I’d just finished a semester at Arti di Firenze in Florence. I’d done a show that traveled from Florence to Venice to Rome, and then it continued to London and New York. I called it my “poisons” phase. I’d been obsessed with themes of noxious gases, chemical warfare—how poisons inhabit and destroy the body. It’s the topography of the human body in wartime. Not exactly a feel-good theme. So I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sell myself out to Catch as a pretty boy. To tell you the truth, I was feeling ambivalent about the whole thing.
Addison was late to the shoot. I could feel myself getting pissed off. Why should I be kept waiting for this month’s egomaniacal It Girl? Then the freight elevator opened, and there she was, with her saucer eyes and legs like a colt. She strides into the space, pulling out her elastic, and this mane of black hair falls—swoosh—down her back.
“I didn’t know I’d be sharing the spotlight with you,” she told me later. But I knew she was annoyed that I was annoyed. Ads didn’t have much poker face. She took her sweet time in hair and makeup. So I gave it right back to her. I ordered a pizza for delivery, I texted with some friends. Then Addison began changing her T-shirts in front of me, making sure I was looking at her. Ha, and I was. We were both being obnoxious, just to see how the other one would respond. Kid games. The photographer, Zoe, wanted to kill us. She didn’t get the shot, either. Not then, anyway.
ZOE SKLOOT: I was the principal photographer on the Catch shoot when Addison Stone met Lincoln Reed. They were the newest talent in New York City, and, footnote, they were both gorgeous. A photographer’s dream. I could also tell in a heartbeat they’d fallen hard for each other. Not that they were going to let us see that. They were both piss and vinegar that day. But love was in the air. Addison couldn’t keep her eyes off Lincoln, and every time she spoke, I watched his neck flush red as a cranberry.
The chemistry between them was incredible; the sparks were almost visible. Addison kept her cool but wouldn’t stay still. She kept slithering into different outfits and changing the music and dancing—Bossa Nova, French Nouvelle, Arcade Fire, Daft Punk. Cranking it up, claiming every inch of space in my studio.
And the more Addison swanned, “I like this, I love that,” or “I don’t think that’s working,” the more Lincoln stayed perfectly quiet and hard-eyed.
That final image! I’d taken some cute shots but I hadn’t gotten what I wanted, and I was frustrated, sort of defeated. Their connection, that chemistry—it was just outside my reach. And then we were packed up and done, in the freight elevator, and all I had was my little Olympus Stylus slung on my shoulder—and suddenly, Addison stepped back, so that she was standing very close in front of Lincoln. She was looking up and away, on a clean angle as he stared straight ahead. There’s the million-dollar moment. Yet you can see beyond a shadow of a doubt that each one consumes the other.
Interesting thing about that shot, which was the one we ended up using for Catch, are that Lincoln’s eyes are hidden by sunglasses, and Addison’s eyes by the way she’s turned. But you can read their intimacy. It’s like they know they’re almost together, and destined for each other.
Lincoln and Addison. Zoe Skloot for Catch magazine.
From: Addison Stone <[email protected]>
Date: Oct 16 at 11:38 PM
Subject: random rage etc.
To: Lucy Lim <[email protected]>
Hey, LL—
finish your paper on poor ole marginalized Margaret Fuller, you giant nerd?
Well, enough about you, ha ha!
Newsy piece: this afternoon on a photo shoot for an art mag,
I met this guy Lincoln Reed.
He’s a “name” in the art world even if it means nothing to you.
All I can say: MAJOR PRICK ALERT.
You know how when I first met The Lenox, after he finally stopped by the art room,
I was like, oh yeah. This is happiness. This is happening.
Then, with Zach Frat—how I’d seen him at the Berger opening last summer?
And I instantaneously felt the sizzle that we’d be together?
So take that excellent karma & find the opposite of it.
That is Lincoln Reed.
Example. You remember that time
when we went out to dinner at Basta Pasta in Little Compton and we ordered the Mexican calamari and we got the shocking surprise of food poisoning?
Lincoln Reed is Mexican calamari.
As in, he looks pretty hot with salsa.
But he is actually vomit-worthy.
Seriously, I would rather vomit calamari down my chest all night long than SPEND ONE MINUTE WITH THIS ARROGANT GUY!!!
Ok now I feel better. His art is cool.
I give him that.
He’s doing all this crazy shit about poison through the centuries.
Deadly plants through mustard gas.
I’m kind of hugely professionally jealous.
Enough about this guy! Why am I still telling you about him?
You still coming to visit me for Halloween?
I miss you tons, Lu!
x!o!
LINCOLN REED: Addison and I met up again the next weekend at the Klempf Art pre-party. October 21st. It was cold and crisp and a deep blue night. I knew she was on the list. I was by the door as she came in. We’d been strangers, feral animals circling each other at the photo shoot. But we had something. There’d been too much kick, too much sparring to be nothing.
So I got bold. Walked right up to her and looked her square in the eye and said, “Hey, Addison. Good to see you again. I’m heading to the bar, if you want a drink?”
And she put that raven-black stare right back on me and said, “Red wine, please. But only if you’re drinking with me.” I came back with two glasses of red. She looked incredible. She was never a girl who wore heels or frilly dresses. Her dress was plain black, risqué short, with a band of bright purple on the bottom. She’d sewed on the band herself. She said that this particular shade was “her” color. She smelled great, too. Like the beach. A pure scent.
I don’t know why I also got myself a glass of red. To show her we had something in common? Even though I never drink red. I don’t drink at all, actually. And neither did she. We had a good laugh about that later.
From: Addison [email protected]>
Date: Oct 22 at 2:11 AM
Subject: ok scratch that
To: Lucy [email protected]