I'm shocked that I can live pretty well, or reasonably, or make a certain amount of my living, anyway, off of prints. I guess it's nuts. I don't believe in it. I never anticipated it; I still don't believe it.

I get totally out of myself. It's the closest I come to not existing, I think, which is the best - which is to me attractive.

I look at a photograph. What's going on? What's happening, photographically? If it's interesting, I try to understand why.

If I saw something in my viewfinder that looked familiar to me, I would do something to shake it up.

Cameras always were seductive. And then a darkroom became available, and that's when I stopped doing anything else.

There is nothing as mysterious as a fact clearly described.

I photograph to find out what something will look like photographed.