Henri Cartier-Bresson
[Photographer and painter, b. 1908, Chanteloup, France, d. 2004, Paris.]

 I love painting. As far as photography is concerned, I understand nothing. 
 I regard myself still as an amateur, though I am no longer a dilettante. (Introduction to The Decisive Moment, 1952) 
 I am a pack of nerves while waiting for the moment, and this feeling grows and grows and grows and then it explodes, it is a physical joy, a dance, space and time united. Yes, yes, yes, yes! 
 We are always struggling with time: whatever has gone has gone forever. The time element is the key to photography. One must seize the moment before it passes, the fleeting gesture, the evanescent smile. For it is impossible to “start again.” That’s why I am so nervous—it’s horrible for my friends—but it’s only by maintaining a permanent tension that I can stick to reality. 
 All I care about these days is painting—photography has never been more than a way into painting, a sort of instant drawing. 
 The adventurer in me felt obliged to testify with a quicker instrument than a brush to the scars of the world. 
 Photography has not changed since its origin except in its technical aspects, which for me are not a major concern. 
 Actually, I’m not all that interested in the subject of photography. Once the picture is in the box, I’m not all that interested in what happens next. Hunters, after all, aren’t cooks. 
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