50 Years in Photography:
Susan Spiritus & Laurie Freitag

Laurie Freitag: Susan, I’m really grateful you said yes to this conversation. I reached out because I’m marking 50 years in photography this year and was hoping you’d be open to interviewing me about that milestone. When you replied and shared that you’re also celebrating 50 years in photography — through your work supporting and representing artists — it shifted how I thought about the conversation.

Although we’ve come to photography from very different roles within the field, we’ve both stayed deeply engaged with the medium for half a century, through enormous personal, cultural, and technological change. That’s what made this feel less like a one-way interview and more like an exchange — a chance to ask each other questions and reflect on what it means to stay committed to photography over time, from different vantage points.

My first question is, what don’t people know about you?

Susan Spiritus: I would start by saying that there is much information that people don’t know about me.

My professional life began far from the art world. I earned my Bachelor’s degree from the University of Buffalo in 1966, majoring in Speech Pathology and Audiology, followed by a Master’s degree in Special Education from Boston University in 1967, with an emphasis in Deaf Education. While living in Boston, I worked part-time at the Horace Mann School for the Deaf.

In 1968, I moved with my husband to Guam during his Navy service. Shortly after arriving, I learned that the island had experienced a rubella epidemic in 1965, leaving sixty deaf three-year-olds in urgent need of a teacher. The Government of Guam hired me, and for two years I worked intensively with these children, teaching them to speak and fitting each of them with hearing aids. It was deeply rewarding work, and before I left, all of the children successfully matriculated into a hearing kindergarten program.

When we returned to the mainland in 1970, we settled in California and began raising our family. At the same time, my husband and I developed an interest in collecting art. We became friends with Jack Glenn of the Jack Glenn Gallery in Newport Beach, collected modestly, and spent a great deal of time at the Newport Harbor Art Museum.

In 1974, with two young children under the age of four, I was diagnosed with Ménière’s disease, which left me housebound for several months and resulted in single-sided deafness and severe dizziness. When my health improved, I knew I had to get out of the house and do something for myself. Because my mobility was limited, the idea of working in an art gallery — a place where I didn’t have to move constantly — felt possible, even ideal.

I began spending much of my time at Jack Glenn’s gallery, and he eventually invited me to work with him. Jack believed photography was on the cusp of a new beginning and encouraged me to help introduce it to the gallery. That became my gateway into the world of fine art photography.

When the Jack Glenn Gallery abruptly closed, I asked him what I should do next. Without hesitation, he told me to open my own gallery.

At the time, I never would have thought of myself as a business owner. If you had asked me fifty years ago what I would do with my life, entrepreneurship would not have been my answer. Neither of my parents were businesspeople. My mother was a teacher who earned a Master’s degree in Mathematics from Hunter College in the 1930s; my father was a graduate of Fordham University. Education and achievement were deeply valued in my family, and expectations were high. My older brother skipped grades throughout school and went on to medical school. My mother encouraged me to become a teacher — a stable, respectable profession — and like many women of my generation, I was also told that marrying a doctor would ensure security.

The path laid out for me was clear: earn a degree, get a job, marry, raise a family. There was very little conversation about what came next — especially for women.

But after my illness, I knew I needed to claim something for myself. Opening an art gallery became not only a professional turning point, but a practical and personal solution — one that allowed me to work within my physical limits while building something meaningful.

After researching, traveling to New York to visit the Witkin and LIGHT galleries, and meeting artists along the way, the Susan Spiritus Gallery opened on June 18, 1976.

Laurie Freitag: Susan, learning about your early work in education, what really stood out to me is how that same sense of care carried forward into your work with photography and with artists.

For me, my relationship to photography began in my family. My uncle lived upstairs with his family in a two-story house in New York, and he worked for GAF, which in the 1960s was one of the major film and camera companies. He was always taking pictures of us. From the beginning, photography felt familiar and affectionate — a way of paying attention and holding onto people.

I think what a lot of people don’t know about me is that before my later fine-art work, I spent time doing very hands-on, assignment-driven photography. When I worked part-time for the LA Reader and the Hollywood Independent newspaper around 1989 and 1990, I was photographing very specific subjects — local politicians and civic figures, chefs and restaurant owners, kitchens and food culture, and people connected to community life in Los Angeles.

My very first assignment was to photograph a restaurant owner on the Sunset Strip. I’d had surgery on both my feet the day before, but there was no way I was turning the assignment down. My sister drove me, waited out front — it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes — and then drove me straight home after I got the photographs I needed.

That work was fast and immediate. You had to walk in, assess quickly, introduce yourself, and be clear about what you needed. It taught me how to assert myself and how to take the photograph rather than make the photograph. At the LA Reader, I was also trusted to keep my negatives and choose the image that would run, which gave me a strong sense of authorship early on.

Looking back, I can see how those experiences — photographing real people in real situations, even under less-than-ideal circumstances — stayed with me and continue to shape how I work.

When you look back over your years as a gallerist, what are you most proud of?

Susan Spiritus: This second question is difficult to answer, as it spans nearly fifty years. Without significant editing, I could easily write pages. Instead, I’ve chosen to focus on a few key memories in the hope that they capture what feels most important.

