovered a few other hobbies like photography, and ceramics. you went to university too.

and then, suddenly, almost unexpectedly, dance found its way back to you. 

therapy helped you see it differently—no longer as something tied to pain, but as something that had once been yours. something beautiful. 

by 2022, you were back in the studio, dancing again, feeling lighter than you had in years.

you built your own studio in a nice neighborhood in frankfurt. you weren’t a dance instructor now, maybe someday, but you used the space to practice or hire (emotionally available) dance instructors to help you.

one afternoon, while you were in the middle of a lyrical practice, your friend macy and her sister, sara, showed up at your studio.

the three of you had become close since you moved back to germany. 

macy went to your university before you both graduated. she had nice tan skin and long raven colored hair. 

her older sister sara is a footballer who plays for frankfurt frauen. sara was like an older sister to you, while macy was your confidant. 

“y/n, you’ve gotta hear this,” macy said, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

you wiped sweat from your forehead, raising an eyebrow. “what now?”

“sara’s photographer friend wants to take pictures of you, specifically, for her portfolio, she’s been keeping up with your instagram content!” macy explained. sara nodded in agreement.

“you know, someone who can capture those insane moves of yours,” sara chimed in with a laugh.

you hesitated for a moment, but to your own surprise, you agreed. “okay, sure. why not?”

both macy and sara looked shocked. 

“wow, that was easier than i thought it would be,” macy said, her eyes wide.

“yeah, thought we’d have to convince you a little more,” sara added with a chuckle.

two days later, you found yourself at a field location, waiting for the photographer. 

the sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the area, when you saw her—laura freigang. 

she was taller than you expected, with an easy smile and a camera slung over her shoulder. you couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was, and you made a mental note to ask sara about her later.

“you must be y/n, i’m laura” laura said, walking up to you.

“that’s me,” you replied, feeling a little flustered as her eyes met yours. 

the shoot started, and laura was immediately in her element, capturing your movements with film. she had a way of making you feel comfortable, encouraging you to move naturally. 

“that’s perfect, just like that,” she’d say, her voice soft but confident. the tone of her voice made you feel a certain type of way as well.

you danced freely, twirling and leaping in the open field, and every now and then, you’d catch her smiling at you from behind the camera. 

there was one moment where laura calls you out for something, 

“where are you from in america?” laura asked. 

this was during a water break after shooting yourself doing high kicks and pirouettes.

“i was born here, but i lived in pennsylvania after i turned two. for a while i lived in california but that was until 3 years ago, when i moved back here.” you swallowed, thinking about the distant memories of your childhood. 

“pennsylvania! i went to penn state for a while!” laura says, surprised. 

“that is so cool!”

afterwards, there was definitely some flirting going on—small comments, lingering looks. after the shoot wrapped up, laura lowered her camera, looking at you with a playful glint in her eyes. 

“you know, this was fun. thank you for doing this for me. we should do it again sometime… maybe over dinner?”

you blinked, caught off guard but quickly recovering. 

“are you asking me out on a date, laura freigang?”

she smirked. “i guess i am.”

you smiled. “okay, i’m in.”

two days later, you were sitting across from her at a cozy restaurant, the low hum of conversation filling the air. 

the two of you clicked instantly, talking about everything from the shoot to your different interests. halfway through the meal, you said something which confuses laura. 

“do you have other hobbies beside photography? you seem like a pretty busy woman.” you smirk. 

“i’m sorry?” laura’s eyebrows raise. 

your eyes widen, afraid that you said something that is offensive.

“wait i’m sorry– its just sara tells me that you’re a photographer so i wondered if you do other things. do you go to another uni here after you left penn state or if you do modeling or–” you pause as laura giggles. 

“i’m flattered that you think i am a model– but i play for frankfurt and the german national team with sara...”

your eyes widened in surprise. how did sara not tell you this? she just made it seem like laura was just a photographer in frankfurt.

“wait, seriously? you’re a footballer and a photographer?”

laura grinned. “yeah. i like to keep busy.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling more flustered than you’d like to admit. 

