PLACIDO DOMINGO
The Singing Photographer: My Duet with Placido Domingo
In the world of celebrity photography, some shoots stand out more than others. Over my five decades behind the lens, I've photographed countless famous faces—from Hollywood royalty to actual royalty—but one encounter in particular has always held a special place in my memory. It was the day I photographed the great tenor Placido Domingo, and found myself unexpectedly singing for my supper.
The year was 1999, and I had received a commission that would excite any photographer with an appreciation for classical music: to capture the legendary Placido Domingo for the cover of a prestigious new book titled "The Great Tenors." The publishers had a specific vision—they wanted Domingo photographed in full operatic costume, creating an image that would convey both the power and artistry of one of the world's greatest voices.
There was just one small catch. When approached about the project, Señor Domingo made it clear he would only be photographed in costume if it happened during an actual performance, between acts, when he would already be in character's attire. No exceptions. This was not an unusual request from a performer of his caliber; many artists have their rituals and boundaries.
To the Seville Opera House
And so, camera equipment in tow, I found myself boarding a flight to Spain, where Domingo was performing in a production of "El Cid" at the majestic Seville Opera House. I had photographed many celebrities in their natural habitats before—on film sets, backstage at concerts, in private homes—but an opera house during a live performance presented a unique set of challenges and protocols I was about to discover.
What I didn't know—what no one had thought to mention—was that opera singers, or at least Placido Domingo, adhere to a particular practice during performances. They don't use their ‘speaking voice’ offstage; they sing. Everything. This technique helps keep their throat warm and their voice at peak performance throughout the demanding operatic marathon.
The first act concluded to thunderous applause, I waited in the wings, having set up a portable studio in his dressing room backstage. I expected a quick introduction, perhaps a handshake, and then we'd proceed with the photography session during his brief break. What happened instead has remained etched in my memory ever since.
sINGING tO plACIDO
Domingo, resplendent in his elaborate "El Cid" costume, approached me backstage. Instead of the conventional greeting I had anticipated, he looked me directly in the eyes and, in a gorgeous tenor that had mesmerized audiences worldwide, sang: "I'm ready for my photos now."
For a moment, I stood frozen, wondering if this was some sort of elaborate joke or perhaps a cultural custom I hadn't been briefed about. The great tenor continued to look at me expectantly, and in that split second, I made a decision that seemed both respectful and slightly absurd—I sang back to him.
"Please step right this way," In the best baritone I could muster. Probably the least melodious response Domingo had ever received to his magnificent voice.
If he found my amateur vocal performance amusing, he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded appreciatively, as though this musical conversation was entirely normal. And so began one of the most surreal and memorable photo shoots of my career.
We proceeded down a long, narrow backstage corridor toward his dressing room, where I had earlier set up my portable studio. The corridor was atmospherically lit with bare lightbulbs spaced about every twenty meters apart, creating pools of harsh illumination amid stretches of shadow—the kind of unintentional lighting that photographers often find more compelling than elaborate setups.
cAPTURING tHE mOMENT
As we walked, our conversation continued in this improvised operatic recitative:
"How much time do we have?" I sang awkwardly. "About fifteen minutes before I must return," he melodiously replied. "I'll work quickly then," I warbled, feeling increasingly like I had stumbled into an absurdist musical.
Walking behind the maestro, I watched as he passed under each of those bare lightbulbs. The simple yet harsh illumination created a dramatically theatrical effect, highlighting the contours of his face and the textures of his elaborate costume. It was the kind of unplanned, serendipitous moment that photographers dream about—raw, authentic, and captivating.
As he passed under the next lightbulb, I saw a perfect image materialize. The hard light sculpted his features, creating deep shadows that emphasized his commanding presence. The corridor's darkness enveloped him, while the single bulb created a spotlight effect that seemed perfectly appropriate for a man who had spent his life performing under the world's great spotlights.
"STOP!" I called out, as he was just about to walk under the next bare lightbulb—forgetting in my excitement to ‘sing’ the direction.
Domingo turned toward me, his expression questioning but patient. In that instant, I captured a single frame. One shot. That's all the situation would allow. That unplanned corridor portrait—that one shot, captured in transit between stage and dressing room—remains my personal favorite from the session. There's something in it that captures not just the public persona of Placido Domingo the opera star, but something more essential about the man himself: the dignity, the intensity, the artistic commitment that has defined his extraordinary career.
Of course, we continued to his dressing room, where I had meticulously set up lighting for the "official" portraits. There, our singing conversation persisted:
"Perhaps you could turn slightly to the left," I sang tentatively. "Like this?" he replied in perfect pitch, adjusting his posture and raising his prop sword high above his head. "Magnificent!" I crooned, sounding anything but.
eMBRACING tHE uNEXPECTED
The unconventional yet highly productive and enjoyable session was a tremendous success. The publishers were delighted with the results, though ironically, they chose one of the dressing room portraits for the book cover rather than my corridor favorite. Such is often the case in commercial photography—what speaks to me artistically isn't always what serves the client's needs best.
Looking back on that day in Seville, what stays with me isn't just the unusual singing protocol or even the striking images we created together. It's the reminder that the most memorable moments in photography often come from embracing the unexpected, from adapting to your subject's world rather than forcing them into yours. I entered Placido Domingo's realm that day—quite literally his stage—and by playing along with his rituals rather than disrupting them, I was granted access to capture something authentic about one of the world's great artists.
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