We were friends through thick and thin for 70 years, more or less--we were loyal and trustworthy, forgiving of each others' faults and foibles, forever discussing the important questions of God, life, literature, and art.  Pi was aware of every significant event of my life, and I of hers. 

We grew up in small-town Mississippi, in a simpler time and place.  Pi's family and mine supported ourselves by the land--farming, timber, cattle.  There was no agri-farming, no supermarkets, no white-cloth restaurants. Integration came the year after high school graduation (I was at the Univ. of Miss. when James Meridith was admitted.)  

Early memories:  Sunday School at the Presbyterian church in Monticello, Mississippi, our hometown.  Pi's mother (my own mother's fast friend) played the piano there and our family, somewhat outsiders (practically everyone else was related) came in from our farm 8 miles from town to attend services.  My parents had moved to Mississippi from the French Quarter of New Orleans where they had experienced the literary and artistic renaissance there of the 1930s.  Pi's parents,  particularly her mother,  was one of the old time families of Monticello and Lawrence County.  They had moved to Monticello from Silver Creek, a small nearby community after their house burned there.  My mother, in explaining to me what had happened, suggested I give Pi one of my toys; I gave her a favorite doll.  I still remember its blue nightgown, which my mother had made.

We lived lives that  were idylic, largely uneventful, even tedious in our minds, but Pi and I were both acutely aware of and connected to a world beyond Lawrence County, Mississippi, and knew we would go on to inhabit that larger world one day.

In high school Pi was a cheerleader, I played clarinet in the band.  Shared classes were algebra  and geometry, taught by Pi's Aunt Minn, chemistry (we both hated it!) and latin (we both loved it).  We had study hall together, which was held in the auditorium, often studying together in one of the anterooms off the stage so we could smoke contraband cigarettes.  This was small town USA (population 2,500) in the late 50s and early 60s--by today's standards very tame.  The cigarettes were pretty much the worst thing we did.  Drugs were unheard of, sex was taboo, cuss words were seldom heard.  

In our last year of high school, we read Lawrence Durrell's The Alexandria Quartet and Black Book,  introduced to us by my college boyfriend and later husband.  The same boyfriend took us to New Orleans for the weekend, (where we stayed with my grandmother) went to Pat O'Brian's for  their famous hurricane drink and took in a strip show.  We aspired to be worldly and sophisticated.  On a senior class trip to St. Augustine, Florida, we wandered off from our classmates and struck up a conversation with a handsome writer who invited us to his charming bachelor apartment.  We accepted and visited for all of maybe 20 minutes.  Luckily, he was not a wolf in sheep's clothing, because we were babes in the woods.

After high school our lives diverged.  It was Pi's unwavering goal to attend Newcomb College and then go to New York, both of which she accomplished, having a long and distinguished career in the world of publishing and photography--first at Time-Warner as picture editor and later at Granta, Horizon, and as a consultant for private photography collectors, as well as many other notable endeavors.  I went to Ole Miss and at the end of my first year married the aforementioned boyfriend, took off for a prolonged trip to europe, had children, and lived in New Orleans with a long stint in Colorado, where my architect husband worked in city planning.  But Pi and I  stayed in close touch over the years, usually at Christmas time when she returned to Monticallo for family visits, always spending a few days with me and my second husband Tim in New Orleans.

We stayed in touch by phone in between visits, updating each other with the events of our lives--her steady career accomplishments, poetry publications, my divorce and later remarriage, deaths of parents and Pi's brother, and Pi's reconnection with Jim, who became the love of her life and brought her much happiness.  Pi came to know my children, who regard her highly.  She befriended my younger son, John, when he did a stint at the New York Film Academy some years back.  

A relationship such as we had can never be replaced or replicated.  I am lucky to have experienced it.  Coming to terms with its loss will take time.  

I will miss you, Pi, my dear friend.

— Ann Koerner, 12/21/20

Pi and I first met over fifty years ago. I helped edit her first book of poetry and gave her the title.

I thought she was a wonderful poet. I visited her several times in the hospitals over the years.

She was fragile but terribly strong too. In the last years she talked often about her fear of falling; it is so haunting that she died from a fall.