“that’s... really impressive,” you said, feeling a little shy under her gaze.

as time passed, you started going to laura’s games, cheering her on from the stands. 

your bond deepened with every date, every conversation, until one day, laura asked you to be her girlfriend inside of her living room.

the soft glow of the floor lamp laura has casting a warm light over her space. you sat on her couch, legs curled under you, a half-empty cup of tea resting on the table in front of you. 

you’d spent the evening like this, just talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. but now, a comfortable silence had settled between you, the kind that felt intimate without needing to be filled.

laura sat beside you, her arm resting along the back of the couch. you could feel the warmth of her presence next to you, and every so often, your hands would brush when one of you reached for something or shifted in your seat. 

each touch sent a small spark of electricity through you, a reminder of the feelings you’d been harboring for her since that photoshoot months ago.

“you’ve been quiet for a bit,” you finally said, glancing over at her, noticing the way her jaw clenched slightly, like she was trying to find the right words.

she looked at you, her eyes soft but searching. “yeah, i’ve just… been thinking,” she said quietly, her voice low and a little hesitant.

“thinking?” you asked, your heartbeat quickening just a little. you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind those light colored eyes of hers. “about what?”

she took a deep breath, turning her body slightly toward you. the air in the room shifted, something heavier settling between the two of you. “about you,” she said, her voice steady now, like she had finally made up her mind about what she wanted to say.

your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your chest tighten. "me?" you asked softly, not sure where this was going, but the intensity in laura's gaze was undeniable.

“yeah, you,” she repeated, her eyes not leaving yours. 

“we’ve spent a lot of time together these past few months, nearly everyday, and i’ve really gotten to know you. i didn’t expect to feel this way when i first met you at that shoot, but,” she trailed off, her hand moving to gently take yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

your heart raced as she spoke, her words settling in the space between you like a confession you’d been secretly waiting for but never expected to hear. 

“laura…” you started, but the words caught in your throat, your emotions tangled up in the moment.

“i know this might be a lot,” she said, her grip on your hand tightening just slightly, “but i really like you, y/n. i don’t want to keep dancing around it anymore.” she paused, her eyes softening as she looked at you, her vulnerability laid bare. 

you both giggled at her pun before she spoke, 

“can i be your girlfriend?”

“what wait?” you were surprised. 

“will you be my girlfriend!?”

for a moment, you couldn’t speak. your mind raced with thoughts of every moment you’d shared, the way she made you feel without even trying, the way her presence made the world seem quieter, more bearable. 

you’d known this was going to happen someday, but hearing her say it out loud made it all feel more real than you’d imagined.

“yes,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. but the word hung in the air like a promise, and the smile that broke across laura’s face made your heart feel like it might burst. “yes, i’d love to.”

her smile widened, and she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours for a moment, the closeness of her sending a shiver down your spine. 

"yay," she murmured softly, her breath warm against your skin.

your fingers intertwined with hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go of the fears, the doubts, the baggage from your past. 

in that moment, it was just you and laura, your hearts laid bare, and the quiet understanding that something beautiful was beginning between the two of you.

you chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look at laura fully. “how about i cook for you? tomorrow night?” you suggested, your eyes sparkling with excitement. 

"i’m pretty good in the kitchen."

laura raised an eyebrow, smirking. "oh really? a dancer, a university graduate, and a chef? you're just full of surprises."

you grinned, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “you’ll have to find out for yourself.” 

and as she pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, you couldn’t help but feel like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

it didn’t take long for fan pages to catch on. suddenly, everyone was talking about how one of their favorite childhood dancers was now dating a german footballer. 

fans were floored and happy for you-- but to you, it was surreal in the best way. 

as you sat next to laura after one of her games, her hand wrapped around yours, you couldn’t help but think that despite everything—despite the chaos of your past—you’d finally found happiness. 

my masterlist is here if you want to read more!

a/n: wrote this two months ago but i wasn’t sure if i liked the writing and the concept😭 ill still post it anyways

[bishopsbox]

source: bishopsbox

American photographer Lee Miller, by Man Ray (c. 1930)

[abwwia]

Dorothea Margaret Tanning (1910-2012) in her studio, Sedona, Arizona, 1946, with her painting that would become Maternity (1946-47). Photograph by American photographer and photojournalist, Lee Miller (1907–1977).

