My photographs are not pure: they are a seething wealth of imperfection.
Everything is shared by everything else; there are no discontinuities.
Some speak of a return to nature, I wonder where they could have been?
Art and accident are one.
In total acceptance, almost everything becomes a revelation.
... art is images you carry. You cannot carry nature with you, but you carry images of nature. When you go out to make a picture you find you are moved by something which is in agreement with an image you already held within yourself.