In photography there is a reality so subtle that it becomes more real than reality.
Wherever there is light, one can photograph.
For that is the power of the camera: seize the familiar and give it new meanings, a special significance by the mark of a personality.
I have a vision of life, and I try to find equivalents for it in the form of photographs.
Utopia is in the moment. Not in some future time, some other place, but in the here and now, or else it is nowhere.
Photography my passion, the search for truth, my obsession.
My cloud photographs are equivalents of my most profound life experiences, my basic philosophy of life. All art is an equivalent of the artist’s most profound life experiences.
A woman artist could be one of those intuitive geniuses [who] have kept their childlike spirit and have added to it breadth of vision and experience.
Photographers must learn not to be ashamed to have their photographs look like photographs.
All art, like all love, is rooted in heartache.
If you place the imperfect next to the perfect, people will see the difference between the one and the other. But if you offer the imperfect alone, people are only too apt to be satisfied by it.
The goal of art was the vital expression of self.
My photographs are a picture of the chaos in the world, and of my relationship to that chaos. My prints show the world’s constant upsetting of man’s equilibrium, and his eternal battle to reestablish it.
As a matter of fact, nearly all the greatest work is being, and has always been done, by those who are following photography for the love of it, and not merely for financial reasons. As the name implies, an amateur is one who works for love.
The ability to make a truly artistic photograph is not acquired off-hand, but is the result of an artistic instinct coupled with years of labor.
Everything is relative except relatives, and they are absolute.
When I make a picture, I make love.
It is not art in the professionalized sense about which I care, but that which is created sacredly, as a result of a deep inner experience, with all of oneself, and that becomes 'art' in time.
My picture, Fifth Avenue, Winter is the result of a three hours' stand during a fierce snow-storm on February 22nd 1893, awaiting the proper moment. My patience was duly rewarded. Of course, the result contained an element of chance, as I might have stood there for hours without succeeding in getting the desired pictures.
I do not object to retouching, dodging or accentuation as long as they do not interfere with the natural qualities of photographic technique.
The arts equally have distinct departments, and unless photography has its own possibilities of expression, separate from those of the other arts, it is merely a process, not an art.
There is nothing so wrong as accepting a thing merely because men who have done things say it should be so.
To demand the portrait that will be a complete portrait of a person is as futile as to demand that a motion picture be condensed into a single still.
I detest tradition for tradition's sake; the half-alive; that which is not real. I feel no hatred of individuals, but of customs, traditions; superstitions that go against life, against truth, against the reality of experience, against the spontaneous living out of the sense of wonder-of fresh experience, freshly seen and communicated.
The scene fascinated me: a round straw hat; the funnel leaning left, the stairway leaning right; the white drawbridge, its railings made of chain; white suspenders crossed on the back of a man below; circular iron machinery; a mast that cut into the sky, completing a triangle.
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