Lines of endearing tributes have already been written. Is there anything else I can say that the world hasn’t heard? What I am about to write is just a drop in the bucket. . . a tiny drop, yet carries weight. Heavy enough to make a splash of my fond memories of the legendary Spremo.
Long before Instagram, I followed Boris Spremo on the pages of the Toronto Star. It all started in the mid-seventies when I spotted an amazing photograph that was shot atop the unfinished CN Tower. It was breathtaking. I couldn’t shake it off my mind. Likewise, the photographer’s name was hard to forget. It looked misspelled and was confusing to read. I suspected the letter ‘u’ was missing.
In the next issues of the Toronto Star, I got used to the awkward name and became well familiarized with the shooting style of Boris to the point of recognizing the shots at first glance. It wasn’t difficult. They stood out above the rest. My admiration for his compelling photojournalism grew deeper. I wanted to shoot like Boris, but during those times only the big shot professionals could afford the high end photographic equipment and the costly expense of shooting on film. All I could do was dream . . . and dream I did with a simple camera in my hand.
I was introduced to photography at an early age by my father who was a combat photographer in the Philippine Army during the Korean War in the fifties. He showed me the military approach to shooting photos, “Focus on the target, anticipate the action, aim and shoot.” My father’s discipline taught me to shoot like a soldier, but it was Boris Spremo’s creative approach on photojournalism that inspired me to shoot better.
In the late eighties I needed to supplement my income from the TTC. I purchased mid-range photographic equipment to venture on a small home business. By mixing my father’s shooting discipline with Boris-style photojournalism and my passion for the art, I came up with the perfect recipe for wedding photography. The business got me so involved that I hardly had time to read a copy of the Toronto Star. Gradually, I lost track of Boris.
Many more years had passed until the Boris Fever re-emerged in 1999. An unexpected change of events happened. My good friend Brian Wicks who was beginning to get serious in photography, mentioned in passing that he met his fiancée’s uncle who was the top photographer for the Toronto Star. When Brian said, “Fran’s uncle has a funny name.” I knew the uncle was Boris Spremo. It had to be him. There was no need for another hint. I seized the moment. Brian smiled with a promise to arrange a meeting. Months later, the date was set. I was thrilled. The chance of a lifetime would soon unfold.
Meeting the Legend
I vividly remember the beautiful sunny afternoon. It was the legend himself who answered the door. Boris was wearing a printed wool sweater and a golden bracelet on his right wrist. He was genuinely friendly and delighted to see Brian and I at his doorstep. I’ll never forget Boris’ first words, “Is this our new friend?” Hearing him refer to me as a friend made me feel more than welcomed. I felt so humbled. And when he sealed our new friendship with a warm handshake, it was without a doubt, the most flattering moment of my life. It could almost be likened to a commoner meeting the King.
Inside Boris’ museum-like office/gallery, I was in awe. The ceiling-high mosaic of photos displayed an incredible career in pure photojournalism. The array of accolades and the collection of memorabilia defined the true calibre of the man behind the camera. Before me was a silent song of revelation. Boris was far greater than what I thought I knew about him. Without question, Boris was larger than life. He was indeed the photographer’s photographer, yet so down to earth despite the string of high profile recognitions received for excellence. He talked about his work without a tone of bragging. He simply sounded appreciative and pleased that I admired his achievements. Our conversation was casual . . . a heart to heart talk between two men sharing the same passion.
Each of the hanging photos and displayed mementos in the room were all voices of compelling narratives. They all spoke volumes. Hearing the stories straight from Boris in his Yugoslavian accent made it even more riveting. Among the many interesting stories was of Lady Diana’s lipstick imprinted on the wineglass. I could easily imagine it as a best-selling book, but my personal favourite was the encased cigar of Fidel Castro.
Boris was so animated in telling the story, “Trudeau was coming down the plane. Castro dropped the cigar. No one was looking. I picked the cigar for souvenir. Inside my pocket, I rubbed the fire so I don’t burn.” I couldn’t contain my laugh. That was hilarious!
Photography within Photography
The storytelling shifted to an old SLR. It was one of Boris’ early cameras. He spoke fondly of it. The multiple scratches on the body and lens were the poetic evidence of proven photojournalism, tested and forged by time. As I cradled it in my hands, I sensed distance. I felt challenges. I heard conflicts. I envisioned a long journey of a man pushing boundaries in pursuit of a dream. The feeling was overwhelming. Thanks to Brian, he captured the moment for me to remember the day. The photo of me holding the camera with Boris standing next to me is now my priceless treasure. A perfect illustration of photography within photography. Or should I say a delightful picture of a fan meeting his idol?
How do you shoot a legendary photographer? There is no definite answer. No fancy approach. You just let it happen. Boris was a delight to shoot. On an Italian renaissance chair, he was so at ease, charismatic, seasoned and full of life. I aimed my camera and took a couple of shots. Then, we continued to where we left off. We got acquainted some more. I presented him with a photo from my portfolio. I asked him to critique it. I believed Boris’ expertise on details and composition would yield constructive criticism to improve the shot. I was anxious. My heart was racing as I watched his keen eye scan the photo.
Then, I heard, “Good, Mario. Nothing wrong!” The response was short, but sweet enough to make me feel validated that I passed. The Master approved it!
The second time I set foot in the Spremo Residence was in 2001 when Brian and Fran got married. Boris transformed the main floor of the house into a full blown venue for the wedding reception of his niece. It was humbling to be the designated photographer, but it was deeply humbling when Boris asked me for permission to shoot a few photos. There was no need for him to ask. It was his family event. It was his house, but he asked anyway out of respect for me. I was blown away. This side of Boris is what I remember the most. What a man!
The evening went well. Family and friends in celebration. Great food and good speeches. I was happy for Brian and Fran. It was also the night I witnessed Boris in action behind the camera. We were shooting the same story. Technically, Boris and I were on a photo assignment together. Shallow as it sounds, but it was deep for me. It was the closest thing I could ever get for a chance to work with a legend.
For a man larger than life, Boris not only outsized greatness, he fully embodied the spirit and generously shared pieces of it to every eye he inspired and every heart he touched. I am so fortunate. I have a piece of the Boris Spirit.
It was really great knowing you, Boris. Thank you for the inspiration. You will always be in every shot I take. God be with you. May you rest in peace my dear friend.
The Poetic Eye 