Nouveau pornographer Terry Richardson wants you to buy his book—and his shtick. Writes Sean O'Hagan in the Guardian, Richardson's non-fashion photography, which he considers his most important work, has gone the other way, his images becoming ever more hardcore in their depiction of Terry's own sex life.
The exhibitionistic photographer recounts going clean three years ago: I was at the bottom, man. I'd just broken up with a girlfriend three days before, and I'd gone on a binge over Christmas. I'd done $100 worth of smack, taken a bunch of Valiums and drunk a bottle of vodka. I put on a suit and tie for Christmas, then it hit me that I was all alone. I went to sleep hoping that I wouldn't wake up. That's when the guys found me, and sent me off to rehab.