Much earnest philosphical thought is born of the life which springs from close association with nature.

A river finds its course with sureness, pushing aside whatever surface matter lies in its way, and as it gathers volume and resulting strength, nothing can withstand its progress. It carves canyons, moves great boulders, erodes the soil, moving insistently onward in its surging need to reach its final goal - the ocean.

The photographer can arrange his picture just as the painter does, only sometimes he must go about it in a different way.

I live a lonely photographic life here in Santa Fe. I do see Eliot Porter occasionally, and Ansel storms through every so often, otherwise I plug along in my old fashioned way.

A river seems a magic thing. A magic, moving, living part of the very earth itself.

The romance of the old West vanished so fast and so few ever did anything with it. Does it make you realize the importance of Art and how the main knowledge of history is through Art alone?

The greatest tool at our command is the very thing that is photography. Light. Light is our paintbrush and it is a most willing tool in the hands of the one who studies it with a sufficient care.