Each Of Us Has His Own Rhythm

The Photographic Image... Is A Message Without A Code.

I Make The Other’s Absence Responsible For My Worldliness.

What Love Lays Bare In Me Is Energy.

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.

Every Exploration Is An Appropriation.