Ranee Palone Flynn

I last spoke to her right before Christmas, as I was getting ready to leave for Scotland. I wanted to check in with her, even if we didn't have anything going on in terms of work. I just wanted to see how she was doing and to let her know that I was thinking of her. She sounded frail. "This thing is kicking my ass," she said. "I'll give you a call back when I'm feeling better." I never spoke to her again.  Ranee was a terrific artist, and I'm going to miss her eye, her way of seeing things. She had tremendous empathy for the people she photographed; she liked tough girls and tender guys, and she was able to establish an almost instantaneous connection with them, whether they were teenagers or older adults.  More often than not, though, when we got together, the work conversations only lasted a few minutes. The life conversations lasted much longer. I can still picture her, heading down the stairs of my apartment, offering me a few last words of advice: 

"Protect your heart. Open your heart.”

 

PHH