— Susan Dalsimer, 12/22/20

Pi came into my life through Don Bloch, who Pi must have told you about.  My friendship with Don reaches into our childhood years; he's my oldest and most treasured friend-- and when he spent 1964-65 at Oxford, his aerogrammes were filled with stories about this delightful southern belle named Pi.  By the time I actually met her, she already seemed a slightly fictitious character-- beautiful, totally charming and full of delightful stories from her Mississippi youth.  Within a few short years, she became more of a New Yorker than me, even though I was born and raised there.  She took to the city the way only a gifted outsider can-- with wonder, enthusiasm and, yes, ambition.  In no time at all she knew more people, attended more parties, seen more & done more than most people I knew.  Our paths crossed just enough so that I always had a sense of what she was up to, even though we lived very separate lives.  I remember her apartment at One Fifth Avenue, her devotion to her piano, her dread of cooking for company, her series of beloved dogs, her abiding love of poetry (we both had books published by the same small press), the joy she felt at her gala book party, her predictable offer of 'just one more scotch.'  When I was living/teaching in Paris back in 1977, Pi showed up in town and I remember us, tipsy, attempting to jaywalk across Blvd. Saint-Germain.  An irate driver refused to slow down and intentionally brushed into her.  Nothing serious, but as her protector I felt I'd failed at my job, so I gave the offending vehicle a swift kick-- and much to my amazement created a significant dent in his fender.  Now Pi and I were in flight, ducking down a one-way street with the car in determined pursuit, moving against traffic..  We found ourselves cornered-- a cul de sac-- with the driver bearing down on us, but a movie had just let out, and with my very spotty French, I managed to appeal to the crowd's very Gallic instinct to protect a damsel in distress-- the beautiful, jetlagged, inebriated Pi.  A great and gallant victory!

It would be nice if I could claim that I saved her life that day, that I saved her for you, though of course it was just a foolish youthful incident, but one that comes back to me on this sad day with so much affection.  There's nothing I can tell you that you don't already know.  Pi was a gifted, vivacious woman.  A treasure.  Those of us who never met you were delighted that she found a partner who brought her so much love in these later years.  I'm so sorry for your loss.

— Robert (Bobby) Hamburger, 12/23/20)

In her sweet little Alice blue gown
When she first wandered down into town
She was both proud and shy as she felt every eye
And in every shop window she'd primp, passing by

— Duane Michals, 12/22/20

I know Pi through my husband Bobby (Hamburger) & his friend Don (& husband Iman) — but we also had our own 'kinship'.  I'm an artist & we sometimes made expeditions to see shows/visit galleries.  Once when we were sitting in a diner after an art-viewing adventure, the waitress asked if we were sisters.  This delighted us — & we ruminated on what drove her to say that.  It was surely our 'Semitic' roots — both of us dark-eyed & 'foreign' looking.  But we were also both born & raised in the South —and so there was a common bond from that as well. 

(Likewise, we both had to leave the South!)

With all of the 'coming and going' from NYC (hers & ours), we didn't see each other very often.  In fact, the last time I saw Pi remains a cherished & remarkable moment.  I believe it was Spring/2019 and I had biked downtown to see a few art shows in Chelsea — on a weekday — at an 'off hour' — likely 2pm or so when the streets of that neighborhood are mostly deserted (even in the pre-Covid era).  I had stopped in at a small gallery — not a 'major' one — to see the work of a painter I like.  The gallery was empty — I was spending time with the work — when the heavy door slowly opened & there was Pi!  We were astonished — such pleasure from that unlikely surprise meeting.  We gabbed — caught up a bit — she updated me on her health issues, but also about how wonderful it was that [Jim] had re-entered her life. 

In our last email exchange & then phone conversation in late September (she was very concerned about Don) — she was her marvelously direct and frank self. I will hold on to this line & hear her voice when I read it: 

"I guess we all have to sit down and relax because we can’t change a thing!"

Alice Rose George was unique — truly. 

— Ilene Sunshine, 12/24/20

I was a friend of Pi /Alice's from Mississippi and NYC. I am back in MS now, but we were friends in NYC for many years. I loved her and will miss her. She championed my work at a time when I didn't know if I was really a photographer (I had three little children who are now 34, 32, and 26). That work eventually was made into the book called MISSISSIPPI HISTORY, which was published by Steidl in 2015. Pi came to the book launch in NYC in December of 2015, and though she was on a walker (she had had a hip replacement maybe?), she was her vibrant, funny, erudite self and I was so happy to see her. She was a friend of Sarah Benham Spongberg growing up in Monticello, MS, and she also knew my cousin Bill Eggleston back in the day.