When I opened the gallery, I had a young family and no long-range plans for where it might lead. Late in 1975, I flew to New York to visit LIGHT and the Witkin Gallery, where I saw an exhibition of George Tice’s work. That visit led to a meeting at his studio and, ultimately, to his agreeing to be the opening exhibition at my gallery a few months later. Not really knowing what I was doing at the time, I was stunned when the show sold out within days of opening.

That moment convinced me there was a real market for photography in Newport Beach, and the long, hard work was ahead of me!

Another proud — and slightly embarrassing — moment came with a late-day visit from Graham Nash (1977). I must admit that when he first walked in, I didn’t recognize who he was. He was wearing a green jumpsuit that had a sunny side-up pin on the lapel. He began pointing to many of the photographs throughout the gallery, declaring, “I’ll take this, and this, and this and this….!” When he asked, “Aren’t you writing this down?” I nervously replied that I would remember every single one. He handed me his manager’s business card and told me to send the invoice the next morning. After he left, I watched him pull away in his green sports car — and I didn’t wait until morning to confirm the sale. At the time, it was the largest sale the gallery had ever made.

A very proud moment came in 1981, when my husband threw me a surprise party. As everyone shouted “SURPRISE” when I arrived, my immediate response was, “What for?” The celebration marked the fifth anniversary of the Susan Spiritus Gallery.

While later anniversaries were no longer surprises, I did celebrate the gallery’s 25th and 30th milestones, and I very much hope to mark the upcoming 50th. These celebrations have meant a great deal to me.

My gallery has always been small and comfortable — inviting and never standoffish, as so many galleries are reputed to be. I’ve always considered myself a “people person,” and I find it easy and natural to establish a rapport with my clients and photographers. Over the years, I’ve received countless handwritten notes, emails, and phone calls expressing appreciation for that warmth and approachability. That, too, has been a source of great pride.

More recently, in 2022, I was honored to receive the SPARK Award from the Los Angeles Center of Photography (LACP) in recognition of the gallery’s longevity and its dedication to the photographic community.

This was a tremendous honor and one that made me very proud. I have a feeling that celebrating fifty years in this business will truly knock my socks off! All I can say is thank you to everyone who has played a part in making my gallery what it is today and bringing it to this incredible milestone.

Laurie Freitag: I was at the SPARK Awards. I loved hearing your stories and it was great seeing how the audience responded to you.

To answer the same question, I’m most proud of uncovering the mystery behind the Hollywood Heart — a heart-shaped mass of red bougainvillea spilling over a concrete wall along the Hollywood Freeway. I noticed it while driving and named it the Hollywood Heart. 

I wanted to understand who created it and why. I followed the story the way a reporter would. The search was covered by the Los Angeles Daily News, and when I finally met the person who made it, the story ran again — there and later in LA Weekly.

During that process, I received permission to enter the iconic Capitol Records Building. I walked its round floors — a place filled with music history — and photographed from the roof. To be on that roof looking over Hollywood was a thrill and that access allowed me to photograph the heart from above.

Susan Spiritus: I’m curious! So tell me more about the LA Heart. I’ve never seen it in person — just in some of your photographs. Who created it? Where is it actually? What was the story behind it? It had to have taken many years “to grow into its shape”….

Laurie Freitag: The Hollywood Heart is located along the Hollywood Freeway (U.S. Route 101), visible to southbound drivers near Vine Street, just before the Gower Street exit.

The heart was shaped by artist Corrine Carrey, who is also known for shaping the hearts on the Micheltorena stairs in Silver Lake, California.

The lower point of the heart — the tapered “V” at the bottom of the retaining wall — formed on its own. For years, the top of the bougainvillea grew without being shaped.

In 2013, while driving past the wall, Carrey noticed the “V” and realized it could be the bottom of a heart. At the time, she was living in Bali and visiting Los Angeles.

When she returned a year later and moved back permanently, the bush was still the same. One night, using her parents’ hedge clippers and with a friend there, she trimmed the top and completed the heart shape. OK — next question! So Susan, what advice would you give an emerging photographer?

Susan Spiritus: If you are a photographer seeking advice from a professional, it’s essential to do your research and come prepared. Do your homework. Learn as much as you can about the individual and/or the gallery you are approaching so that you can present both yourself and your work in a thoughtful, professional manner.

Don’t simply walk into a gallery with work in hand expecting to be seen. Cold calls rarely serve you well. Be polite, introduce yourself, and first find out whether there is any interest. If there is, then make an appointment.

Long before paid portfolio reviews became common, I offered reviews in my gallery free of charge and gave unlimited advice. The only parameters were that photographers could bring between 15 and 25 strong photographs — unframed and well presented, not something that looked as though it had just been pulled from the trunk of a car. In other words, the work needed to be good enough to sell if someone walked in and wanted to buy it. At that time, presentation was key.

I also expected photographers to have information about their work readily available. The reason for limiting submissions to 15–25 photographs was simple: I wanted to see whether the photographer could edit their work down to the strongest images. I had no interest in looking at 100 prints.

