I Keep Calling It The I-thought. It's

. . .art Is A Discovery Of Harmony, A Vision Of Disparities Reconciled, Or Shape Beneath Confusion.

I Have Asked Students At The Beginning Of Their Careers, What Things Of That Sort Might Haunt Them – What Things They Must Photograph, Things They Have To Try To Shoot Even Before They Master The Intricacies Of Making Dye Transfer Prints.

In A Foreign Country It Is Far From Easy To Study A Scene At Length When You Know That At Any Minute Someone May Appear And Ask What You Are Doing And That You Can't Answer, And You Haven't Many References, And You Don't Know The Law. Neither Is It Easy To Find And Know The Subjects For Portraits Or Comfortable To Make Such Picture When You Cannot Apply An Anesthesia Of Small Talk.

All These Years You've Been Searching And Looking And Trying To Change Things, Trying To Add Thing Onto Yourself, Trying To Acquire Things When You Have Been The Source Of Everything To Begin With. Everything You've Been Looking For Has Been Within Yourself You Have Been That. You Then Begin To Surrender Everything To Yourself. You Surrender All Of Your Thoughts, All Of Your Feelings, You Surrender All Of Your Desires, All Of Your Wants To The Self. You Pull It In All Inwardly.

C.s. Lewis Admitted, When He Was Asked To Set Forth His Beliefs, That He Never Felt Less Sure Of Them Than When He Tried To Speak Of Them. Photographers Know This Frailty. To Them Words Are A Pallid, Diffuse Way Of Describing And Celebrating What Matters. Their Gift Is To See What Will Be Affecting As A Print. Mute.