The world makes up my pictures, not me.

The world makes up my pictures, not me.

If one really knew what one was doing, why do it? It seems to me if you had the answer why ask the question? The thing is there are so many questions.

I suspect it is for one’s self-interest that one looks at one’s surroundings and one’s self. This search is personally born and is indeed my reason and motive for making photographs. The camera is not merely a reflecting pool and the photographs are not exactly the mirror, mirror on the wall that speaks with a twisted tongue. Witness is borne and puzzles come together at the photographic moment which is very simple and complete. The mind-finger presses the release on the silly machine and it stops time and holds what its jaws can encompass and what the light will stain.

You don’t have to go looking for pictures. The material is generous. You go out and the pictures are staring at YOU.

... photographs are so loaded with information. They're remarkable. As I said, you get both the tree and the forest.

I only wanted Uncle Vernon standing by his own car (a Hudson) on a clear day, I got him and the car. Ialso got a bit of Aunt Mary’s laundry and Beau Jack, the dog, peeing on the fence, and a row of potted tuberous begonias on the porch and 78 trees and a million pebbles in the driveway and more. It’s a generous medium, photography.