What a great loss to her family, friends, and the photography and poetry worlds.

— Maude Schuyler Clay, 12/26/20

I’ve been processing this news and needed a few days.  Thinking about her every day and re-reading Two Eyes!

Alice and I intersected for brief lunches and coffees for a couple of decades but distance prevented us getting to know one another better. 

Her meeting you and spending more time in California gave me the opportunity to experience the full exceptionalism of Alice.

I will miss her opinionated/but game for anything spirit. She had her strong viewpoints but didn’t judge others and that was quite beautiful. Well…she was pretty judgey about the art class we took :)

Your email was perfection and her continuing to write poetry made me cry as I was very aware of how physically difficult writing was for her. It was getting hard for Alice to be Alice.

I wish her peace ( and that she can have the grand piano).

— Lisa Thackaberry (12/26/20)

I was so sad to hear about Pi.  She changed my life.  She inspired me. 

Literally, she not only changed my life but gave me a vision of what the world could look like and of everything I had experienced as a Mississippi girl.   It opened up a whole new world of opportunities. 

Pi got me my first two internships at time inc. and apps both summers. 

From there I moved straight to NY after college and worked my way up the ladder in publishing.   And went on to do other things.  

I’ll never forget her taking me to see a Hamlet play in Swedish!  And an experiential theatre below the Brooklyn bridge. 

When I got married at 31,  I felt like I was betraying a life of living like Pi.  

The woman I wanted to be 

I didn’t and could have never done her justice as in living up to her severely fabulous life.   of authenticity, the arts, and interesting people.   I lived somewhat more conventional.  

But I would have never ever lived in NY.   Worked in publishing.  And lived the life maybe I was destined to or maybe the life that inspired me which was Pi’s life. 

I was so sad to hear about Pi.  She changed my life.  She inspired me. 

— Alyce C. Alston, 12/28/20

Anticipation always filled the weeks before Pi’s visits, owed largely to Louise, her sainted mother, who served as an excellent hype-man. On the day of Pi’s arrival, we would generally be sitting at our Gram’s breakfast table. We would be quietly chatting, or playing Rook, waiting politely like the good and proper children we were. Then, like a whirlwind, Pi would blow into the room, heavily laden with bags and wearing coats and jackets far too warm for Mississippi. In a moment, she would totally fill the house and there would not be another “quiet chat” until she was on her way back to New York.

Pi’s visits would be filled with long walks, talks and games—even Monopoly. We would be spell-bound by her stories of travel, work, and all her Friends. It all seemed so sophisticated. So other-worldly. Compared to where we were, it really was.

Pi is the first person who made me realize that there really is no ceiling or limit for what you can do. You aren’t bound by geography or others‘ expectations. You set your own boundaries, limited only by your work ethic and dedication to study. And you can do this while loving fiercely, and making relationships that last a lifetime.

— Matt Tyrone, 12/28/20

I knew Pi for a long time, from the mid-to-late 90's on. Pi was wonderful and charming and fun to be with. We always had good talks. I loved her honesty, and her.

— Lynne Tillman, 12/28/20

We met through Moira and became fast friends in the late 70s. At the time I was living near the Fulton Fish Market and remember a night we spent at the Paris Hotel - an old bar in the market.  Sinatra was on the Juke and I can still remember her tapping and clicking to the music.

I haven't been able to close my eyes without seeing her- she had that effect even all these years later.   I met her family in Mississippi on a solo journey through the Delta back then - her Mom and I got on and I met her brother - I think some part of our friendship came from my trip down there.

— Ivan Schwartz, 1/2/21

I had known Alice since the 1970s when we both worked at Time-Life-- she was at Time magazine and I was just starting out in the Picture Collection. She hired me at Fortune in the mid-1980s, where we worked together for several years. I saw her intermittently through the years-- we knew many people in common-- and I always felt a kinship with her as we shared a similar visual sensibility. Alice introduced me to you briefly at the Mapplethorpe opening at the Getty in 2016. I wrote one of the essays for the Mapplethorpe catalogue.

