Big Fish and Good-Lookin' Women

"Hey, Jack, when ya gonna give us another book?" Vermont photographer Jack Rowell has been hearing that question since 1980. That’s when The White River Valley Herald under Dick Drysdale, an early admirer of Jack's work, published a 1,500-copy first edition of Tunbridge Fair: Photographs by Jack Rowell. The 70-page photo essay, now a collector's item, featured scenes from the fair of Jack’s youth, when its nighttime carnival atmosphere reeked of booze and among the attractions were “girlie shows.” In the years since, Jack has made a name for himself as an independent photographer who shoots what he loves. His depictions of Vermont life have graced the covers of national magazines, the walls of art galleries and the doors of Vermont refrigerators, stuck there by the proud moms and grandmas of Little Leaguers and fishing derby winners. He has not produced another book. Two years ago, however, with his seventieth birthday looming, he reached out to a couple of friends, independent publishers who believed a bound volume by one of our region's most beloved photographers, a self-described "cultural documentarian" with evidence to prove it, was not only doable but mandatory. The goal: a hardcover limited edition that spans Jack's fifty-year legacy, focused squarely on Vermont and its people.

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Like Tunbridge Fair, the new book will focus on people doing things that make them happy: Licking maple creemies and flirting with cows. Cuddling chickens and plucking guitars. Making music and making mischief. Polishing the dance floor with their shoes. The lineup includes Miss Vermont kissing a fish and U.S. Congress hopeful Fred Tuttle, an elderly farmer turned movie star, watching a girlie show on TV. It's  Vermont like you've never seen it before.

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Jack's “good-lookin’ women”—credited, along with fish, whenever people ask him what he likes to shoot—are strong, independent, and resilient. They include a competitive body builder, a teacher of outdoor survival skills, a stone carver, a producer of wool products, and the 95-year-old former employee of a bygone clothing factory. 

Note, please, that some of these beauties are unclothed. The quiet nudes that pay homage to the female form--powerful, graceful, alluring--are part of Jack's mature work, his studio portraits marking the apogee of his career. The documentary image of a bare-breasted reveler at a motorcycle rally is from the hard-partying days of his youth.

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Traditional Values, Changing Times

Vermont has changed in the fifty years since Tunbridge Fair was published. Even the fair, which dates back to 1867, has revamped itself, losing the girlie shows and becoming more family friendly. In his portraits and scenes of rural life, Jack captures a society in transition, where survival depends on timeless virtues—creativity, resilience—and a certain amount of luck. John O’Brien, the son of a sheep farmer, is shown on the set of Man with a Plan, his 1996 feature film about a dairy farmer who runs for Congress; today, John’s sheep farm is also a wedding venue. Singer/songwriter Myra Flynn, photographed in the studio, bolsters her music career with a VPR podcast about race and art (her mother is African-American), a line of jewelry made from old piano parts, and a namesake wine produced by a Vermont vintner. 

Jack himself is part of this ethos. A fifth-generation Vermonter, he spent much of his childhood hunting, fishing, and exploring the north country woods with his dad. His mom worked a factory job, and the family scraped by. His first camera was a loaner from a family friend, his first job a freelance gig with the local newspaper. He rents a modest apartment and drives a mileage-heavy stationwagon stuffed with tripods and fishing gear. In typical Vermont fashion, he often barters with friends. He is attracted by people who make cool stuff, and he isn't afraid to say what he thinks. He is known for his generosity. "Jack looks out for those who need help," says his friend Sue Higby, the director of a regional art gallery. "He remains loyal to longtime friends and would remove a tattered shirt from his shoulders to offer comfort."

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Why This Book and Why Now?

We need this book. Not just Vermonters but all Americans. We need its big-hearted embrace of all things beautiful, its soul-nourishing acceptance of our frailties. More than ever, as we struggle through one of the most divisive periods in our nation’s history, we need its reminder that the human story is one of both hardship and triumph, and that to see ourselves as we truly are demands love, humor, irony, and respect, qualities that define Jack’s work.