All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.
Lying is the most simple form of self-defence.
Books are funny little portable pieces of thought.
In America, the photographer is not simply the person who records the past, but the one who invents it.
In the final analysis, style is art. And art is nothing more or less than various modes of stylized, dehumanized representation.
The love of the famous, like all strong passions, is quite abstract. Its intensity can be measured mathematically, and it is independent of persons.