She was fearless and unflappable when it came to fighting the good fight, and, in the case of our work together, that meant using good photographs by serious photographers who took photojournalism forward. In fact, she was consequential in the world of photography, putting together the valuable Howard Stein collection, among other accomplishments. I know that she was serious about her poetry, too, and knew every major poet of her generation. I will always remember Alice's seriousness of intention, and that great laugh with her bawdy sense of humor.

— Philip Gefter; 12/26/20

As you probably know she was a cherished friend of Marc since more than fifty years.  I knew her since I knew Marc, in 1979 and I could measure her talents and how precious she was. She always maked me think to the marvellous portraits of english painters, beautiful women bold and brilliant. I think the last time I saw her was for Marc's exhibition in New York, four years ago but we went on with the letters.

Avec beaucoup d'amitié,

— Catherine Riboud 1/6/21

I have known Pi for more than 55 years, since we met in the UK during her junior year abroad; and we met frequently over the years in NY, Baltimore and even Paris.  I always thought of her as one of my closest friends, present for celebrations of birthdays and holidays ( and you , Pi and I met with some others at a Christmas celebration in NY just two or three years ago).  It is hard to comprehend this.  My thoughts are with you at this sad time.    

— Peter Quint, 12/22/20

Oddly, I was only introduced to Alice by mutual friends, AFTER I moved full time to Garrison when we only lived a couple of blocks from one another in NY and could have met much sooner. She was a true and dear friend and I will miss her greatly even though we have missed one another when I was in NY over the last couple of years and not been able to spend time other than phone calls. I spoke with her a couple of weeks ago (must have been just before her fall). She sounded the best she had in at least a year (maybe more). She was optimistic, full of energy, forward looking (if that is not the same as optimistic). She was looking forward to a time when we would all be free of our self isolation and able to share time with friends and family. And, to return to NY and Garrison. When Sarah said she would like photos, the one that immediately came to mind was when John and I took her to see Iko for the first time. Alice was cuddling Iko who seemed to be really comfortable.  We had come across an ad for shiba inu puppies (which was the breed she was determined to get) when I went to get cat food at Pet Smart and gave it to her. It was love at first sight (though there were a half dozen little puppies who looked like Iko - none were the “one”).  She was very happy in that photo. I will find it and look for others. We went to Crete  together one year and played tennis on a regular basis. I enjoyed reading her poetry (though often it seemed dark) and loved working with her on a few projects.

— Ingrid Caruso, 12/22/20

I met her in the mid 80s, when I was editing Granta magazine in New York. During late-night adventures into the underbelly of the East Village and TriBeCa, and over long dinners Alice introduced me to many, many photographers (she later became photo editor and then briefly publisher of Granta. We even cooked up a plan after I left Granta to start a new magazine with Aperture.)

But most significantly, Alice introduced me and Stephanie to her wonderful house in Garrison, and, at a remarkable lunch, to the Marvins (whom we had gotten to know slightly as our daughter Rebecca and their Kate became playground buddies on the Upper West Side, and who have become our closest friends). We rented the house from Alice a few times (making sure that we sprinkled dried blood on her roses to keep the deer away). But some of my fondest memories were of her playing piano up there on a spring afternoon—another one of Rilke’s flights that remains. I think the last time I saw Alice was when Mel and I visited her at the hospital in NY when she had back surgery—maybe 4 years ago? I believe I gave her a copy of my recently-published novel Septimania in which the Garrison house plays a significant role. Although she was weakened and in considerable pain, her voice—that combination of right-hand Mississippi breathlessness with left-hand alto solidity—was unchanged.

— Jonathan Levi, 12/23/20

I’m so heartbroken over her death.  We were 10 years apart in age and I always admired her so much.  For her to leave small town Monticello and move to New York was just amazing to me.  I’ll never forget the time I was in New York as an adult and we met at the Kennedy Center.  She treated me to a presentation of a new symphony that had never been heard before.  I wish I remembered the details!  We had a great dinner together and just chatted about everything. The last time I was with Pi was after Aunt Lou passed away. I'm so thankful she had Jim in her life…, loving her so deeply and caring for her so perfectly.  

— Mary Norsworthy, 12/28/20

I cannot tell you how important she was in my life — a real mentor, someone to look up to. Before she hired me, wide eyed at Fortune — I didn’t have any role models of a working woman with a career - and I was just in love with Alice…. It’s certainly because of her that I arrived on the doorsteps of Magnum - When Susan Meiselas called me with the sad news I burst into tears — I think the last time I saw Alice we had lunch at Lupa in the West Village — she was dividing her time between NY and LA and had finally found someone that really made her happy. So I am happy that she had that. 

