It is easier for me to take ten good pictures in an airplane bathroom than in the gardens at Versailles.

Sometimes, when I get a good picture, it feels like I have taken another nervous step into increasingly rarified air. Each good-news picture, no matter how hard-earned, allows me only a crumbling foothold on this steepening climb—an ascent whose milestones are fear and doubt.

You can tell a good ruined lens, right from the get-go.... That’s the kind of lens I'm looking for.

It's always been my philosophy to try to make art out of the everyday and ordinary...it never occurred to me to leave home to make art.

As ephemeral as our footprints were in the sand along the river, so also were those moments of childhood caught in the photographs. And so will be our family itself, our marriage, the children who enriched it and the love that has carried us through so much. All this will be gone. What we hope will remain are these pictures, telling our brief story.

I can think of numberless males, from Bonnard to Callahan, who have photographed their lovers and spouses, but I am having trouble finding parallel examples among my sister photographers. The act of looking appraisingly at a man, making eye contact on the street, asking to photograph him, studying his body, has always been a brazen venture for a woman, though, for a man, these acts are commonplace, even expected.

There are a number of things that set Southern artists apart from anyone else. Their obsession with place and their obsession with family.