Robert Diament

Before we go, do you ever take pictures that aren't the work that we see?

Like, is there a kind of Anton Corbijn body of work that's like your personal world or, you know, like not well-known faces?

I want to check those out.

I've never seen them.

Oh, my God.

Yeah, that's crazy.

How do you feel about your photographs living on after we've all gone as a kind of legacy or like a document of a time?

Because I was thinking about your portrait of Virgil Abloh, who died a few years after you took the picture of him.

And also just all the people that have already gone, you know, that you photographed.

And now I think if you're trying to discover something about these people, you can go to your photos and kind of see them somehow.

The one of Virgil as well has this kind of blue, it's almost like an ink blot.

Drips down it and it's yellow, which is quite unusual for you in terms of the colors.

And he lay down on the street outside.

Do you think that taking photographs has been a search for meaning for you?

It's interesting, though, thinking about missionaries, because I always think that musicians are a bit like that because they travel the world touring and everything.

But often there's I used to compare it to the Spinoza philosophy about the invisible line and how it can connect other people in like the most unlikely of places.

So it'll be like some tiny town in America, you know, like where they're totally isolated, but they can hear a song.

And that they can feel not alone, like less alone.

And I feel like, you know, art and photography and all of these different mediums have the capacity for that connection, which is similar to religion in a way, or for like telling a story.

Well, thank you so much, Anton.