Noon-day sunshine cinema-ized the site, turning the bridge and the river into an over-exposed picture. Photographing it with my Instamatic 400 was like photographing a photograph. The sun became a monstrous light-bulb that projected a detached series of stills through my Instamatic into my eye.

Parks are idealizations of nature, but nature in fact is not a condition of the ideal.

Cultural confinement takes place when a curator imposes his own limits on an art exhibition, rather than asking an artist to set his limits.

Nature does not proceed in a straight line, it is rather a sprawling development.

Museums are tombs, and it looks like everything is turning into a museum.

Questions about form seem as hopelessly inadequate as questions about content.

Banal words function as a feeble phenomena that fall into their own mental bogs of meaning.