There's something about the processional nature of the architecture, of the rooms connecting rooms. It's just breathtaking.

What happens with experiences that really move us deeply, that really effect us? They make the world new again. What it does is it heightens our sense of mortality.

You pick up a camera because something has been revealed to you in the landscape or in the human-scape. And you have no choice because it's a gift. And it's like, oh right, I better start doing this!

It was the dreamscape of the suburbs that interested me.

There's something about the processional nature of the architecture, of the rooms connecting rooms. It's just breathtaking.

It's a profoundly different thing to be able to refer to the images you are taking at the time and check them out on a laptop that is plugged into your Hasselblad and go "oh no, do it again, do it again" - all of those a requickly made decisions. The fact that you can see the images right away in a funny way makes the whole relationship more casual. I don't want a casual relationship with my subject.

For all the textbook reasons - any individual's reading of a photograph is preceded by the evidential authority of the medium. You have the literalness of a glass on a table - and at the same time of that evidential authority that you can't get around, there is the possibility of universalizing the subject - of getting the whole world into the picture.