[justforbooks]

Who was Lee Miller?

Why the model-turned-war photographer is finally getting her due

A surrealist with an incisive eye, finding the beauty and absurdity of everyday life. A model who posed for Vogue and sat for Pablo Picasso and Man Ray, but whose fashion career was suddenly cut short. A war photographer who embedded with the US military to chronicle the harrowing events of World War II — and posed defiantly in Hitler’s bathtub on the day of his death.

Lee Miller was an American artist who remade herself many times without straying from the principles that guided her life and career. When she died in 1977, her photographic work had largely been forgotten; her own family was unaware of the scope of her practice, and what she witnessed in the war, until they found her cache of negatives. Now, five decades later, she’s the subject of the Kate Winslet-led biopic “Lee,” which premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September, as well as a recent monograph of her work and an exhibition at mega-gallery Gagosian in New York, where some of her prints were for sale.

Her son, photographer Antony Penrose — whose father was the British surrealist painter Roland Penrose, whom Miller married in 1947 — has made it his life’s work to bring attention to his mother’s legacy. He co-directs her archive with his daughter, Ami Bouhassane, and has authored multiple books about Miller, including the most recent, “Lee Miller: Photographs.” For the past decade, he’s consulted on “Lee” as it came together, and has finally begun its run in both the United Kingdom and Spain.

“There were movies proposed and very nearly made before,” Penrose said. “This is the one that we’ve been waiting for, because I feel it is a brilliant rendition of Lee’s life, values and personality.”

He still recalls how “bewildering” it was when he and his late wife, Suzanna, found some 60,000 of her negatives and prints in their attic shortly after Miller’s death. She had developed a unique surrealist way of looking at the world, capturing everyday eccentricities that play with the viewer’s perception: a scratched-up door at a jewelry store becomes a small explosion of sparks; tar spilled on the street glistens darkly like some deep-sea or cave-bound creature.

But her range was staggering. Here was Elsa Schiaparelli supine among two cheetah sculptures, and Marlene Dietrich posing in dramatic sun in the designer’s ruched house coat. Here was a crowd of people spitting on four women, their heads shaved, as they went to trial for accusations of associating with Nazis. Here were the bodies of concentration camp victims in Dachau, and the liberated prisoners standing over a pile of human bones.

“None of us — and that includes my father — knew the scope of Lee’s work, particularly her war work,” Penrose said of his mother. “She deliberately didn’t tell him what was going on, because she didn’t want him to be worried.”

After the war, Miller struggled with depression and alcohol dependency, decades before post-traumatic stress disorder — and its symptoms — was officially recognized. When the occasional curator or art historian would turn up to better understand the depth of her work, Penrose said Miller would deflect the focus and downplay her career. It’s only been through her archive that he was able to understand the life she lived.

“It was a voyage of discovery,” Penrose added. “It was like finding a person that we had not known before — way beyond our kind of understanding and knowledge.”

Reinventing herself

For many years, Miller was remembered primarily for her modeling work in New York and with the reductive label of “muse” during her time in Paris. She sat for Pablo Picasso as he painted her in lurid yellow and green, illustrating her “extraordinary wit and liveliness… and a very bold, confrontational approach to life,” according to Jason Ysenburg, a director at Gagosian and co-curator of the gallery’s show “Lee Miller and Friends”.

She was also often remembered — but not credited — for her portrait collaborations with Man Ray, with whom she was romantically involved and remained friends throughout her life.

“Those images of Lee were as much by Lee as by Man Ray,” added Richard Calvocoressi, the show’s other co-curator.

Miller has been described by many as a supermodel on the cusp in her early twenties, a period just before she met Man Ray. But she was seemingly blacklisted by fashion clients overnight, after a portrait of her by the photographer Edward Steichen was licensed for a Kotex ad promoting menstrual products.

“She absolutely came to a crash stop. Nobody wanted the Kotex girl modeling their frocks,” Penrose said. “She didn’t even know that the photograph was going to be used for that purpose — it was bought through an agency.”

