Okay. Yes, the color. But that’s not the whole answer.
LaChapelle actually builds photographs the way a film director creates a set. Nothing in the frame is accidental.
The costuming, the props, the cast, the light. He meticulously constructs everything even before the shutter opens.
He’s not finding reality and photographing it. He’s making something that doesn’t exist and then making you believe it does.
The technical control behind the spectacle is one thing that really separates his work from photographers who are merely being loud.
The color is never loud just for loudness’s sake. It’s precise. Shadows fall exactly where they’re supposed to. Skin does specific things. The apparent chaos is actually very held.
And then there’s the content. He spent a long time shooting celebrity portraits and fashion editorial for major publications, and somewhere in that process he developed what you might generously call a complicated relationship with those worlds.
A lot of his fine art work is quietly–and sometimes not so quietly–picking a fight with the culture he helped document. The religious imagery that appears throughout his work isn’t decorative. It’s asking something.
Whether we’ve just traded one set of icons for another. Whether fame is its own kind of faith. He doesn’t answer it cleanly, which is probably why it keeps coming up.
That tension–between glamour and critique, between spectacle and discomfort–is what makes David LaChapelle photography style so hard to file neatly.
And honestly, that’s part of what makes it interesting to live with.