[Photographer, b. 1948, Baltimore, Maryland, lives in New York.]
Finding a photograph is often like picking up a piece from a jigsaw-puzzle box with the cover missing. There’s no sense of the whole. Each image is a mysterious part of something not yet revealed.
The camera is an excuse to be someplace you otherwise don’t belong. It gives me both a point of connection and a point of separation.
We know photographers make frames, but we deeply believe they can also create frameworks.
I’m deeply interested in the photograph as a record of an encounter and enjoy putting myself in a timeline of image-makers, alongside other travelers, such as anthropologists, colonists, missionaries, even tourists. I do that to emphasize subjectivity, rather than privilege any single perspective—I see myself as only one of many storytellers.
I see myself in [the] tradition of encounter and witness—a “witness” that sees the photograph as evidence.
You look at photographs that freeze time, but then time moves.
What worries me is that we want to close down our relationship to the world at large. In other words, people’s instincts are overwhelmed by the amount of images, or they can't distinguish anymore between Rwanda or Bosnia or Somalia.
If Instagram had been available when I was working in Nicaragua in 1978, I’m sure I would have wanted to use it as a way of reporting directly from the streets during the insurrection.