Well, what can one say about Sebastian Horsley that he has not already said about himself?

I hope it won’t ruin his reputation too much to say that he was great company, very generous and thoughtful, and actually a lovely man (not a word I use that easily - although I’m sure I don’t dislike it as much as Sebastian would - but it seems to fit him somehow…).

But first, for those that are not up to speed, a little backstory: Sebastian was an artist, dandy, writer, occasional man-about-town and enthusiastic plumber of the seedy depths of life… If that sounds like a confusing career don’t worry. He once wrote to me that someone had said to him: “I love your work”. To which he replied:

“Odd considering there isn’t any. Apart from me…”

He was most well known for being nailed to a cross in the Philippines as part of a crucifixion ceremony,  and for writing the excellent memoir Dandy in The Underworld. And now he’s well known for dying of a heroin overdose on the same night that the play based on his book opened at the Soho Theatre in London. 

I got in touch with Sebastian a couple of years ago when I was looking for some ‘Soho characters’ to photograph for a project I was working on. I emailed him asking if I could photograph him sometime.

I got this back:

“My definition of a good photo is :

1. It is of me.

2. It is in focus.

So I am happy to do it. Who am I to deny you me?”

Sebastian had his own idea for the photo. Sometimes having to politely side-step someone’s idea about how they want to be photographed is an inconvenient  pain in the ass; but he wanted to be shot naked in the street. His thinking was that it would be a ‘dandy laid bare’ kind of thing. I didn’t even intellectuailise it that far. I just thought ‘naked’s better than not naked - lets go’.

So we ended up skulking around the bottom of Berwick Street one night, right where all the clip-joints and brothels are. I was clutching a camera and Sebastian was wearing an ankle-length velvet overcoat with nothing underneath: the classic flasher look. I thought I saw a police car round the corner so went off to have a look. When I got back 5 minutes later, Sebastian was being questioned by a female police-officer and looking sweaty and distinctly guilty. When he saw me his face lit up.

- “Aha! Here he is!” 

Apparently she had come up to him and asked him if he was wearing anything under his overcoat. 

- “Uh, no…”

- “So are you planning on flashing someone?

- “Uh no. I’m doing a photoshoot actually.

- “So where is the photographer?” she quite reasonably asked.

- “Oh, he’s just popped around the corner for a minute…”

- “Hmmm…”

A few awkward minutes ensued…

Anyway, according to our WPC there’s no law against being naked in public, but you are not allowed to inflict your nudity on someone, ie by flashing. Or something like that. I never quite understood what she was saying, but she left us alone after a while. Sebastian then briskly fluffed himself and we took this picture, which I have rather wittily titled “Hung Like a Horsley”.

When he saw the pic, I got this email:

“Oh my God.

I hate it.

I love it.

Nudity is a threat to my existence. So strange to see oneself like this. Is that really me?

I am having a new suit made at The Row on which my principal hopes of happiness depend. Maybe we could do a shoot with it? It is quite the most spectacular thing you will have seen.”

So we did some photos with the new suit.

The last photo, above, ended up being the poster for the play at the Soho Theatre. Sebastian wanted me to photoshop out the guy in the background as he found him a bit distracting. I wasn’t so keen so I told him my retoucher would charge £100 for it, but anyway, I liked the guy being there as a contrast to him:

“Ok my dear. You are the boss. Besides, £100 is about 10 minutes on the pipe.

Yes the contrast is good. We can’t all be stars. Someone has to sit on the pavement and clap as I go by.”

The actor Milo Twomey was cast to play Sebastian in the play, so I spent a very fun but rather surreal day with them, in and around Sebastian’s flat, taking photos as he dandified  Milo and got him into some of his suits.

Milo was great as Sebastian. As the man himself noted:

“Milos face is just right. He has the same intense eyes and this air of dreadful sadness about him too.”

At the end of the shoot, my assistant asked Sebastian if he’d sign something for his friend Jessica who was ‘a fan’. This is what she got: 

(7 Meard Street was Sebastian’s address in Soho)

When the news came out that the play was opening soon, someone wrote a rather grubby and critical article about him in the Spectator. He gleefully emailed me the link with these thoughts:

“Poor thing can’t even write. Though I like the sentence : “The truth is that Sebastian Horsley’s sole talent is failure.”

Poor thing simply doesn’t understand anything.”

He then included this quote from Malcolm Muggeridge:

“It is only possible to succeed at second-rate pursuits - like becoming a millionaire or a prime minister, winning a war, seducing beautiful women, flying through the stratosphere or landing on the moon. First-rate pursuits - involving, as they must, trying to understand what life is about and trying to convey that understanding - inevitably result in a sense of failure. A Napoleon, a Churchill, a Roosevelt can feel themselves to be successful, but never a Socrates, a Pascal, a Blake. Understanding is for ever unattainable. Therein lies the inevitability of failure in embarking upon its quest, which is none the less the only one worthy of serious attention. “

Back to Sebastian:

“I have refused to be a hypocrite. I have lived the truth of my life and it has made others question theirs. You see I am no different than them, I just choose to be honest about it. But they call it immorality and are jealous because I dare to live whilst they have not the guts. But that is England for you.”

The last time I saw Sebastian was at the after-party on the opening night of the play. He talked about how weird it was to see Milo play him on stage, and that seeing your doppelganger is said to be a premonition of death. He then left the party, went home and died that night. 

You can see some photos from his funeral here: http://moremuir.com/post/1014174066/dandy-in-the-underworld