Capturing a Literary Icon: Beowulf Sheehan on Photographing Cormac McCarthy

Tuesday, August 12. Photo assistant Chika and I arrived at the Santa Fe Institute, Cormac’s home away from home, and loaded equipment into the library. The author was early, engaging in conversation with the kitchen staff. We introduced ourselves, and Cormac, likely 5’6” tall, made a warm impression on everyone in the room as he greeted us with a beaming smile.

We proceeded to the library, where I observed the daylight streaming through a side window. Cormac understood and obliged, demonstrating his kindness and attentiveness, just as I had hoped.

The sun was hard and coarse, casting a dramatic play of light and shadow in the adjoining courtyard. I mentioned the mystery and drama I perceived in the play of light and shadow, and I asked Cormac if he would participate. He agreed and expressed his enthusiasm for the project. Our conversation revolved around the institute, what attracted him to this place, and his experiences.

He shared that his friends were drawn to the institute, and he shared similar passions. He also mentioned his fondness for science, describing it as "fun", and his love for Santa Fe, calling it "home". We explored various corners of the library, and from the balcony, I invited him to take in the "home" ambiance.

At a previous institute location, Cormac shared a story about his Olivetti Lettera 32 typewriter, which he donated to an auction benefiting the Santa Fe Institute. The typewriter fetched a remarkable $250,000. A friend then purchased a new typewriter for him on eBay for a few dollars, leaving Cormac with a proud smile. I inquired if he wanted to visit his home for more photographs, and I was eager to comply. We packed while Cormac returned to his friends.

Cormac’s weathered, rusted, and dinged truck stood out in a crowd as we followed him through traffic lights and intersections. Eventually, we reached the open space. A two-story, approximately 4,000-square-foot adobe house emerged on the right, surrounded by numerous vehicles sprawled across a dusty driveway and land. Cormac led us outside, and I noticed the cars he had collected.

Pointing to a Corvette Stingray, he recounted how he had driven it after partying with Johnny Carson in Fort Lauderdale, relishing in the humor of the memory. Inside the grand living room, a pristine billiards table stood as a testament to his passion for the game, a detail I did not inquire about. Instead, Cormac invited Chika and me upstairs, where the walls of the staircase shimmered in a beautiful light, creating an Irving Penn-like backdrop.

I photographed him along the stairs, feeling the sun pouring through the skylight, defining the space around him and redefining the shape of his face. As we stood at the top of the stairs, Cormac asked for our thoughts on the home thus far, already knowing our responses. He stood tall, like the columns surrounding him, as I captured the moment.