Out of the Wild

o u t o f t h e w i l d Zoo Portraits

Boza Ivanovic Preface by barbara stauss

I knew a lot about cameras before I took my first pic-ture. My favorite uncle, who lived near us in Belgrade in what was still called Yugoslavia in those days, col-lected and repaired old cameras. His interest was in the cameras themselves, not photography. “I can take a bad picture with any of these cam-eras,” he would tell me while I examined the Leica he had just purchased. From the time I was in my early teens, I was con-vinced that I could turn my uncle’s observation on its head. One day, I vowed, I would be able to take a good picture with any camera. But first I needed a camera, any sort of camera. And for that, I needed money. To raise money I spent the better part of a sum-mer standing in front of the convenience store down the street from our apartment. It was a particularly hot and particularly dry summer, and every day my friends would troop past me on their way to the mu-nicipal swimming pool or on an outing to the coun-tryside. But I never left my post, which was just to the left of the store’s entrance. I stood guard over a waist-high stack of what in America is called Harle-quin Romances. My mother read these mushy nov-els at the rate of three a week, and as fast as she finished them, I sold them at half price. By the end of the summer I had saved up the equivalent of $70, which I used to buy a Lubitel, the Russian-made knockoff of the Rolleiflex. I was new to picture taking, and photo developing was still a great mystery to me, so of course I thought I had bungled things. Either in the field or in the dark-room, the outcome of my photography was so poor. It was weeks before I understood that the problem was the camera, not my relative inexperience, and it took me weeks longer to learn how to compensate

for my first camera’s inadequacies. In a way, that Lubitel was a great teacher. If I had been able to take those first pictures with the camera I now have, I might well have come to depend on the camera to do my thinking for me. I simply could have set the camera to “Automatic” and not think my way through the process of capturing an image on film. But I didn’t have that luxury in my early years as a photographer, and thanks to that wretched old Lubi-tel, I can now take a good picture with any camera.My first serious camera was the Canon AE-1 Pro-gram, which did not work properly. Of the first three rolls of film that I shot at age 17, with my Canon, ex-actly one print was salvageable. My grandma was looking at my negatives hanging from the ceiling and commented, “You are not good photographer. There is only one good picture here!” There was no work for photojournalists in Bel-grade when I was a teenager, so I found the next best thing: a job as a camera assistant at one of the national television networks. But TV journalism is not print journalism, and TV cameras are very different creatures from Leicas and Rolleiflexes When I moved to Los Angeles in 1996—I sold my Canon EOS 620 with a 50mm lens to buy the ticket for my trip to America—I took the jobs I could get. I worked for a messenger service. I drove a limousine for a car service. The advantage of these jobs was that I could set my own hours, which gave me plenty of time to put together a portfolio. In 2002, just as I was making the transition from messenger boy to chauffeur, I read in Practical Photography magazine about a photo contest that was open to all aspiring photojournalists. Applicants were encouraged to submit up to 15 prints. I sent only one, but that one image persuaded the judges to name me Photog-

introduction Boza IvanovIc

I knew a lot about cameras before I took my first pic-ture. My favorite uncle, who lived near us in Belgrade in what was still called Yugoslavia in those days, col-lected and repaired old cameras. His interest was in the cameras themselves, not photography. “I can take a bad picture with any of these cam-eras,” he would tell me while I examined the Leica he had just purchased. From the time I was in my early teens, I was con-vinced that I could turn my uncle’s observation on its head. One day, I vowed, I would be able to take a good picture with any camera. But first I needed a camera, any sort of camera. And for that, I needed money. To raise money I spent the better part of a sum-mer standing in front of the convenience store down the street from our apartment. It was a particularly hot and particularly dry summer, and every day my friends would troop past me on their way to the mu-nicipal swimming pool or on an outing to the coun-tryside. But I never left my post, which was just to the left of the store’s entrance. I stood guard over a waist-high stack of what in America is called Harle-quin Romances. My mother read these mushy nov-els at the rate of three a week, and as fast as she finished them, I sold them at half price. By the end of the summer I had saved up the equivalent of $70, which I used to buy a Lubitel, the Russian-made knockoff of the Rolleiflex. I was new to picture taking, and photo developing was still a great mystery to me, so of course I thought I had bungled things. Either in the field or in the dark-room, the outcome of my photography was so poor. It was weeks before I understood that the problem was the camera, not my relative inexperience, and it took me weeks longer to learn how to compensate

for my first camera’s inadequacies. In a way, that Lubitel was a great teacher. If I had been able to take those first pictures with the camera I now have, I might well have come to depend on the camera to do my thinking for me. I simply could have set the camera to “Automatic” and not think my way through the process of capturing an image on film. But I didn’t have that luxury in my early years as a photographer, and thanks to that wretched old Lubi-tel, I can now take a good picture with any camera.My first serious camera was the Canon AE-1 Pro-gram, which did not work properly. Of the first three rolls of film that I shot at age 17, with my Canon, ex-actly one print was salvageable. My grandma was looking at my negatives hanging from the ceiling and commented, “You are not good photographer. There is only one good picture here!” There was no work for photojournalists in Bel-grade when I was a teenager, so I found the next best thing: a job as a camera assistant at one of the national television networks. But TV journalism is not print journalism, and TV cameras are very different creatures from Leicas and Rolleiflexes When I moved to Los Angeles in 1996—I sold my Canon EOS 620 with a 50mm lens to buy the ticket for my trip to America—I took the jobs I could get. I worked for a messenger service. I drove a limousine for a car service. The advantage of these jobs was that I could set my own hours, which gave me plenty of time to put together a portfolio. In 2002, just as I was making the transition from messenger boy to chauffeur, I read in Practical Photography magazine about a photo contest that was open to all aspiring photojournalists. Applicants were encouraged to submit up to 15 prints. I sent only one, but that one image persuaded the judges to name me Photog-

