"My favorite thing is to go where I've never been," said Diane Arbus; in the summer of 1971, aged 48, she killed herself. Before her death she was beginning to be recognized in art circles as the photographer who had subjected the hallucinated blankness of urban life, mostly in and around New York, where she was born and lived, to a uniquely truthful scrutiny, like Eurydice with a lens in the tunnel to Hades. A year has passed, and now Arbus is as much a cult figure as Sylvia Plath; a collection of her photographs is due to be published this...
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