Wright Morris
[Writer and photographer, b. 1910, Central City, Nebraska, d. 1998, Mill Valley, California.]
However much [photographs] may lie, they do so with the raw materials of truth.
The vast number of photographers, feeding on anything visible, overgraze the landscape the way cattle overgraze their pasture.
[We] make images to see clearly: then we see clearly what we have made.
In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track.
I prefer a taken to a made photograph.
The photograph, after all, is just a photograph. Words will determine its meaning and status.
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?
The camera eye is the one in the middle of our forehead, combining how we see with what there is to be seen.
