Wright Morris
[Writer and photographer, b. 1910, Central City, Nebraska, d. 1998, Mill Valley, California.]
[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.
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.
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?
All, or most, photographs have many faces. The face desired is revealed by the caption.