Many of my colleagues thought I was crazy for giving advice away for free. I was repeatedly told I should charge a fee. I never did, because I felt it was more important to educate and support photographers at a critical stage in their development.

While the world of fine art photography has changed considerably, much of this advice still applies today.

Laurie Freitag: What you shared earlier really reinforces something I believe deeply — that there isn’t a single prescribed path. Your career grew out of circumstance, curiosity, and staying with what was in front of you, rather than following a plan.

I feel the same way about giving advice. I don’t think there’s a formula, because everyone’s path is different and everyone wants different things. I didn’t come through school or a traditional route, and I only came to fine art photography later. What mattered for me was staying focused on the work itself — paying attention to what held my curiosity and letting it deepen over time.

When galleries eventually became interested, it wasn’t because I was chasing visibility. It was because they encountered the work. In my case, that led to representation with your gallery and sales through the Duncan Miller Gallery, but that unfolded gradually and organically.

So if I have any advice, it’s to resist the pressure to follow a model that doesn’t feel sustainable or true. Stay close to the work, stay curious, and allow a path to unfold rather than trying to force one.

What changed in photography that you didn’t expect?

Susan Spiritus: If we go back fifty years, I would have to answer that question with one word: everything.

That said, the changes we experienced over five decades were gradual — and necessary.

I vividly remember the gradual infiltration of digital imagery into the gallery and the many conversations among my colleagues about whether they would “allow” digital work in their spaces. It was a completely new learning curve for me, as I was not — and am not — a photographer. My understanding of photography had been rooted in the darkroom tradition, so this shift into the digital realm required both adjustment and openness on my part.

Getting back to the broader idea of change, my experience has also been shaped by geography. My gallery has always been located in Orange County — specifically Newport Beach — where there has never been a strong proliferation of galleries or a substantial art community outside of Laguna Beach. As the only photography gallery in the area, I have had to forge my own path, relocating the physical space when necessary to better serve the gallery’s needs. As a result, the gallery has had several different addresses over the years, yet it has consistently maintained its identity, its integrity, and its value within the photographic community.

The arrival of social media brought yet another change. It became clear that having an online presence was essential, and I made sure that Susan Spiritus Gallery stepped into that world and maintained visibility on those platforms. The gallery’s presence has grown immeasurably since then!

What changes have you witnessed that were unexpected?

Laurie Freitag: For me, the unexpected change was how liberating digital became — not just technologically, but personally.

I began with film and traditional cameras. I respected the craft, but I never romanticized the weight of it — the lenses, the film changes, the constant awareness of cost and limitation. The mechanics sometimes felt heavier than the moment itself. When digital arrived, I felt relief. I could shoot freely. I could take hundreds, even thousands of images without worrying about running out of film. And because it was easier, I photographed more. Much more.

At that time, I was working as a nanny. I was often holding a child’s hand, moving through parks and neighborhoods, responding to whatever was unfolding. I couldn’t manage a bulky camera with two hands. A phone could slip into my pocket. I could stay present and still photograph.

What I truly didn’t expect was that I could create serious work on that device. In the Garden at Chislehurst — the series Susan represents — was photographed entirely on my phone, in a garden, often with a child standing right beside me. I could adjust the contrast, refine the image, and complete the work right there on the phone. It wasn’t just capturing; it was shaping.

The same was true of Lunar Sanctuaries and The Lost Years — photographing, editing, processing, all of it on the phone. I didn’t need a camera body or a computer.

And what really surprised me is that I wasn’t thinking about whether digital counted or not. I was just using what made sense for my life. It fit into my day. It let me keep photographing while holding a child’s hand, while moving through the world. And because it was easier, I photographed more — and that led to deeper bodies of work.

I haven’t been a nanny for the past half year, but I’m still using the iPhone. At this point, it isn’t about convenience — it’s simply how I work. I didn’t set out to make “iPhone art.” I just kept working. And over time, the phone became my primary creative instrument — not because it was trendy, but because it allowed the work to grow.

Susan Spiritus: Laurie, you’ve just turned 70, and I will soon be 82 — never imagining that I would still be actively working at this stage of my life. As the years unfolded at the gallery, I often thought that by the time I reached 80, I would surely be retired and pursuing something entirely different. Instead, the gallery remains very much a part of my daily life.

With 70 being the new 50, you surely have many productive years ahead of you — while I may not have quite as many. What are your short-term and long-range plans?

As for me, I would very much like to pass the reins to my daughter, Lisa, and have her guide the gallery into its next chapter.

Laurie Freitag: You’re a very young 82! The meaning of age has certainly changed, hasn’t it? That would be wonderful if Lisa did take those reins!

As for me, my short-term plans are really the same as my long-term plans: to focus on books. I’m currently working on The Lost Years, which I’m self-publishing through Blurb. It’s quite an undertaking because, as usual, I’m doing it all myself… and the learning curve has certainly kept me alert — and challenged — in the best way.

I’m always open to creating new work. I’ve spent my life documenting my surroundings, and now that I’m retired, I’m not entirely sure what those surroundings will be.

There’s something exciting about that — allowing what comes next to unfold organically and staying open to whatever wants to emerge.