There is something abominable about cameras, because they possess the power to invent many worlds. As an artist who has been lost in this wilderness of mechanical reproduction for many years, I do not know which world to start with. I have seen fellow artists driven to the point of frenzy by photography.

Nature is never finished.

From the top of the quarry cliffs, one could see the New Jersey suburbs bordered by the New York City skyline.

Words for mental processes are all derived from physical things.

Objects in a park suggest static repose rather than any ongoing dialectic. Parks are finished landscapes for finished art .

A camera is wild in just about anybody's hands, therefore one must set limits. But cameras have a life of their own. Cameras care nothing about cults or isms. They are indifferent mechanical eyes, ready to devour anything in sight. They are lenses of the unlimited reproduction.

History is a facsimile of events held together by finally biographical information.