Tom Lippert: A Ski Photographer & a Benevolent Soul
In September, a dear friend and longtime inspiration of mine, Tom Lippert, passed away. I’ve been putting off writing about Tom for a while now, because I felt this deep need to write some sort of commemoration that did him justice. If you knew Tom, you’d know that his spirit was too free to be confined by a set of words. Needless to say, the longer I waited, the more of an impossible task it became. I also knew that once I started writing, I’d have to start accepting the reality and permanence of his passing.
Over my childhood years, Tom and Laurel Lippert became surrogate grandparents of sorts. Fortunately for me (and for everyone else), they also happened to be two of the most interesting people on earth. Together, they lived a life of love, exploration, and connection. Tom was a photographer and Laurel, a journalist. Both of them also became pilots later in life. They traveled the world collaborating on stories together. In each their own form, they told stories about the earth and how humans find their way in it. In a time where very few people had the guts to go against the grain, Tom and Laurel said “f’ it” and made a successful career out of their creative adeptness.
Their presence, however it happened to show up, became a comfort space for me. Over the years, I spent hours chatting with Tom and Laurel, each conversation revealing a new experience from their enthralling lives. I’d sit in awe as they humbly told their stories, and they’d listen to mine with open ears and unconditional support. They inspired me to pursue a career in storytelling, something I wish I was able to convey to Tom more clearly than I did. As for Laurel, she continues to inspire me everyday.
Tom and I formed a special relationship based on our shared love for skiing. He was the man behind the lens at the forefront of extreme skiing, a sport that’s happened to be pretty significant in my life. He understood my crazed passion because he had the same bug. He was there for me during my injuries and accepted why I had to keep going back despite the risk, for he himself looked like Frankenstein with the surgery scars on his knees. He photographed his home (and my home) before the corporatization of skiing, reminding me of what the sport is, at its core. He captured a ski culture in Tahoe that we’re fighting to sustain today, and motivated me to keep fighting ferociously for the preservation of our home.
I often talk about the interchangeability of art and skiing; Tom captured the essence of that concept through his photos. There’s this kind of magic that happens when someone enters the flow state on skis. Time stops in a way that I think only a still photo can portray. Tom understood that, and I think that’s why his vision separated him from other photographers at the time.
The reason his photos hold such significance is because Tom didn’t just take photographs of people, he saw them. They were free to be because there was never judgment. There was curiosity, joy, and laughter- but never judgment.
Tom carried a contagious bliss. It was impossible not to smile around him because he simply loved life. Even in that last year when he was battling through the brain tumor, he made the effort to still find joy. He drank his coffee on the deck and always had a sweet treat after every meal. If there was even the smallest, most fleeting opportunity to crack a joke, he would crack it. He never took life too seriously and that’s something I’ll always carry with me.
Tom Lippert loved deeply, giggled often, and was a master at capturing moments. I hope you enjoy some of these photos as much as I do. Here’s to Tom, whos spirit could never die.
(Photos by Tom Lippert, captioned and edited by Laurel Lippert)
