Federico Garcia Lorca
[Poet and playright, b. 1898, Fuente Vaqueros, Granada, Spain, d. 1936, near Barranco de Viznar, Granada.]
What shall I do now? Align all the landscapes? Muster the lovers who turn into photographs... ?
Robert Adams
[Photographer and writer, b. 1937, Orange, New Jersey, lives in Astoria, Oregon.]
I tried to keep in mind a phrase from a novel by [Yasunari] Kawabata: “my life, a fragment of a landscape.” The same applied, I thought, to each of us...
Gregory Crewdson
[Photographer, b. 1962, Brooklyn, New York, lives in New Haven Connecticut.]
The suburban landscape is alien and strange and exotic. I photograph it out of longing and desire. My photographs are also about repression and internal angst.
Lucy Lippard
[Critic and writer, b. 1936, New York, lives in Galisteo, New Mexico.]
Given the lack of public skills in reading photographs, given that photographic content is sometimes buried in beauty, contemporary landscape photographers are often condemned to making pretty pictures. Dramatic clouds and sifting light can overwhelm more mundane information. Yet who can resist beautiful landscape pictures of one kind or another? Not I.
Marcel Proust
[Writer, b. 1871, Auteuil, Paris, d. 1922, Paris.]
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.
Andreas Gursky
[Photographer, b. 1955, Leipzig, Germany, lives in Dusseldorf.]
I believe that there’s also a certain form of abstraction in my early landscapes: for example, I often show human figures from behind and thus the landscape as observed “through” a second lens.
Paul Caponigro
[Photographer, b. 1932, Boston, Massachusetts, lives in Cushing, Maine.]
I often see the materials of photography as being a type of terrain. Emulsions, liquid developers, silver salts, and fixers interact, and I construct a landscape that I need to first explore in my mind’s eye if I am to make it manifest as an artful image in silver.
John Loengard
[Photographer, editor, and critic, b. 1934, New York, lives in New York.]
If I’m close on the face, expression doesn’t exist. The face becomes a landscape of the lakes of the eyes and the hills of the nose.
