Above All, She Wanted To Look As

Four Or Five Years - Nothing At All. But No One Over Thirty Could Understand This Peculiarly Weighted And Condensed Time, From Late Teens To Early Twenties, A Stretch Of Life That Needed A Name, From School Leaver To Salaried Professional, With A University And Affairs And Death And Choices In Between. I Had Forgotten How Recent My Childhood Was, How Long And Inescapable It Once Seemed. How Grown Up And How Unchanged I Was.

There Are These Rare Moments When Musicians Together Touch Something Sweeter Than They've Ever Found Before In Rehearsals Or Performance, Beyond The Merely Collaborative Or Technically Proficient, When Their Expression Becomes As Easy And Graceful As Friendship Or Love. This Is When They Give Us A Glimpse Of What We Might Be, Of Our Best Selves, And Of An Impossible World In Which You Give Everything To Others, But Lose Nothing Of Yourself.

It Is Photography Itself That Creates The Illusion Of Innocence. Its Ironies Of Frozen Narrative Lend To Its Subjects An Apparent Unawareness That They Will Change Or Die. It Is The Future They Are Innocent Of. Fifty Years On We Look At Them With The Godly Knowledge Of How They Turne Dout After All - Who They Married, The Date Of Their Death - With No Thought For Who Will One Day Be Holding Photographs Of Us.

Politics Is The Enemy Of The Imagination.

I Couldn't Think About Novels At All. It Seemed The Only Writing That Was Appropriate To That Horrendous Event Was Journalism, Reportage. And, In Fact, I Think The Profession Rose Quite Honorably To The Task. Novelists Require A Slower Turnover, I Mean, In Time.