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

 Art and accident are one. Art accepts what it finds. 
 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. 
 My [photographs] are not pure: they are a seething wealth of imperfection. 
 Poetic and speculative photographs can result if one works carefully and accurately, yet letting chance relationships have full play. 
 Words represent images: nothing can be said for which there is no image. 
 There is nothing to see, nothing featured; what’s the matter with you? (Sommer’s summary of how others view his landscape photographs) 
 The sensitized surface has an honesty, an inevitableness... It just can’t do anything else. It shows you the process itself. 
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