Jeff Wall
[Photographer, b. 1946, Vancouver, Canada, lives in Vancouver.]

 Because image traffic has become so heavy and so continuous, it now seems as if these millions of images came into being by themselves, without the agency of a person. 

Frederick Wiseman
[Filmmaker and Documentarian, b. 1930, Boston, Massachusetts, lives in Boston.]

 The effort to see and really to represent is no idle business in face of the constant force that makes for muddlement. The great thing is indeed that the muddled state too is one of the very sharpest of the realities, that it also has color and form and character, has often in fact a broad and rich comicality. 

Garry Winogrand
[Photographer, b. 1928, New York, d. 1984, Tijuana, Mexico.]

 I think that there isn’t a photograph in the world that has any narrative ability... They do not tell stories—they show you what something looks like. To a camera. 

William Wordsworth
[Writer and poet, b. 1770, Cockermouth, Cumberland, England, d. 1850, Rydal Mount, England.]

 Avaunt this vile abuse of pictured page!
Must eyes be all-in-all, the tongue and ear
Nothing? Heaven keep us from a lower stage? 

James Welling
[Photographer, b. 1951, Hartford, Connecticut, lives in Los Angeles.]

 It’s not that I don’t care about content, but content is not the only way a photograph has meaning. 

Ai Weiwei
[Artist, b. 1957, Beijing, lives in Beijing.]

 ...photographs are facts, but not necessarily true... The present always surpasses the past, and the future will not care about today. 

David Wojnarowicz
[Artist and activist, b. 1954, Redbank, New Jersey, d. 1990, New York.]

 I am all emptiness and futility. I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form. I can no longer find what I’m looking for outside of myself. It doesn’t exist out there. Maybe it’s only in here, inside my head. But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody’s words can touch me. 

Tom Wolfe
[Writer, b. 1930, Richmond, Virginia, d. 2018, New York.]

 [Richard Avedon] began standing people up against white no-seam paper and lighting their faces so that every wen, hickey, zit, whitehead, blackhead, goober, acne-crater, beard follicle, nose hair, ear bristle, crow’s foot, wattle, mold, eye bag, and liver spot stood out like a tumor, and the poor grey souls looked like pustular ruins, sad, spent, demoralized. Ah, Lord, you never get out of this world alive! This was serious work.