Journal

Irving Penn at the de Young

 
Large outdoor sign with green panels displaying the text “Irving Penn” and a black-and-white photograph of a seated boxer, located near the de Young Museum entrance with palm trees and landscaping in the background.

Entrance sign for the Irving Penn exhibition at the de Young Museum featuring boxer Joe Louis.

 
 
 

What do Ingmar Bergman, Alfred Hitchcock, Pablo Picasso, Le Corbusier, Salvador Dalí, and Jean Cocteau have in common? They were all photographed by Irving Penn, one of the 20th century’s most influential photographers. His portraits, fashion images, and still lifes turned simplicity into timeless art—and I recently got to see them at the de Young Museum in San Francisco.

 
 
Exterior view of the de Young Museum, a modern copper-clad building with a distinctive twisting tower, palm trees lining the walkway, and visitors walking outside.

The de Young Museum in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park.

Large wall mural with the repeated words “Irving Penn” in oversized serif letters, accompanied by a block of introductory text about the photographer inside a museum hallway.

Wall display introducing the Irving Penn exhibition.

Gallery interior with wooden floors and gray-purple walls displaying framed Irving Penn photographs; several people are walking through and viewing the artwork.

Visitors explore the Irving Penn photography exhibition.

A person holds a large exhibition book titled Irving Penn: Centennial, featuring a black-and-white cover photo of a man leaning on a vintage camera, with a wooden floor in the background.

Exhibition copy of Irving Penn: Centennial.

 
 

Born in New Jersey, he first studied design before turning to photography. Over seven decades, he created some of the most iconic portraits of artists, writers, and everyday people. Penn’s minimalist style used plain backdrops and simple compositions to strip away distraction and emphasize gesture, texture, and presence.

 
 
 
 

What I find most interesting about Penn’s work is that he didn’t only focus on famous figures—he also photographed everyday people with the same care and attention. His portraits of workers, tradespeople, and ordinary subjects show the same dignity as those of cultural icons.

Black-and-white photograph by Irving Penn of a coal worker in helmet and boots, holding a shovel and tools, displayed in a simple black frame with title and description plaques on the wall.

Irving Penn’s photograph Coal Man, London, 1950.

One of my favorite photographs of his comes from the cigarette series, where discarded butts are transformed into careful studies of shape and texture. These images reveal how even the most ordinary objects can hold unexpected beauty.

Black-and-white close-up photograph by Irving Penn showing two burnt cigarette ends, labeled with partially visible brand names, framed against a simple background.

Irving Penn’s photograph of cigarette butts from his Cigarettes series.

After leaving the museum, I tried my own attempt at noticing beauty in discarded objects. I photographed a crushed Dr. Pepper can on the sidewalk, drawn to its shape, color, and distorted typography. I realized how much a small shift in attention can change the way we see.

 
 
Flattened red Dr Pepper soda can lying on a textured concrete surface, its branding partially distorted from being crushed.

Crushed Dr Pepper can on the pavement.

Vertical banner hanging from a lamppost outside, showing a black-and-white portrait photograph with the text “Irving Penn” and “de Young museum,” with palm trees and the museum building in the background.

Banner for the Irving Penn exhibition at the de Young Museum.

 
 

Seeing Penn’s work left me with the idea that photography isn’t only about who or what is in front of the lens—it’s about how closely we choose to look. From cultural icons to crushed cigarette butts, he showed that attention itself can turn the ordinary into something memorable.