Vivian Maier

Maier’s parents were unhappy in their marriage from the day she was born. She grew up in the shadow of an older brother who spent time in a vocational school and, later in life, a psychiatric hospital. Both Maier children spent time living with guardians other than their parents, from grandparents to foster parents. Meanwhile, both of Maier’s grandmothers had negative things to say about their own children, her parents. And yet some of the family difficulties she encountered in childhood may have contributed to the photographer she became. From early childhood, Maier spent a significant amount of time with a woman named Jeanne Bertrand, who worked as a professional photographer, as well as other positive female role models. It is always a pleasure to look through the photographs of Vivian Maier. Here are five previous Lens posts featuring her work. The film spurred Ms. Marks, a retired business executive who lives in New York, into action when she first saw it just over a year ago. She didn’t know what she was getting into. Afterward, she said she felt that “there were so many loose ends, and mysteries,” and decided to do a little sleuthing. “I wanted to challenge myself and show myself that I could find someone,” Ms. Marks said. “Because I felt in the Internet age, when there’s so much information, people can’t disappear anymore. And then, of course, once I got started, I couldn’t stop.” Vivian Maier was obsessed. She was obsessed with the practice of taking photographs — which she did for most of her life, until she died in Chicago in 2009 — and she was obsessed with details of daily life on the streets, from newspapers to men wearing hats. The same can be said for Mr. Maloof and Mr. Goldstein, who sold his collection of negatives to the Stephen Bulger Gallery in Toronto. Both men became obsessed with telling Maier’s story. (One result of the publicity their efforts received is a legal battle about the heir to Maier’s assets.) “Because I felt in the Internet age, when there’s so much information, people can’t disappear anymore.” She also began looking at the photos, including prints Maier made herself that had handwritten captions. In the fall, Ms. Marks found dozens of photographs taken at an estate in Brookville, on Long Island, including photos of a toddler. The name “John Akin” was written on one of the prints. When she looked the name up online, she eventually came across John’s daughter, a photographer named Gwen. “I did remember that I had a babysitter back then,” said Ms. Akin, 65. But she was only a toddler in the photos, and so she recalls little with clarity. One thing she did notice upon seeing the photos, she said, was that Maier — who was then in her 20s — had yet to find herself as a photographer. Ms. Akin could see the “realization and recognition of light and shadow and all that stuff,” she said. “It was later on that she hit her stride.” The breakthrough that has most excited Ms. Marks was the moment she found the baptismal record for Maier’s brother, Karl, who was also called Charles or Carl. One night while watching television, she scrolled through pages and pages of documents online and located the death record for Maier’s only sibling, whose life included run-ins with the law, drug addiction, a dishonorable discharge from the Army and, ultimately, a diagnosis of schizophrenia. And there was more. According to documents and letters Ms. Marks found, Maier was not raised in a happy household. Her world included unhappy marriages, disagreements and alcoholism. Her own mother didn’t include Maier’s name in her will. “It suddenly makes sense to me why she selected the imagery that she did,” Mr. Goldstein said of the insights into Maier’s upbringing. “I think the edginess, which is one of the things I love — there’s this underlying edginess that runs through her work. And she had a very edgy life.” While records excite Ms. Marks, what she wants most is to find more people who knew the Maier famil