“Volume depends precisely on the writer's having been able to sit in a room every day, year after year, alone.”
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Any critic is entitled to wrong judgments, of course. But certain lapses of judgment indicate the radical failure of an entire sensibility.
Existence is no more than the precarious attainment of relevance in an intensely mobile flux of past, present, and future.
To take a photograph is to participate in another person's mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.
The truth is balance. However the opposite of truth, which is unbalance, may not be a lie.
