I Wanted So Much To Write That

Leaving Aside The Mysteries And The Inequities Of Human Talent, Brains, Taste, And Reputations, The Matter Of Art In Photography May Come Down To This: It Is The Capture And Projection Of The Delights Of Seeing; It Is The Defining Of Observation Full And Felt.

It Is Easy To Imagine Fantasy As Physical And Myth As Real. We Do It Almost Every Moment. We Do This As We Dream, As We Think, And As We Cope With The World About Us. But These Worlds Of Fantasy That We Form Into The Solid Things Around Us Are The Source Of Our Discontent. They Inspire Our Search To Find Ourselves.

I Never Took It Upon Myself To Change The World. And Those Contemporaries Of Mine Who Were Going Around Falling For The Idea That They Were Going To Bring Down The United States Government And Make A New World Were Just Asses To Me.

Photography Is Not Cute Cats, Nor Nudes, Motherhood Or Arrangements Of Manufactured Products. Under No Circumstances It Is Anything Ever Anywhere Near A Beach.

The Photographs Are Not Illustrative. They, And The Text, Are Coequal, Mutually Independent, And Fully Collaborative. By Their Fewness, And By The Importance Of The Reader’s Eye, This Will Be Misunderstood By Most Of That Minority Which Does Not Wholly Ignore It. In The Interests, However, Of The History And Future Of Photography, That Risk Seems Irrelevant, And This Flat Statement Necessary.