Art accepts what it finds.
Art is the splendor of reality before everything has become meaning.
Everything is shared by everything else; there are no discontinuities.
Words represent images: nothing can be said for which there is no image.
I could take a cow and implant a camera in it and let it amble around the city or in its own domain (I say a cow because a human being I would not trust). If the camera was programmed to go off at an indeterminate series of moments, the samplings would be fantastic.
The field of action of a photograph should be that chessboard of the heart and mind upon which poetry and art have always operated