Though Miller used the setback as a sign to shift her practice, sexist social structures continued to shape her career. Art historians and curators of the 20th century relegated female surrealists — many of whom appear in Miller’s images, like the painter Leonora Carrington and the photographer Dora Maar — to the sidelines of the movement when they were, in actuality, crucial figures; Penrose recalls that his own father referred to them more as “muses” than artists in their own right, despite their prolific outputs.

But despite the imbalances within their group, Miller’s time with her friends ahead of World War II was seemingly idyllic. She’d left Paris in 1932 for New York when her relationship with Man Ray ended, and then unexpectedly married Egyptian businessman Aziz Eloui Bey and moved to Cairo. When she spent the summer of 1937 back in Paris and met Roland, it sparked a two-year affair (and series of love letters when they were apart), that eventually resulted in the dissolution of her marriage.

Some of Miller’s emblematic images of the period show their vacations across the south of France from beach outings with Roland, Picasso and Maar and the model Ady Fidelin, to a picnic that has drawn comparisons to Édouard Manet’s famed painting “Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe” as a topless Fidelin is pictured alongside Man Ray, the poet Paul Éluard and artist Nusch Éluard.

But as Ysenburg points out, the tumult of the era had already begun — Nazism brewed in Germany and the Spanish Civil War broke out, prompting Picasso’s monumental and career-defining work “Guernica” which was painted the same year Miller returned to Paris.

“It was a community that in the sense that they were friends and lovers,” Ysenburg explained. “It seemed a very carefree time for them in a world that was changing very quickly.”

She saw ‘what we’re missing’

Many artists fled Europe in the 1940s, and Miller could have gone back to New York to safety, Penrose said. But she’d settled down with Roland in London and refused to leave, instead becoming a photojournalist for British Vogue, documenting women who were contributing to the war efforts, and taking both fashion and street images during the Blitz.

Later, she was accredited as an official correspondent with the US armed forces — one of just four such female photographers. During this period, in Normandy and in Munich she worked closely with the Life photojournalist David E. Scherman. Together, they entered Hitler’s apartment with soldiers on April 30, 1945, the same day that Hitler shot himself in his bunker in Berlin. Just that morning, Miller and Scherman had taken photographs in Dachau; Miller tracked mud from the concentration camp all over the apartment’s floor before stripping down to pose in the bathtub. She took the same photo of Scherman, who was Jewish, as well.

“Those boots carried her that morning around the concentration camp, and now she’s grinding the filth of that place into Hitler’s nice clean bathroom,” Penrose said. “They prove that she’s not there as a guest in his house. She’s a victor.”

Even as Miller faced the harrowing effects of the war across Europe — sights that would take a toll on her in its aftermath — she still maintained her keen artist’s eye. After all, she believed there was nothing “more surrealist, more mad, more nightmarish” than the war, according to Calvocoressi.

“Even in the most dangerous and demanding circumstances, she’s still looking out for weird, quirky images,” Penrose said. “I find that that so endearing — the hallmark of her artistry is just to see what we’re missing.”

Miller took her last assignment for Vogue in the early 1950s, as Penrose notes that she could no longer meet deadlines because of her declining mental health. But she didn’t stop photographing, taking some 1,000 photographs of Picasso as Roland worked on his biography, which published in 1958.

Penrose said that throughout the course of her career, she was always “looking for the metaphor” in her surroundings. Of the many poetic moments she captured, one took place in front of the Vienna Opera House in Austria’s capital in late 1945 amid the lingering destruction of war. Framed by twisted metal support beams and rubble, the soprano Irmgard Seefried is photographed singing an aria from the Italian opera “Madame Butterfly,” in what Penrose believes to be an image set up by Miller — who captured her with arms outstretched, completely in silhouette.

“In a way, it’s a reversal, because you would have expected the singer to be beautifully lit from all kinds of sources.” Penrose explained.

