Marcia Resnick and me, December 12, 2024, at The-Hoax Studio.
Photo by Mary Lyn Maiscott
The last time I saw Marcia Resnick was December 12, 2024, at The-Hoax Studio, on Greene Street in Soho. A group show there included a handful of her photos. Marcia, friendly, happy, and dressed in a super-cool way was, as always, amazingly down-to-earth for a photographer of her stature, which is nothing short of legendary. Her subjects included John Belushi, Debbie Harry, David Byrne, Iggy Pop, John Lydon, Mick Jagger, Andy Warhol, Johnny Thunders, William Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg—and me. She shot me for the author photo of my book Beaver Street. That day we spent hours wandering around Greenwich Village, near where we both lived, shooting in different locations until we were satisfied with the results.
Marcia Resnick's photo of me, taken on Commerce Street in Greenwich Village, in 2010, for the Beaver Street author photo.
Marcia was a friend and neighbor. I'd often run into her on the street and we'd always stop and talk. If she wasn't busy we might go back to her place, and she'd show me what she was working on, like the photos she planned to use for Punks, Poets, and Provocateurs: New York City Bad Boys, 1977-1982, or more recently, a roomful of dolls she was shooting. That was the day she gave me a signed copy of her book As It Is or Could Be, just because she wanted me to have it. It was also the day she told me she was battling lung cancer but the treatments were going well.
We talked about the possibility of me interviewing her for the Village Voice, but I got sidetracked and didn't follow up on it. Then, last week, I heard that Marcia, 74, had died. Of course it was shocking, and I was angry at myself for not having made more of an effort to stay in touch and to get together with her for coffee, as we'd discussed.
As if I needed one, it was another reminder of the fragility of life, that people aren't going to be around forever, and if you want to spend more time with someone, today is the day to do it.