— Catherine Chermayeff, 1/2/21

I worked with Alice at Fortune Magazine many years ago and we were in touch sporadically throughout the last several years. I was fortunate enough to have lunch with her two years ago in NYC. Alice was an extraordinary mentor and really educated me about photography. I will be forever grateful to her.

— Ellen Madere, 1/8/21

I met Alice in the late Eighties when we both worked at Granta.  I saw her a lot then and in the Nineties but, when I moved to Greece in 2004, I saw less of her and when Trump came in and I was totally broke, I stopped coming to New York.  But she was always my friend. 

— Lucretia Stewart, 1/9/21

Alice's influence will hopefully be shared even more in the coming weeks — but those of us who came up under her wing could have been luckier. It was a special time when all the journalistic values we cherish were respected and practiced and taught.  Alice brought humanity and poetry to what could have been a totally corporate job. She assigned this scrappy group of photographers to enter the seats of power searching for truths that were not prescribed beforehand.  We were there to explore, turn over rocks, and question everything.  It was such a privilege...and with Alice in charge — the most incredible way to explore who we all are sharing this planet.

— George Lange, 1/12/21

I was so sad to learn of the news that she is gone from our lives.  I remember how excited she was when she first bought her house on our road (it wasn't even named then) and had us over with a few friends to drink beer she'd cooled in the stream while we sat on the floor of her unfurnished living room.  I'll always think of her when I'm in the field, up in the woods below the Boy Scout cabin, as we'd often meet there and talk when she would take Iiko out.  We could not have had a better neighbor and I hope we returned the good will she always showed us.  I still can't believe that I'll never see her again and wish she'd had a chance to return one last time to her place here in Garrison that I know she loved so much.

— Darrell Dwyer, 1/13/21

One of the things that I really admired about Alice was that she understood the business of photography, which other people in the FORTUNE art department had no clue about.  We worked together during the glory days when magazines were rolling in money, but the editor at FORTUNE most of the time Alice was there was not a huge fan of portfolios, and we had to sell them hard sometimes.  He would ask what they would cost, and of course I had no clue.  The stories usually involved sending a photographer all over creation--I remember one on Harris tweed which was made in an island off Scotland and took forever to shoot because of fog or something-- so just the travel was a big number.  Alice had a remarkable ability to estimate what the cost would be, and it was so important that I, as the editor, was able to rely on those estimates in my discussions with the big boss.  And very important that he came to trust the estimates she came up with.  She was no fool when it came to negotiating with photographers either, and I always joked that was because of her Lebanese blood.  Because of Alice and a college classmate from a town as tiny as Monticello, I have always believed all Mississippi women must be great. 

After I left NYC in 1986 and moved back home to Chapel Hill NC, she used to stay with me on trips to work on a photography magazine that Robert Coles was doing at Duke.  We always had a great time, and somehow it worked for our friendship that our interests were so different.  (We mostly liked the same people though.)  On one of her visits, there was a huge basketball game at UNC--could have been the great rivalry with Duke-- and someone had invited me to go and bring someone.  I told Alice I would rather be with her (which was true, though I am a giant Tar Heels fan) suspecting she would have no interest in the game.  To my delight, she said she thought it would be an adventure to do something so different.  So off we went to the Dean Dome (named for the legendary coach Dean Smith).

Alice was agog at the crowd and the intensity of the game, but she got totally into it.  It was a close, exciting contest, and at one point we were all on our feet yelling and screaming.  (Alice was up but not really screaming.)  In the heat of everything she turned to me and shouted, "Show me which one is Hills."   I said there was no player named Hills.  Then, she asked, why is everyone screaming "Go Hills?"   (Of course they were screaming Go Heels; this story cracks up every sports fan I've ever told it to.)   Alice was never just a spectator.

