Ten years since meeting David Hamilton

It was one June day, exactly ten years ago. A time when I had almost given up on the dream of ever working side by side with one of the great masters of photography. I was living in Montenegro, which seemed so far away from that world.
A world-renowned photographer visiting us? I had never heard of such a thing... and then, all of a sudden – David Hamilton. Right here, in Montenegro.

At the time, I was working on a magazine and had slowly started to accept the idea that the saying "Behind every successful professional is a teacher who believed in them first" might not apply to me. But then...

Preparing for David’s exhibition at the Naval Heritage Museum in Tivat

Thanks to my dear friend Aleksandra Nedić, who “recommended” me, our meeting happened in a way that only fate could orchestrate – quietly, in a restaurant in Kotor, where I showed up without knowing I was, in fact, walking into a sort of interview. Out of several candidates, David chose me. Not because I had the best technical skills – I don’t think that was the reason. It was a matter of sensitivity – the way we understood each other without needing many words. My English helped, of course, but I believe what truly mattered was the energy between us. In that regard, we instantly clicked.

From that moment, and for the next two years, I accompanied him in his creative process – through landscapes, silences and laughter, long drives and walks. I always had my dog Boy with me – my loyal companion, whom David adored. The three of us – like an unusual travelling theatre – were always together.

David and Boy

What left the deepest mark in those days weren’t the techniques, the sets or the scenes. It was the conversations. David’s stories – about Paris, Saint-Tropez, the people he had known, the big names in art, fashion, and music. His world was one of noble balconies from which petals are thrown onto passersby, of light caressing the skin, and of eyes that could recognize the subtlest shades of a soul.

He once said – “A woman is like a violin. You must know how to hold her, how to play. If you don’t, it’s better not to touch her at all.” I tried to remember those words. Because he said them as if they were very important… and later, I understood why.

Much later, one of his close collaborators told me that David had said something about me – something so generous that it would feel immodest to repeat. It would sound exaggerated… but in the end, it doesn’t matter whether it was said aloud. What matters is that I felt how he saw me. Not as an apprentice, not as an assistant, but as someone with a voice of her own.

His presence was delicate and charming, like the red velvet that covered his apartment in Paris, where I had the privilege of staying. That apartment felt like an extension of his spirit – full of textures, lamps, and scattered negatives across a massive worktable.

I never tried to recreate his style. That would be like trying to rewrite music that has already been sung. His photography – that sfumato, that light hovering between the real and the dreamlike – that was him. And I was simply grateful to be allowed to witness, from the inside, a creative signature no one has yet managed to reproduce.

Today, ten years later, I feel the need to say thank you.

David, thank you.
For allowing me to be part of your story – and for being, even if only for a moment, part of mine.

P.S. I owe special thanks to the Vučurović and Risteljić families, David’s dear friends, who were wonderful hosts and have remained dear friends of mine to this day.

A portrait of all "my" portraits. David Hamilton at Hotel Vardar in Kotor.