Poverty is what we call the extremes at the bottom.
Photography just gets us out of the house.
I don't have a burning desire to go out and document anything. It just happens when it happens. It's not a conscious effort, nor is it a struggle. Wouldn't do it if it was. The idea of the suffering artist has never appealed to me. Being here is suffering enough.
Often people ask what I'm photographing, which is a hard question to answer. And the best what I've come up with is I just say: Life today.
I am at war with the obvious.
I had this notion of what I called a democratic way of looking around, that nothing was more or less important.
I don't think about what camera I should use that much. I just pick up the one that looks nicest on the day.
And as I stood there in the hallway―alone―trying to understand what had just happened and why, I realized the truth: I wasn't worth an explanation―not even a reaction. Not in your eyes.
Aemon’s blind white eyes came open. “Egg?” he said, as the rain streamed down his cheeks. “Egg, I dreamed that I was old.
Here I was into astronomy, and here into anthropology, and there I go into geology. It was much more fun to be able to research and write about whatever I wanted to.
Major writing is to say what has been seen, so that it need never be said again.