— Wyndham Robertson, 2/16/21

I was so very sorry and shocked, to read about Alice in the New York Times this week and asked Robert Pledge for your email. I just wanted to drop you a note to say that Alice was a wonderful soul, all things you know better than anyone and at a moment in my life in the eighties she came and lived in London and did my job for me at the agency I ran and allowed me to go live in Mexico City and explore an opportunity which became my life, I have lived here now almost twenty years. Over the years Alice and I would touch base and the most recent time we spoke she was in LA and I was in New York, just hearing her so happy and speaking of you and here life between cities was wonderful. We promised to meet and catch up the next time I was in LA and then Covid of course hit us all. So we never had that moment that opportunity.

Alice and I both moved in the same photo world, many of the same friends before I shifted my focus to film. She made a profound influence on so many people’s lives, young photographers and the community as a whole — she had a unique energy and was so much fun to be around.  I was trying to remember how we first met and I think it was through Bill Buford at Granta. I think  so…  I am talking now about the eighties.

— Trisha Ziff, 2/18/21

The late Alice Rose George was a part of my life and career from the very beginning, when we met around 1997, to when I last saw her teaching together at The Hartford Photo MFA program. She was incredibly dedicated to photography, photo books and, especially, photographers. We worked together on two books she got published, another that was published elsewhere later on, on Here Is New York, on a curatorial project, and early on at Details magazine, where she accepted my pitch about the New Burlesque movement. Though it never ran in the magazine, she believed in the work so much that she got the monograph made years later. She was a poet and music lover, and lived downtown in an old New York, doorman building at the foot of Fifth Avenue that utterly befitted her — there was always something about her that commanded my respect. She was warm, but also somehow a tiny bit intimidating, in a way, and she had a natural way of commanding respect, perhaps with her seriousness of purpose and obvious intelligence and sensitivity. As a woman in the business, she had to deal with being under appreciated more often than she ought to have been, and I remember sharing moments with her hearing about difficulties she’d had being a female pioneer in the field of supporting photographers. She was a truly amazing woman, and I owe her a lot. I’m grateful I got the chance to tell her that more than once. If you’re not familiar with her career, read through her website — you know her work already.

— Lisa Kereszi, 2/18/21

I remembered something about Alice. My friend, Alice’s cousin, was Susan Alice Safley. My name was Susan Moreton Hobbs. We grew up together with a gaggle of girl-friends in the neighborhood, always together. One day, when we were 13-14 (specifically: the day' I Want To Hold Your Hand’ was first played on the radio) we were talking about how confusing it was to have two Susans in our group. We decided one of us should use our middle name. Susan Safley didn’t want to be called Alice because she had a first cousin with that name. I liked the idea of being called Moreton, my mother’s family name. It stuck.

So Alice is indirectly responsible for my name!

— Susan Moreton, 2/20/21

Alice was on a mission when she walked into my life in Paris. I had recently been hired to work at Time Magazine as photo editor in the Paris Bureau and Alice was sent to help me learn the ropes. 

My photo experience had always been in book publishing.  I had worked as a photo researcher in New York, London and now Paris. Early on I realized that I could do this work I loved anywhere in the world; being fluent in a language was not as important as being able to visually communicate with the art in question. That was my talent. 

But I was new to photojournalism and certainly new to the likes of Time Magazine.

From the minute Alice walked in I sensed something special about her. She seemed at ease and her voice with its sweet, soft Southern  lilt appealed to everyone.  She had a special look in her eyes that was kind but direct.  I knew we could work together. When we sat finally down I took out my notebook ready to jot down all that she had to tell me about Time. To my surprise that was not what she had in mind.

Alice talked about the who’s who in photojournalism in Paris and asked if I knew these people. Most of them I didn’t. Instantly Alice decided it would be a good idea if I met them. We contacted so many that our schedule was over-booked. We whirled from meetings, then to lunches, then to dinners with drink dates in cafes squeezed in between. Alice charmed everyone.

One director of a big photo agency took me aside. He wanted to know all about Alice.  Not only the Alice who worked at Time but the private Alice. He was totally fascinated by her. Unfortunately at that time I didn’t know Alice at all and couldn’t tell him anything.

I never did learn the nitty-gritty daily details concerning my job but I did learn a lot about the importance of being present and having contacts in this wide world of photojournalism. Knowing how to get the photo was essential; being on top of everything was what it was all about.  

Alice always was always on top of whatever she put her mind to. She was truly a woman who participated in all that life had to offer and she had so much to offer back.

