Wright Morris Quotes
Quotes to Explore
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It's all about racing on the track.
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Even today I work with Niall O'Brien, who is far more technically astute than I am, but I still have the clearest idea of every detail I want in my photograph.
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I have a relatively good track record.
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I was invited to photograph Hollywood. They asked me what I would like to photograph. I said, Ugly men.
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Mostly, I worked so quickly, I didn't see the details of a photograph until it was printed.
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The physical thing of having a man following you around all day trying to take your photograph - it's eerie. There is a pure physical response. If you go up and kick a dog, it will bite you. But with photographers, you can't do that.
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A lot of the Beatles albums were very various, and we did it on purpose: We didn't want the next track to sound like the last one.
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Having Buzz there is a great achievement, he was on the first moon landing alongside Neil Armstrong, so getting his signature on a beautiful panoramic photograph will be an historical item to treasure.
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People put barriers up in your path, and one of those barriers is age. They tell you, "You're too old. You don't photograph so well anymore." I know I don't photograph so well anymore, so what can I do? I can do something different, where it doesn't matter as much how I look.
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When you find yourself beginning to feel a bond between yourself and the people you photograph, when you laugh and cry with their laughter and tears, you will know you are on the right track.
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The same camera that photographs a murder scene can photograph a beautiful society affair at a big hotel.
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Every photograph is a battle of form versus content.
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I photograph to see what the world looks like in photographs.
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A photograph can look any way.
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I said the photograph isn't what was photographed, it's something else. It's about transformation. And that's what it is.
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There is no special way a photograph should look.
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For me anyway when a photograph is interesting, it's interesting because of the kind of photographic problem it states - which has to do with the contest between content and form.
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My intention is to make interesting photographs. That's it, in the end. I don't make it up. Let's say it's a world I never made. That's what was there to deal with.
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I turned off the projector and Alex mumbled something in her sleep and turned over. I said, "Everything is fine, I'm going home now," and said it just so I could say I'd said it in case she was upset later that I'd left without telling her. I thought about kissing her on the forehead but rejected the idea immediately; whatever physical intimacy had opened up between us had dissolved with the storm; even that relatively avuncular gesture would be strange for both of us now. More than that: it was as though the physical intimacy with Alex, just like the sociability with strangers or the aura around objects, wasn't just over, but retrospectively erased. Because those moments had been enabled by a future that had never arrived, they could not be remembered from this future that, at and as the present, had obtained; they'd faded from the photograph.
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In every form of art, you really want the experience of the images to transcend the medium, for the medium to disappear into the greater experience of viewing the work. So that you forget you are looking at a painting, or a photograph.
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Here was the world wide-awake and yet only for me, all the fresh pure air only for me, all the fragrance breathed only by me, not a living soul hearing the nightingale but me, the sun in a few moments coming up to warm only me.
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It was the sibling thing, I suppose. I was fascinated by the intricate tangle of love and duty and resentment that tied them together. The glances they exchanged; the complicated balance of power established over decades; the games I would never play with rules I would never fully understand. And perhaps that was key: they were such a natural group that they made me feel remarkably singular by comparison. To watch them together was to know strongly, painfully, all that I'd been missing.
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In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track.
