Every Exploration Is An Appropriation.

Each Photograph Is Read As The Private Appearance Of Its Referent: The Age Of Photography Corresponds Precisely To The Explosion Of The Private Into The Public, Or Rather Into The Creation Of A New Social Value, Which Is The Publicity Of The Private: The Private Is Consumes As Such, Publicly.

Is Not The Most Erotic Portion Of A Body Where The Garment Gapes? In Perversion (which Is The Realm Of Textual Pleasure) There Are No "erogenous Zones" (a Foolish Expression, Besides); It Is Intermittence, As Psychoanalysis Has So Rightly Stated, Which Is Erotic: The Intermittence Of Skin Flashing Between Two Articles Of Clothing (trousers And Sweater), Between Two Edges (the Open-necked Shirt, The Glove And The Sleeve); It Is This Flash Itself Which Seduces, Or Rather: The Staging Of An Appearance-as-disappearance.

For Me The Noise Of Time Is Not Sad: I Love Bells, Clocks, Watches — And I Recall That At First Photographic Implements Were Related To Techniques Of Cabinetmaking And The Machinery Of Precision: Cameras, In Short, Were Clocks For Seeing, And Perhaps In Me Someone Very Old Still Hears In The Photographic Mechanism The Living Sound Of The Wood.

This Endured Absence Is Nothing More Or Less Than Forgetfulness. I Am, Intermittently, Unfaithful. This Is The Condition Of My Survival.

…the Book Creates Meaning, The Meaning Creates Life.