In Memoriam: Kevin Dunne 1943-2007

Max McGuinness remembers a friend.

Photo:Stuart Smyth
Kevin Dunne, who died at the end of last month after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer this summer, was a true Dubliner, a true husband, father, and friend, and, though he never claimed to be, a true artist.

Though he modestly referred to his photographs, a selection of which can be seen on his website, as "snaps", they exhibit exceptional skill, nous, and mastery of light. In the age of Photoshop, much photography has become the product of a computer rather than a camera. But Kevin retained a more honest approach and always strove to make the image perfect just as it entered the shutter of his Hasselblad rather than resort to technical trickery. Like David Lean, he was prepared to wait hours for the right shaft of sunlight to break through the clouds. In his old studio on Liberty Lane, he would regularly pull off the considerable feat of making a pint of Harp look like something drinkable. The Kubrick-like precision with which he isolated a single cod-liver oil tablet from all reflections also attested to a simultaneous obsession for professionalism and aesthetics.

When the tide of digital became too strong to resist, Kevin was no slouch in embracing the new technology which he mastered just as he had the secrets of Tri-X and Ektachrome. It was, I thought, extremely unfair, that the death of film made decades of Kevin's expertise partly obsolete and forced him to return to the starting line along with dozens of visually illiterate chaps who happened to know their way around a mouse. But I never heard him complain and he was always delighted to show off his latest photographic toy.

As he approached retirement, he was eagerly preparing an array of projects to document the city he loved. His collaborators may produce a tribute by completing some of these in his absence so I better keep the details under my lens cap for the time being.

Something of an eccentric, his one known contribution to medical science was the "Phrenology Knob" - a fine porcelain model mapping the precise characteristics of each part of the male organ("semenship", "Onanism", "philoprogenetiveness" etc.); the pictures are here. Like all great visionaries, he will not be around to experience true recognition of this landmark biological discovery.

Kevin was one of the enlightened few who have realised that lunch is the most important part of the day. A creature of habit, for decades he occupied a window table in Il Primo of Montague Street at least two or three times a week, alternately holding forth, gazing curiously out the window, and gently taking the piss out of the former owner Dieter. Il Primo was also the location of his phenomenal Christmas lunches when, with characteristic generosity, he would treat each of his past assistants, a handful of the better class of art director and copywriter, and the occasional hanger-on such as yours truly to red wine, calves liver, and his own irrepressible ebullience.

I first met Kevin at the age of thirteen when he agreed to take me on work experience for a week or two. He was eager that I should learn something of the trade and, when a couple of days passed without any jobs coming in, he became genuinely anxious that my stint was not living up to expectations. In truth, I was simply delighted to have been upgraded from coffee-maker to Kevin's lunch companion. On the penultimate day, Kevin handed me an SLR and told me to head out and shoot a roll in the streets of Dublin which we then processed and printed in his darkroom. He said my photos were the best he had ever seen from someone my age; it remains the single most important compliment I have ever received as a photographer. Some years later when Kevin sold his studio and shifted to digital, he gave me his entire darkroom - a magnanimous gesture which I shall always appreciate.

Prior to becoming a photographer, Kevin had in fact been a veteran of the showband circuit as the manager of a relatively successful and highly regarded rock 'n roll band, The Greenbeats, who have since partly reformed as Full Circle. In a country where anyone over fifty is inclined to moan ad nauseam about the bad old days of endless dole queues, unobtainable telephones, and stampedes onboard the Holyhead car ferry, Kevin's sunny recollections of his bohemian existence in the Sixties and Seventies were a refreshing change. It was late one night after a Greenbeats gig that Kevin was driving down O'Connell Street more or less at the moment when Nelson's Pillar was blown up; in typically mischievous fashion, he attempted to attach the remnants of the Admiral's sword to his car before killjoys among the Gardaí prevailed.

Like any sensible person, Kevin had no interest in dying and despite the overwhelming odds against him, he had courageously opted to fight his cancer. Indomitable till the end, he was still taking  photographs a week before his death and carried his own bag into the Hospice where he died peacefully four days later on November 27th.

