Vogue -
13 Mar 2016 17:00

It was the summer of 1983. Mark Steinmetz, then 21, dropped out of Yale art school and headed, on a bit of a whim, to California. He'd grown up in the Northeast. He thought he might like to work in movies. And he wanted to meet a hero of his, the photographer Garry Winogrand, who for years lived in Los Angeles, shooting his way through some 8,000 rolls of film. In L.A., the golden dream fizzled a little. Roaches ran over the futon on the floor in Steinmetz's studio apartment, in which he'd also ...
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