How Does Meaning Get Into The Image?

For Me The Noise Of Time Is Not Sad: I Love Bells, Clocks, Watches — And I Recall That At First Photographic Implements Were Related To Techniques Of Cabinetmaking And The Machinery Of Precision: Cameras, In Short, Were Clocks For Seeing, And Perhaps In Me Someone Very Old Still Hears In The Photographic Mechanism The Living Sound Of The Wood.

It Is As If The Photograph Always Carries Its Referent With Itself, Both Affected By The Same Amorous Or Funereal Immobility, At The Very Heart Of The Moving World: They Are Glued Together, Limb By Limb, Like The Condemned Man And The Corpse In Certain Tortures; Or Even Like Those Pairs Of Fish (sharks, I Think, According To Michelet) Which Navigate In Convoy, As Though United By An Eternal Coitus.

As Spectator I Wanted To Explore Photography Not As A Question (a Theme) But As A Wound.

Literature Is Without Proofs. By Which It Must Be Understood That It Cannot Prove, Not Only What It Says, But Even That It Is Worth The Trouble Of Saying It.

L'amoureux Qui N'oublie Pas Quelquefois Meurt Par Exce' S, Fatigue Et Tension De Me Moire (tel Werther). The Lover Who Does Not Forget Sometimes Dies From Excess, Fatigue, And The Strain Of Memory (like Werther).