“Gone is the costume. gone is any kind of glamorization… what we have is this absolute passion, about the triumph of art over destruction.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[kvetchlandia]

Man Ray Lee Miller, Paris 1928

"I’d been carrying Hitler’s Munich address around in my pocket for years and finally I had a chance to use it. But my host wasn’t home. I took some pictures of the place and also I got a good night’s sleep in his bed. I even washed the dirt of Dachau off in his tub." Lee Miller, on sleeping in Hitler's Munich apartment after entering that city as a combat photographer accompanying American troops.

[milliondollarbaby87]

Lee (2023) Review

The story and life of American photographer Lee Miller, a fashion model who became an acclaimed war correspondent for Vogue magazine during World War II. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Continue reading Lee (2023) Review

[fromthedust]

Lee Miller (American, 1907-1977)

Mask and eye-shield worn by British women as protection from incendiary bombs. One holds an air-raid warden’s whistle. - photograph - US Vogue, page 60 - 15 July 1941

[maysshortmoviereviews]

Lee (2023)

The story of American photographer Lee Miller, a fashion model who became an acclaimed war correspondent for Vogue magazine during World War II.

I went to watch this with low expectations because all I had read were negative reviews, but I ended up really enjoying it. I knew nothing about Lee Miller's story, and I found her to be a fascinating and brave woman. The film could have spent more time on her experiences during the war, but it felt like there was a lot to condense into one movie. Overall, it's enjoyable, but if you're looking for a more in-depth story, you might be disappointed.

P.S. I felt Alexander Skarsgård is miscast in his role. I wasn't convinced by his British accent.

[the-cricket-chirps]

Lee Miller, David Shermann, Dressed for War, London, 1942

Lee Miller, Fire Masks, London, England, 1941

[themnmovieman]

Movie Review ~ Lee

Lee Synopsis: The story of American photographer Lee Miller, a fashion model who became an acclaimed war correspondent for Vogue magazine during World War II.Stars: Kate Winslet, Josh O’Connor, Andrea Riseborough, Andy Samberg, Alexander Skarsgård,Marion CotillardDirector: Ellen KurasRated: RRunning Length: 117 minutes Review: They get a bad rap, but biopics have long offered filmmakers the…

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Lee Miller in Manhattan by Georges Lepape, 1927. At this time she was a model; later she became a fashion and fine art photographer and, during World War II, a war correspondent. The sketch was used as a cover for American Vogue.

Source: Nick Harvill Libraries

[mercurygray]

Random fic ask: a plot point in any of your fics that you ended up scrapping or recycling into a new idea

I have...a lot of outtakes from The Darkening Sky. (It was four years, guys, there was a lot of time for outtakes.)

In one of the earlier scenes I wrote (August of 2020), I was going to have Lee Miller cover the Girl Gang when they ended at the Eagle's Nest, and I was going to have Joan do a version of Lee's famous picture in Hitler's bathroom. Joan was then going to ask the photographer to share proof photos of the shoot (in which she is artfully naked) with Dick.

I'm not sure what I was going for with that idea. Both of these characters are famously tight-lipped about their emotions, and to be honest, I don't think it would have worked to get him to make a move or talk more. I think I imagined that Joan felt she needed to give Dick some kind of very tangible sign that she trusted him implicitly.

By the time I got to Germany, Dick and Joan's relationship didn't need that moment - they'd had a lot more moments a lot earlier in the story where Dick got a chance to reflect on how much he admired her and show that he trusted her and she trusted him. I'd also learned a little bit more about Lee Miller and didn't think I'd be writing her very accurately to be doing a puff piece on Joan at the end of the war. (There was also a lot of missing infrastructure around developing and printing the photos that I didn't feel like I could handwave through.) So the scene was cut, the photos never appeared, and Lee Miller's part was given to @shoshiwrites' war correspondent OC Jo Brandt, who'd already made an appearance in an earlier part of the piece and could be relied upon to have a sympathetic view of lady lieutenants in the paratroopers. Some of the original article copy was recycled into the final draft, but much of it went in the wastebin.

--

I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair: Lt Joan Warren, 101st Airborne, was one of the first Americans to see Hitler's famous Eagle's Nest. Satisfied with the view, Warren did what any sensible soldier would after a hard three years' work - she took a bath. The lieutenant's boots give the reader some idea of how well deserved this is.