He is survived by his loving wife Isabel(Issy), four beautiful daughters, Lorna, Sally, Jenny, and Alice, four equally delightful grandchildren, Lucy, Kizzie, Jake, and Tilly, his brothers and sisters, and countless friends and acquaintances.

Ní bheidh a leithéid ann arís.

Comments

[David Doyle]

Conscientious professionalism, immaculate timing and a good grasp of his own ability. My time with Kevin brought me into the midst of good people and in them I see Kevin still!
Love David

[sally]

Hi Max
I just wanted to thank you for such a lovely piece on my dad; it's a hoot hearing someone else's take on him and you have him fairly sussed.You meant alot to him too and he always thought you were extremely talented in everything you did. Cheers max and maybe we'll bump into each other at the odd gig,
have a lovely christmas Sally

[Ray Mc Nally (Lornas other half).]

Hi Max.
Very moving, Kev would have appreciated of all that you have said. Just to let you know your name was often mentioned lovingly in the family by Kevin. High praise from a man with high standards.
Keep on keeping on.
Ray

[Rob McKinney]

Always very fond of Kevin, only wish I had the opportunity to spend more time with him.

Great tribute, Great man.

[Jenny Dunne]

Thank you so much for the amazin article Max! Makes me very proud of me Da! You had him so sussed as Sally said! I would love to see him waving out from Il Primo's window, inviting us in for a drink! But i just have to remember the good oul times!

The funny thing with all of this, is that I never thought I would listen to the God Bob Dylan without Da telling me to! I love him now as it made my Dad so happy and is a good way to remember him!
"Knock Knock Knocking on Kevin's door"!
Cheers Jenny

[Ted Felton]

Well said Max. I, too, suffered dreadfully under the Mucky Dunne jackboot, one long slow summer in the early nineties. A constant stream of (mainly) good-natured abuse. Endless disagreement over Dylan’s merit as a guitar player. Chasing a single, spectacular cloud across Wexford in the Citroen, finally getting the snap just before sunset- a picture I still have. And I learnt more in a couple of months about photography, swearwords and good times than you would have thought possible. A true gentleman. Truly, we won't see his like again.
Love Ted

[John Martin]

Max,

As an Art director I made used Kevin's talent many times over the years. His attention to detail and mastery of light was inspiration. If wasn't 100% happy with the shot he'd try it again a different way until he was.
He had a wonderful attitude to life. But it was dry Dublin humour, hilarious observations and gentle manner that I so admired him for. He was never impressed by the big egos or the fickle behaviour of individuals that are often part of our business. I always looked forward to working with him and the occasional lunch in Il Primo's made working on the job all the better.
I'll miss him, he was one in a million and my sympathy goes out to he's wife and family.

John

[Allan O'Regan]

I first met Kevin briefly in the late 70's when his studio was in Killiney. I think he may have been using a "Bladdy" (Haselblad) even in those days. I didn't meet him again until sometime after I returned to Ireland in 2001, when a quartet of us we began monthly luncheons that only once crossed the river northwards (to Chapter One, a bloody disaster as it turned out). Kevin would always arrive in black (except for shoes). Our finest lunch was in the "Old" Locks. It spanned five hours and eight bottles. Kevin was a rainbow of verbal colour and he would have us in stitches with his jokes. Michael L always picked the wine, but once or twice Kevin did the honours and usually he favoured Italian which was always a hit with me.
When Kevin was diagnosed with Cancer we became quite close as I have been battling the big C for 5 years. I was able to share knowledge that I had gained that those medics never tell you. I spent several Saturday mornings with him and Issy in their beautiful home enjoying the wonderful coffee & home make cakes. I enjoyed seeing the love Issy and her daughters had for Kevin. I got to know his love of Bob Dylan and his feeling for photographers such as Salgado, Mapplethorpe, and others. I was delighted when he showed me his wonderful gift of a limited edition of 8 prints from Pat Scott and carefully explained his plan to photograph them. Happily I saw those pictures on his bed on his very last day. He felt things deeply and shared his joy with us all. May choirs of angels keep him "goin' on".

[Lucy (Grandaughter)]

Hi Max
I thought it was a very nice article. Kev would have loved it.
Lucy

[S]

What a wonderful life he had.