introduction Boza IvanovIc

rapher of the Year in the category of “People.” The prize was a Hasselblad XPan, a camera with which anyone ought to be able to take a good picture. And then, one fateful night in January of 2003, the car service assigned me to pick up B.E. at an address in Brentwood Hills at three in the morning and take him to Los Angeles International Airport. He was much more alert than most fares are at that hour, and on the drive he noted my accent, asked me where I was from, and then offered some tren-chant observations about the sad dissolution of what had been Yugoslavia. He wanted to know what I had done before I moved to Los Angeles—a question you can reasonably put to anyone in this city as most Angelenos come from somewhere else and once did something else to earn a living. When I said I had been a photographer back home, he identified him-self as the executive director of the UCLA AIDS In-stitute, mentioned that he was launching a magazine to showcase the research being done at the Institute, and urged me to send him my portfolio. I did as he asked, and he actually looked my port-folio over, summoned me to his office for a getting-to-know-you interview, and offered me an assign-ment…and then another…and then many others. I was sent on assignment to South Africa, Tanzania, Eastern Europe, Mexico, Canada and to various lo-cations in the United States. After a freak motorcycle accident left me with two cracked vertebrae in my back and neck, two broken ribs, and a four-month confinement to bed, I realized that I had ample time on my hands to think about what direction my career as a photographer would take after my recovery. I recalled a photograph of a tiger I had taken a few years back while at a zoo. I was struck by what jumped out of the picture—a

personality, a soul. It dawned on me that what the lens had somehow caught could be best portrayed in black and white. The essence of a creature’s spirit captured solely through motion and light. Once I was able to walk again, I headed directly to the zoo. My enthusiasm was never dampened, but I quickly realized that this was going to be tougher than I thought. It became quite clear that every ani-mal had its own distinct personality. The seemingly fierce lion may really be a gentle soul, while the out-wardly cute monkey may have real anger manage-ment issues. It took hours of observation to get know each creature as a person and then even more time to await the perfect opportunity for my new “friend’s” persona to come shining through. I hope these imag-es similarly speak to you as they reveal each animal’s unique beauty, majesty, power, and spirit. Though all are in physical captivity, their irrepressible character-istics can never be shackled.

rapher of the Year in the category of “People.” The prize was a Hasselblad XPan, a camera with which anyone ought to be able to take a good picture. And then, one fateful night in January of 2003, the car service assigned me to pick up B.E. at an address in Brentwood Hills at three in the morning and take him to Los Angeles International Airport. He was much more alert than most fares are at that hour, and on the drive he noted my accent, asked me where I was from, and then offered some tren-chant observations about the sad dissolution of what had been Yugoslavia. He wanted to know what I had done before I moved to Los Angeles—a question you can reasonably put to anyone in this city as most Angelenos come from somewhere else and once did something else to earn a living. When I said I had been a photographer back home, he identified him-self as the executive director of the UCLA AIDS In-stitute, mentioned that he was launching a magazine to showcase the research being done at the Institute, and urged me to send him my portfolio. I did as he asked, and he actually looked my port-folio over, summoned me to his office for a getting-to-know-you interview, and offered me an assign-ment…and then another…and then many others. I was sent on assignment to South Africa, Tanzania, Eastern Europe, Mexico, Canada and to various lo-cations in the United States. After a freak motorcycle accident left me with two cracked vertebrae in my back and neck, two broken ribs, and a four-month confinement to bed, I realized that I had ample time on my hands to think about what direction my career as a photographer would take after my recovery. I recalled a photograph of a tiger I had taken a few years back while at a zoo. I was struck by what jumped out of the picture—a

personality, a soul. It dawned on me that what the lens had somehow caught could be best portrayed in black and white. The essence of a creature’s spirit captured solely through motion and light. Once I was able to walk again, I headed directly to the zoo. My enthusiasm was never dampened, but I quickly realized that this was going to be tougher than I thought. It became quite clear that every ani-mal had its own distinct personality. The seemingly fierce lion may really be a gentle soul, while the out-wardly cute monkey may have real anger manage-ment issues. It took hours of observation to get know each creature as a person and then even more time to await the perfect opportunity for my new “friend’s” persona to come shining through. I hope these imag-es similarly speak to you as they reveal each animal’s unique beauty, majesty, power, and spirit. Though all are in physical captivity, their irrepressible character-istics can never be shackled.

index anImalS

Cover, Pg 1: American Black BearOrange County Zoo, CA

Pg 4: Humboldt Penguin Saint Louis Zoo, MO

Pg. 6: Domestic CatMy first photograph at age 17,Belgrade, Serbia

Pg 11: Chimpanzee Los Angeles Zoo, CA

Pg 12: Zebra Saint Louis Zoo, MO

Pg 13: Cage wires San Diego Zoo, CA

Pg 15: East African Crowned Crane Saint Louis Zoo, MO

Pg 16: Bald Eagle Saint Louis Zoo, MO

Pg 17: Bald Eagle Albuquerque Zoo, NM

Pg 19: Amur (Siberian)Tiger Memphis Zoo, TN

Pg 20: Gray Wolf Memphis Zoo, TN

Pg 23: Leopard (Died in Dec. 2011 at age of 18) Saint Louis Zoo, MO