One time when I was in New York there were many photo events happening  and at the same time. I selected a to see.  On 57th Street I bumped into a slightly out-of-breath Alice.  Apparently she too was visiting the galleries but her list was long. I couldn’t believe she planned to see all that in one evening. When Alice put her mind to something, whatever the difficulty, she could do it. She had the ability to concentrate and absorb the essentials. 

Throughout our long friendship we were rarely together in the same place for any long period of time.  Still we created a meaningful and special relationship.  Perhaps something happens when time is limited; the conversations are often deeper and more personal; the experiences shared are often lived with more intensity; and even the quiet moments are eloquent.   

I always looked forward to seeing Alice because we could share what was at the core of our being and let our imaginations seek out new adventures.  I admired how she was able to speak her mind. She was so honest and came straight to the point. That helped me to open up and be more myself. Of course I could never compete with Alice in her wilder, angrier forms of expression but I loved her for them. Alice was someone I could openly confide in and the joy of our reunions was always something to look forward to.

Some of our best moments occurred while travelling together around Europe. Often they were in my wonderful blue Volkswagen Beetle. This car had a personality to match our own. 

.One trip was through the Burgundy vineyards . A friend’s family had vineyards in Aloxe and we were invited to visit. However when we arrived only my friend’s father was at home. Alice was in her best Southern charm mode. He quickly offered to show us the vineyard’s historic wine cellar which of course included tasting some of the amazing grand cru wines of Burgundy.  I had been there before but never had such an in-depth tour as this one.  We left feeling the warm glow of the many memorable wines we tasted.  I have to admit I had no clue how I drove back to our little hotel.

In Germany we both attended the Photokina in Cologne for work and had decided to go to Berlin afterwards. Two Magnum photographers we knew were working in East Berlin and had offered to show us that side of the Wall 

East Berlin was so different from the Western side. My memory of everything there was painted in tones of grey.  We visited the apartment where one of the photographers was staying.  In one room uncaged birds flew around. Several windows were open allowing them to fly in and out at will. The owner wanted it so. This was a bit startling and I wondered why.  Afterward, we thought that perhaps these birds served as a powerful reminder to this man of what freedom meant; that perhaps one day he too would be free to come and go at will?

We shared many wonderful trips to Italy. On route from the Arles Photo Festival to a friend’s house near Sienna I somehow made a wrong turn and literally drove straight into the Carrarra stone quarry. The dusty winding road took us directly into the excavation areas. Mammoth white marble blocks loomed up everywhere. They were so powerful and majestic that one could easily see why sculptors like Michelangelo chose these stones to work in.  As night began to fall we discovered we couldn’t find our way out. Those moments were eerie. Moreover, no one was there.  Of course we eventually did find our way out and that shared experienced of beauty and danger remained tucked away as a wonderful souvenir.

Alice and I so loved Italy that we came up with an idea for a workshop centered around photojournalism and also involved ways of employing these kinds of photographs. I suggested this idea to my good friend Martino Marangoni who had created a photography school in Florence and he liked it. So we embarked on yet another adventure.

It was the only time Alice and I worked together. We discovered that our ideas and our individual capacities complemented one another. Actually I think Alice was the better teacher. Her originality, her enthusiastic way of imparting ideas, her broad knowledge and her ability to share this with the students created a special atmosphere for learning. I knew Alice could be difficult and demanding but she also encouraged her students. They believed in her.  The course seemed to work well. We were happy and best of all, Martino was happy. 

What was missing in our lives was the right man. We were both romantics and always hoped that one day the he would come along. Eventually he did.

I met Leonard before Alice met Jim.  Alice knew Leonard through her work and this made it easy for the three of us to continue our friendship up until Leonard’s death. Then Alice met her right man when she reconnected with Jim her. I was delighted that she now knew that joy too.

Not only did she know it, she could not stop telling everyone how lucky she was. Though their time together wasn’t long enough, the love they had for another was so big and intense and real that it amply filled all their days.  We, her friends, were so happy too.

Quite a few years ago, after Alice confessed to me that her trip to Paris was really a boondoggle: a reward for her excellent work on a special project. I was the perfect pretext for it. 

In truth there was something ironic about this pretext for it became a gift to me too. Our meeting was more than a work-related encounter: it was the start of a lifelong friendship.  And now I, like so many others, am left with my memories of Alice and I am comforted by them. 

Knowing Alice was very special.

— Barbara Nagelsmith, 2/21/21