Each picture you take has power as long as it brings experience to the person who’s looking at it.
Jay Maisel
Before Instagram, there was Jay Maisel.
Be it for Coca-Cola, Sports Illustrated, or the cover art of Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue, the Maisel’s photography is likely the most commercially prolific work among his contemporaries. Noted for his control of color and a seemingly effortless knack for composition, the artist has breathed life into his craft. Yet, more so synonymous with his character than any one of his images was his home and studio, the Manhattan’s Germania Bank Building, a historic landmark of New York owned by Maisel for half of a century. Directed by his student, Stephen Wilkes, Jay Myself documents the photographer’s career, eclectic collection, and the final weeks he spent within his home.
Aesthetically, the film does well to capture the gamut of Maisel’s art, curating his earliest imagery alongside his most renowned. Allowing him to speak for himself, Wilkes seamlessly tethers Maisel’s most abstract and peculiar musings to his most accessible. These candid conversations feel reminiscent of David Lynch: The Art Life, a documentary lauded for its intimacy with its subject. Given Wilkes preexisting relationship with Maisel, Jay Myself as a whole feels all the more natural and fluid.
Unfortunately, the film staggers a structurally, ironically and appropriately reminiscent of the odds and ends Maisel has compiled within his 35,000-square-foot home. After spending almost an hour on the artist’s life and career, Wilkes seems to focus sparsely on his subject’s family and even more notably his departure from the bank. What at first glance feels like the catalyst for the film becomes somewhat of a rushed afterthought in its movement as if an artist within the twilight of their career could not justify a compelling narrative. This choice notably causes the film to stagnate, growing harder to ignore in its fleeting moments. Granted, it would likewise prove incredibly difficult to capture Maisel at his most inspired anywhere but his own studio.
Still, the power of Maisel’s art in of itself keeps Jay Myself from floundering, likely due to Wilkes apparent passion for his mentor. The notion of a pupil instilling a semblance of the gravity of their greatest influence is where the film shines vividly. There is a moment when, amid the weeks of packing Maisel’s dauntless portfolio, he and Wilkes cycle through slides of his journeys abroad. The duo finds joy in the beauty, nuance, and unintended stories these images carry with them as Maisel briefly reveals the spark that influenced his career. Another instance epitomizes the spirit of the film when Maisel peers out his window, identifying over a dozen possible scenes and photo-worthy moments in a matter of seconds. It is these sequences, those that capture the artist at the peak of his engagement, that lives at the heart of Jay Myself and gives us the richest understanding of who Maisel is.
Though at times off-balance, Jay Myself ultimately succeeds in conveying the essence of Maisel. The film is a literal glimpse behind the lens, attaching a face to a form of art that too often goes unconsidered beyond a quick glance.
