[Photographer, b. 1935, Finsbury Park, London, lives in Somerset, England.]
I don’t want to die for a few pictures. I want to live for every sunrise I can clap my eyes on; I want to see my family get older; I want to see the world try and get a bit more peaceful and understanding, which unfortunately I don’t think I’ll ever see.
I feel shabby—because I’ve made a name, quite a good name, out of photography. And I still find myself asking the same questions: Who am I? What am I supposed to be? What have I done?
I only use a camera like I use a toothbrush. It does the job.
You cannot walk on the water of hunger, misery, and death. You have to wade through to record them.
Photography isn’t about just pushing that button. It’s about the experience of being there.
Sometimes it felt like I was carrying pieces of human flesh back home with me, not negatives. It’s as if you are carrying the suffering of the people you have photographed.
Photography’s a case of keeping all the pores of the skin open, as well as the eyes. A lot of photographers today think that by putting on the uniform, the fishing vest, and all the Nikons, that that makes them a photographer. But it doesn’t. It’s not just seeing. It’s feeling.
Photography has been very, very generous to me, but at the same time has damaged me.