Tom Millea has always lived on the edge: on the fringe of society, close to the imaginary line between genius and a darker place, and always re-defining the boundaries of his own art. His photographs, especially those of women, are hauntingly beautiful. They draw the viewer in slowly, sensually, almost hypnotically. It is a tempting offer but one that the viewer knows, instinctively, will come with a price. The world of Tom Millea is not always a happy-go- lucky place. To understand the artist and his art requires an investment in time, intelligence and trust that it all comes with payoff. It does, but it takes an emotional commitment.

When he gets going, when he lets his guard down (and that takes some time), the words tumble out. “I do not photograph a person or make a portrait. It is impossible for me to make a portrait of a person. Instead, my photographs are, in part, biographies or autobiographies. A person’s face is the starting point for my creation of these biographies. I do not kid myself that the final image is in any way an accurate likeness of that person. It is a creation, my biography of that person and often more than a little autobiography. For me that is what great art is all about.” Millea doesn’t accept commissions for portraits. He says, “I can’t stand the rejection. Women never like the photographs I create of them.” His images are his alone, and he accepts that. He has not only practiced his art for 40 years, he has lived it, thought about it, tried hard to define it and ultimately given up a lot for it. And he is uncompromising. All of that is intimidating, not in an aggressive way but rather in a can-anyone-truly-be-that-dedicated kind of way. Purity of heart or at least purity in pursuit of the art?  Millea does have that single-minded focus and the result is a provocative view of life as seen through the lens of his camera.

When it comes to photography, Millea doesn’t like words like “capture” or “take,” he thinks they are too aggressive. He sees photography in a different light. It’s all about creating magic, and the magic for him comes from what he calls the “dance of creation.” The dance consists of three parts: the photographer, the camera and the subject. “When all work in harmony and balance, each contributes an aspect, which is essential to the finished image,” Millea explains, “When the dance is performed in its purest form the photographer and the subject are transformed into something beyond what either could have imagine beforehand.”

Millea came to photography almost by accident, or certainly by process of elimination. In college, he knew he wanted to be an artist, he just didn’t know which flavor. He tried drama, writing, painting, and sculpture, but nothing stuck until a professor noticed a photograph he had taken. With a little encouragement, Millea decided on his direction and set out to learn all he could about photography. By 1973 he was in Carmel. He actually came here to live in a monastery. Obviously, he didn’t end up staying, but it did launch a life-long spiritual quest. He freely admits he has spent the better part of his life trying to find a better way, or a more appreciative way to live. Has he found it? “Not possible,” he says. For Millea it’s a continuing process and photography is the catalyst or at least the vehicle. He has known some of the biggest names in the business (Minor White, Wynn Bullock, Edward Stricken and Paul Caponigro) but Millea’s personal and professional journey has been, for the most part, a solitary one.

Millea’s first major body of work was the Carmel Valley Series, but it was his two years spent in Death Valley that put him on the photography world’s radar screen. Millea says he went to Death Valley to test himself and his ability to photograph—nothing. The 800 images created during this period (1980-1982) turned Millea into a rising star, but he didn’t like the heat and soon dropped out and returned to creating in solitude. Millea has always worked in sets (several photographs meant to be seen together) and series; The Carmel Valley Series, The Death Valley Series, Fallen Roses, an unusual landscape series and The Jennifer Desmond Series, an edgy, urban look at kids on the edge, are just a few of Millea’s photographic collections. Although there are many individual photographs in between, the series add parameters to Millea’s body of work and are worthy indicators of the man and his mindset along the way. His latest is The Sue Lauwers Series. Millea calls it a portrait of a relationship. A relationship that continues to have a profound impact on Millea’s work.

Millea spends just about every penny he makes on his photographs. He is well known around the world, and sells fairly consistently off his website, but he is neither rich nor famous. He loves the Central Coast but may soon leave because of the high cost of living.  Although his work is in close to 30 well-respected museums, including the Getty Museum in Southern California, MOMA in New York and The National Gallery of American Art at the Smithsonian, he has a hard time finding galleries to take his work. He says most gallery owners don’t see value in what he does but perhaps the real reason for his difficult relationship with galleries is more complicated. His work is provocative and always pushes the envelope. Combine that with his shy and intense personality and gallery owners may simply choose a path of less resistance.  Millea is not a public relations tour de force; but his photographs are worth the effort. To see a Millea photograph up close and in person is to truly appreciate the artistry. Millea uses a platinum printing process, which allows him to get texture, depth and dimension that, he says, are impossible to achieve using the far more common silver printing process. “The silver print because of its tonal scale and its glossy brightness focuses its power in the use of light; the platinum print, on the other hand, has the distinct feeling that the blacks and low values have a power and presence all their own. Platinum prints invite the viewer into the image, while silver prints deal with surface,” Millea explains.  The platinum printing is expensive, though: $500 dollars for an ounce of platinum compared to $5 for an ounce of silver.

As an artist, Millea is amazingly consistent. As a man, he is full of contradictions. He is fearless and terrified at the same time. He is stubborn and hardheaded, but also sensitive to a fault. He has spent most of his life alone yet he wishes for something more. His eyes soften when he talks about it. He would like to be happy, to share that rare bond with another human being. It’s not that he hasn’t made the connections. In every photograph he creates, there is an emotional tie. The Sue Lauwers series includes a set of photographs of Sue with her granddaughter, Tessa, and they are nothing short of breathtaking. The level of emotion in the photographs would have been impossible to achieve if he was not emotionally involved, but maintaining that connection is something he has clearly struggled with all of his life.

Take his yet to be published book titled “Lady in a Glass Booth.” It is a photo essay, with accompanying text, of a woman in a porno theatre; a woman who performs behind a glass wall. No touching, it is strictly voyeurism. The images are sexually graphic and, taken separately, they would have to be considered pornographic, but in the context of the book they are remarkably enlightening.  They are powerful symbols of isolation and the inability of the artist to truly connect with another person, with or without the security of a camera lens. The message is universal and personal at the same time. The photographs are graphic and the words are painful: “All my longing, yearning for human connection was impossible in this context. I realized this to be a metaphor for my own life. The walls I carry through my own life are invisible to me, like glass; only when I touch them through some extraordinary experience, do I realize they exist.” The “Lady in the Glass Booth” was done in the late 1980’s and Millea says it was a turning point.  He didn’t like the picture of himself and since that time he has worked hard at tearing down walls in his own life and you can see the effort in his images. In this newer photographs his women are strong and beautiful but still quite vulnerable. He knows that his portrayal of them says a lot about him; they are an artistic testimony to a personal, sometimes painful journey of self-discovery. In one essay he writes, “Now after so many years have passed, I understand that anyone who is on the journey of self-understanding must pass certain defined points along this passage. Each person’s journey is unique, the points are universal. Whether these points destroy us or ennoble us is up to the individual.” All of this is not to say Millea has gone soft. Far from it. He is as uncompromising as ever. He has little patience for the intricacies of the art business, and little time for people who are not willing to go further than small talk.

For Tom Millea intensity is simply his nature. With his photographs, his words, his voice, even his eyes, he challenges the viewer, and interviewer, to enter and understand his mysterious, complex, and textured world. It’s an honest invitation. He just doesn’t guarantee a safe exit.

Written by: Erin Clark