Wright Morris
[Writer and photographer, b. 1910, Central City, Nebraska, d. 1998, Mill Valley, California.]
In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track.
I prefer a taken to a made photograph.
Images proliferate. Am I wrong in being reminded of printing money in a period of wild inflation? Do we know what we are doing? Are we able to evaluate what we have done?
[We] make images to see clearly: then we see clearly what we have made.
The photograph, after all, is just a photograph. Words will determine its meaning and status.
The vast number of photographers, feeding on anything visible, overgraze the landscape the way cattle overgraze their pasture.
However much [photographs] may lie, they do so with the raw materials of truth.
All, or most, photographs have many faces. The face desired is revealed by the caption.
