Solo Pursuit

Saxophonist Hank Crawford once paid photographer Paula Ross the ultimate compliment: “Your camera is your ax.”

Much of Paula Ross’ work--like Sarah Vaughn caught holding the last note of her last performance--is a sentimental ode to an era slowly shimmering out of focus. Her hand-colored photos of jazz musicians and torch-song divas frozen in the drama of performance are her attempt to document not simply the music, but the emotions that accompany it.

“There’s nobody to replace the sound,” Ross says. “Photos are one of the few things to keep them alive.”

Ross has kept jazzmen’s hours for as long as she can remember. When she was 8 and living in New Jersey, she was up all night listening to Symphony Sid. By 14, she was making the rounds of New York’s jazz rooms with her “very hip” boyfriend. Although it wasn’t until she moved to Venice in 1986 that she began taking her camera to clubs, it now seems only fitting that she’s up till all hours bent over images of her heroes: “There is just me and the silence and these people.”

The process is more staining than painting, says Ross, who works transparent photo-oils into the print’s emulsion.

“Because I’m working on the print with my fingers, I feel I make a spiritual connection with that person.” The colors, she says, “just come from the memories. Tones I’ve seen from the past. The culmination is what they inspire.”

People ask all the time how can she “ just “ shoot jazz. “The ‘50s were when I grew up. And these are the musicians who sustained me. This is like my band,” she says. “And when the musicians like my work, I know I’m on it. “