Larry Clark: a big-box look back at the revered—and reviled—chronicler of the underbelly of adolescence

For more than four decades, Larry Clark has recorded the seismic landscape of an America growing up under the influence of sex, drugs, hormones, and guns. While his films such as Kids (1995), Bully (2001), and the as-yet-unreleased Ken Park have established him as an unflinching auteur, his cult following is built around his early work. On view through June 5 at the International Center of Photography (ICP) is a show of his photographs and art, on which his brutal, tender, but always honest vision is founded.

NEVILLE WAKEFIELD: As I was getting ready to do this interview, it occurred to me that you have two distinct types of fans: those like me who got to know your work through your books of photographs, and a whole generation of younger fans who know you as a filmmaker. This month's retrospective of your work at the ICP will be the first time a lot of those people see your earlier work. Do you have any idea what they're going to show?

LARRY CLARK: I'm pretty much letting them handle this. I know they're looking at photographs from Tulsa and Teenage Lust as well as some collages and other works, but I'm totally consumed with my new film, Wassup Rockers, right now. And the truth is, I don't really care about retrospectives. I'm always trying to move ahead and do new work. I actually think it's too early for a retrospective--I should be, like, 90 before anyone does this. I mean, what does a retrospective do for me at this point in my career?

NW: It may not do anything for you, but it may well do a lot for everybody else.

LC: Who knows? Anyway, I'm sure it will be interesting and hopefully not too stiff and museumy. Remember that Robert Frank show at the Whitney [1995-1996]? It just didn't work. Sometimes you put someone in a different kind of environment, and all of a sudden the work changes.

NW: That's so true. I always wondered--did you take those photographs in Teenage Lust and Tulsa with the idea of creating a book?

LC: No. When I started photographing in Tulsa [Oklahoma] I was just practicing my photography. But after I'd photographed my friends over a period of so many years, I began to see it as visual anthropology, and I said, "Gee, something's really happening here." So, I put it all together, and the end result was Tulsa. Teenage Lust was more like a scrapbook. I was living a very self-destructive life and documenting it--no matter what I was doing, managed to make photographs. Fortunately for me, I pulled out of that, whereas most of my friends ended up dead. Somehow I'm still here.

NW: It's interesting that you mention Robert Frank, because I think the two of you changed the photographic landscape forever in terms of describing the American dream, or what ever has become of it. It seems to me that both of your work got picked up by a lot of photographers, and a lot of it was translated into "style."

LC: Well, a lot of it was. The commercial world, the advertising world, the fashion world, Hollywood--they always take what artists are doing and then package it, or they turn it into something they can sell. Commerce has always co-opted art to make money. But having said that, I kind of like that people have told me I've influenced them.

NW: There's nothing better than that.

LC: There isn't. It helps you to carry on, especially when you're criticized--you know the work is going to live through other people. That's what Robert Frank did. Before him everything was so uptight, then he came along and loosened things up and showed people this freedom. That uptightness came out of the 1950s and the impression people had then that there's always something you can't show. And I thought, "Why can't you show everything? This is life and these are people. Whatever people do is okay."

NW: Have you got any more book projects in the pipeline?

LC: Well, I came out with Punk Picasso in January 2003. It was kind of a retrospective itself since it covers all the periods of my work. That was going to be my last book, but now I do have another one in mind. And actually, for the last year I've been making photographs.

NW: And how do you like living in L.A.?

LC: Well, I still come back to New York, and I will continue to, but if you're making films it's easier to be in L.A. But I miss New York, my friends there, and the art world there especially.

NW: Speaking of filmmaking, you just finished

filming Wassup Rockers.

LC: Yeah, I just finished the main part of the filming. I have a couple of pickup days to do, but we actually wrapped the film. I'm in the editing room, and I'm pretty stoked.

NW: So, you like what you're seeing?

LC." I like what I'm seeing, though it was another difficult shoot, to say the least. I was working with people who have never acted before.

NW: How young was the cast?

LC: Between 14 and 18. They were all totally undisciplined and crazy and wild. That was what I wanted, and I certainly got it. The film's about these Latino kids from gang-infested South Central Los Angeles who don't want to be in gangs, don't want to be gangbangers, don't want to dress like gangsters and wear baggy clothes and listen to hip-hop and adapt to the gangster lifestyle. These kids want to grow their hair long, skate, listen to punk rock, and have fun. It's interesting that there's probably more peer pressure in the ghetto to conform to whatever the style is there than if you lived in Beverly Hills.