Frederick Sommer
[Photographer, b. 1905, Angri, Italy, d. 1999, Prescott, Arizona.]

 Art is the splendor of reality before everything has become meaning. 
 Life itself is not the reality. We are the ones who put life into stones and pebbles. 
 Art and accident are one. Art accepts what it finds. 
 My [photographs] are not pure: they are a seething wealth of imperfection. 
 Words represent images: nothing can be said for which there is no image. 
 Poetic and speculative photographs can result if one works carefully and accurately, yet letting chance relationships have full play. 
 There is nothing to see, nothing featured; what’s the matter with you? (Sommer’s summary of how others view his landscape photographs) 
 I could take a cow and implant a camera in it and let it amble around the city or in its own domain (I say a cow because a human being I would not trust). If the camera was programmed to go off at an indeterminate series of moments, the samplings would be fantastic. 
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