Paul McCartney with Linda McCartney Taking a Selfie with baby Mary McCartney, 1969
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Mary McCartney Became an Artist With a Little Help from Linda and Paul
The photographer and cookbook author recalls her mother’s camera and her Beatle father’s first solo album while growing up in London and Scotland
By Marc Myers
HOUSE CALL
The Wall Street journal
Aug. 28, 2018
Self-portrait by Mary McCartney at her home in London. PHOTO: MARY MCCARTNEY
Mary McCartney, 48, is a fine-art photographer and author of several vegetarian cookbooks. Her latest book of photography is “The White Horse” (Rizzoli). She spoke with Marc Myers.
One of my earliest memories is my parents sitting me on a pony in Scotland. They carefully wrapped my hands around the horse’s mane and slowly walked me around. I must have been about a year old.
The pony’s name was Coconut. He was very kind and patient. I remember the coarse texture of his mane and how I held onto it tightly. Riding him that young gave me an early sense of pride and self-confidence.
As a family, we spent most summers together at a remote farmhouse on Scotland’s Kintyre peninsula. During the school year, we lived in central London.
Those summer stays were about seclusion and family. By spending long periods far away and close together, my parents, siblings and I were each other’s entertainment.
Growing up, I loved the Scottish landscape. The land wasn’t manicured or developed. It was open and wide, and the sky was expansive. Hills were covered in heather and bracken, and the fields were divided by old stone walls that had fallen apart in places. You could see for miles.
Our one-story, green-and-red stone farmhouse was a comfortable and simple home. We spent much of our time outdoors, with our horses, sheep and dogs.
Paul and Linda McCartney with Mary (carried by her father) and Mary’s half-sister Heather in May 1971 as they arrived in Saint-Tropez, France, to attend the wedding of Mick and Bianca Jagger. PHOTO: AP ASSOCIATED PRESS
Growing up with artistic parents was inspiring. My mother, Linda, was a professional photographer, and my father was Paul McCartney. In London, they took me to art exhibits. I was encouraged to observe, feel and express myself. My mother always had beautiful photography books around and we had contemporary artwork.
In Scotland and London, my mother and her cameras were inseparable. They were a part of her and always at the ready to take photos of images that moved her.
Mum was kind and gentle, comforting and elegant. She had a great sense of humor. She often left me alone with a camera to figure out my own artistic taste and sensibility.
There were two parts of me growing up. Either I was out and about in London and everyone was watching. Or, in stark contrast, I was in Scotland, surrounded by nature. Those extremes made me who I am.
At school in London, I was quite chatty and sociable. I was curious about people and wanted to know their personal stories. On holiday, in seclusion in Scotland, I could become more introspective. I’d ride off into the hills for adventures on my new pony, Sugar Foot.
Riding was the perfect way to explore the landscape. I had an opportunity to become more observant, taking in nature from my pony’s perspective. I felt safe.
Photography first became a passion in my teens. My mother was forthcoming with invaluable advice. We both processed our artistic viewpoint through our own personal experiences.
I also learned a great deal just by watching her. I feel like I inherited her eye. Mum was interested in nonperfect, authentic moments. We both strived to gain a subject’s trust and not rush a promising situation.
Alejandro, subject of a new photography book, ‘The White Horse,’ by Mary McCartney. PHOTO: MARY MCCARTNEY/RIZZOLI INTERNATIONAL PUBLICATIONS
She also helped me develop a critical eye. During our summers in Scotland, I’d save up my rolls of film and have them developed at the lab when I got back to London. Then we’d go through the photographs and edit out our favorites together. I liked hearing her opinions.
After college, I had a job as a photo researcher at a music-book publisher. Then Mum invited me into her archive to look through all of her books of contact sheets.
This was the moment I became passionate about taking up photography professionally. I was 23 years old. And when I told my mother the news, she gave me one of her prized cameras—a Leica R7.
That Leica was the kind of camera that motivates you to take photographs. When I held it, I felt comfortable and inspired to go out on adventures and search for moments to capture in a single frame.
The camera’s sleek design made it easy to handle, and I loved the sound and feel of the shutter release. There was something about the click that was substantial and reassuring.
Today, my husband, Simon Aboud, and I live with our four children in central London, near Regent Park. It’s a Victorian apartment with lots of light. My favorite room is our bedroom. On a good day outside the bedroom windows I can watch the clouds float by and the trees sway in the breeze
A couple of times a month, I drive down to stables in the countryside south of London to ride my white horse, Alejandro. He’s strong and kind and stunningly beautiful. We trust and calm each other as we explore the natural landscape.
Sadly, my mother passed away in 1998. I still have the Leica R7 she gave me. When I use it now, I feel as if she’s there with me, giving me advice and confidence. Just holding the camera takes me back to the day she gave it to me.
THE STORY BEHIND THE FAB PHOTO
Perhaps my mother’s most famous photograph of me was taken in Scotland in 1969. When I was a little baby, my father, Paul, would put me inside his soft zip-up jacket when they went for a horse ride.
One day, after they returned to the farmhouse and my father dismounted, my mother took the image of my dad and me. It wasn’t pre-planned or posed. My mother just caught the moment in the golden light of late afternoon.
My parents used the image on the back of my father’s “McCartney” album when it came out in early 1970. I looked pretty cozy in there.
Mary McCartney on the back cover of Paul McCartney's 1970 solo album.
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