Every Exploration Is An Appropriation.

Is Not The Most Erotic Part Of The Body Wherever The Clothing Affords A Glimpse?

To Try To Write Love Is To Confront The Muck Of Language: That Region Of Hysteria Where Language Is Both Too Much And Too Little, Excessive And Impoverished.

The Text Is Not A Definitive Object.

The Winter Photograph Was My Ariadne, Not Because It Would Help Me Discover A Secret Thing (monster Or Treasure), But Because It Would Tell Me What Constituted That Thread Which Drew Me Toward Photography. I Had Understood That Henceforth I Must Interrogate The Evidence Of Photography, Not From The Viewpoint Of Pleasure, But In Relation To What We Romantically Call Love And Death.

There Is Only One Way Left To Escape The Alienation Of Present Day Society: To Retreat Ahead Of It.