I don't go out looking for pictures. I go out, and if something catches my eye, that's reason enough to photograph it.

In a still photograph you basically have two variables, where you stand and when you press the shutter. That's all you have.

[The photographer's task] is to describe the existing light... Chances are, if you believe the light, you're going to believe that the things photographed existed in the world.

You're suddenly seeing the coherence and the interconnectedness of everything, left to right, top to bottom, front to back. It's all connected, and, somehow, it's all in balance. And that's, of course, when you go, 'Yes!'.

I actually try and work before my mind is telling me what to do.

Most musicians I know don't just play music on Saturday night. They play music every day. They are always fiddling around, letting the notes lead them from one place to another. Taking still photographs is like that. It is a generative process. It pulls you along.

If you let some time go by before considering work that you have done, you move toward a more objective position in judging it. The pleasure of the subjective, physical experience in the world is a more distant memory and less influential.