Edward Weston
[Photographer, b. 1886, Highland Park, Illinois, d. 1958, Wildcat Hill, California.]

 The photograph isolates and perpetuates a moment of time: an important and revealing moment, or an unimportant and meaningless one, depending upon the photographer's understanding of his subject and mastery of his process. 
 A photograph has no value unless it looks exactly like a photograph and nothing else. 
 Now to consult the rules of composition before making a picture is a little like consulting the law of gravitation before going for a walk. 
 She leaned against a whitewashed wall—lips quivering—nostrils dilating—eyes heavy with the gloom of unspent rain clouds—I drew close to her—whispered something and kissed her—a tear rolled down her cheek—and then I captured forever the moment—let me see f.8—1/10 sec. K1 filter—panchromatic film—how brutally mechanical and calculated it sounds—yet how really spontaneous and genuine—for I have so overcome the mechanics of my camera that it functions responsive to my desires—my shutter coordinating with my brain is released in a way—as natural as I might move my arm—I am beginning to approach actual attainment in photography—that in my ego of two or three years ago I thought to have already reached—it will be necessary for me to destroy, to unlearn, and then rebuild upon the mistaken presumptuousness of my past—the moment of our mutual emotion was recorded on the silver—the release of those emotions followed—we passed from the glare of the sun on white walls into Tina’s darkened room—her olive skin and somber nipples were revealed beneath a black mantilla—I drew the lace aside— 
 I shall let no chance pass to record interesting abstractions, but I feel definite in my belief that the approach to photography is through realism—and its most difficult approach. (1924) 
 What have I, that brings these many women to offer themselves to me? I do not go out of my way seeking them,—I am not a stalwart virile male, exuding sex, nor am I the romantic mooning poet type some love, nor the dashing Don Juan bent on conquest. 
 Ultimately success or failure in photographing people depends on the photographer’s ability to understand his fellow man. 
 The world is full of sloppy bohemians and their work betrays them. 
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