Her boots were, indeed, right there at the side of the tub - tired, well-broken jump boots that looked, in the tiled elegance of the bathroom, very sad indeed, her equally battered uniform in a neat pile on the floor next to the boots.

It was a tasteful picture, not...sensational, or designed to titillate. Joan was simply sitting  in the tub, head resting against her knees, a woman finally allowed to rest after the long labors attested to by the boots.

Lt Warren is the rarest of a rare breed, a female officer in the parachute infantry, and she has earned her stripes, with jumps in Normandy and Holland, and has been wounded twice. The last three years have not been filled with luxuries, or comforts - the soap she used was a sliver in a small tin tray, as GI as can be, and the only pretty thing in her bunkroll is a silk scarf, patterned in leopard, which she says all her girls in the parachute regiment wear as a badge of honor, in nod to the Amazons they are. No man owns one, she says, though it is the view of this correspondent that, like the swapping of class pins, the possession of such a scarf will soon be a sought-after prize, much like the woman who gifts it.

More of Miller's photos followed, the Easy Company officers on the veranda, a box of booze in the middle of their meeting, more shots of the house, in all its splendor, looking out onto the peerless beauty of the alps. An almost candid shot showed Speirs and Nixon playing chess with the mountains behind them. Miller had captured them at their finest hour, conquerors in their castle, not a man among them sad. It seemed a strange sight, that they should all be smiling, after all they’d seen and done.

...

The photographs were several iterations on the same theme - Joan’s head in different directions and from several different angles, each trying to capture the elusive glimpse of a hero finally at rest. But the last - the last was - was Joan … before she’d gotten in the bath, stark naked, head tipped forward as she massaged some kink in her neck, knee slightly knocked to one side. There were the scars along her arm where she’d gotten pinked in Holland, and the ugly pucker along the side of her leg where that shell had practically laid her open, not quite the now-traditional Easy Company shot in the ass, but close. Three years on Army rations had left a woman who had never been given to overeating a lean, whipcord look, better-fed than some of the DPs they’d seen recently but not by much. And ...she was beautiful. His fingers brushed the line of her back, the curve of her buttocks, remembering what she’d said in Paris about being painted naked, remembering how unsettled the idea had made him. And here she was - not painted, but photographed, a thing to be admired, desired, wanted.

And, god in heaven, he wanted her. His body was becoming slowly electric with it -- before he remembered, chillingly, that he still had an audience - an audience, now that he looked up, that was contemplating him with a pleased smile, the look of a woman who knows she has  done something to disquiet the stoic man of war. 

“What she’s picked is fine,” he said, shoving the pictures furtively back into the envelope and handing them back to Miller - but the War Correspondent wouldn’t take them.

“I asked her first,” Miller said with a smile, in answer to his unspoken accusation. “She saw them all. She knew I was coming here to get your permission for the article copy, and she wanted you to see those, Major.” 

The thought of Joan sending these into his hands momentarily made him weak. She wanted you to see them, Dick. She wanted to be seen.  “A soldier has very little privacy, Correspondent Miller,” he said, forcefully. “Take them back. Please,” he added, as an afterthought. “No one under her command can -” no one under her command can see them, I shouldn’t have seen them, I cannot have these in my trunk or on my person. He was being reminded, violently, of inspections at Toccoa, and Sobel going through their footlockers, pornography, contraband, and the sly, slimy smile as, going through the women’s things, he’d held up a garter belt, nonregulation clothing, contraband. I’ll keep this, and the woman from whose trunk it had come paled under his eye.

“Suit yourself.” She took back the envelope and fastened the flap shut. “She really is a keeper, Major. If you don’t get that, someone else will.”

[lombardie-colorings]

Lee Miller was an American photographer and photojournalist. She was active in Europe during World War 2, covering events like the London blitz and the liberation of Paris, as well as illustrating conditions at the Buchenwald and Dachau concentration camps. She is also known for her close partnership with fellow American photographer Man Ray, acting as his muse and lover during her time in Paris at the turn of the 1930s.

Photographed by Man Ray, 1929.

Colored by Lombardie Colorings.