Dust is stupendously annoying. More annoying than bandits killing everyone in your village. Not necessarily quite as annoying as having the foil on the top of the yogurt tub rip into little bits, of course, but still very annoying indeed.
I’ve often thought that Gangsta Rap singers have done the inner cities load of good by teaching urban punks that holding the gun sideways is “cool.” That has to have gone a long way in reducing shooting fatalities in the hood by making it impossible to aim the gun properly. Plus, it should increase the number of incapacitating but non-fatal arm/shoulder wounds and save lives.
The best thing to hope for is that in time and with much more effort the work will become transparent to its users, that it will be taken for granted. That’s life with websites.
The Teaching Authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions, on the part of men experienced in both fields, take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, insofar as it inquiries into the origin of the human body as coming from pre-existent and living matter.
Zorba’s response embodies a supreme appreciation for the richness of life and the inevitability of all its dilemmas, sorrows, tragedies, and ironies. His way is to “dance” in the gale of the full catastrophe, to celebrate life, to laugh with it and at himself, even in the face of personal failure and defeat. In doing so, he is never weighed down for long, never ultimately defeated either by the world or by his own considerable folly.
When I was in university, there was this major historian of the Third Reich, Ian Kershaw, who said, ‘The path to Auschwitz was paved with indifference.’ I know it’s not very funny being a comedian talking about the Holocaust, but it’s an interesting idea that not everyone in Germany had to be a raving anti-Semite. They just had to be apathetic.
Taken like a spoonful of Nyquil just before you pass out from flu exhaustion, nostalgia is no harm at all. In fact, it’s positively uplifting, even if that lift up hampers your hipness standing to the point where you might as well be culturally asleep. Short trips to what was probably an imaginary past— immaculate family gatherings around the tree, perfect junior high summers with perfect junior high kisses— aren’t necessarily grounds for an inner guilt trip.
I want to say, in my actions and words, “We are citizens of the world, and as such we all have a responsibility to try to make something better. You can pick what. You don’t have to pick what I pick. Just pick something.”
I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down.
And if a day goes by without my doing something related to photography, it’s as though I’ve neglected something essential to my existence, as though I had forgotten to wake up. I know that the accident of my being a photographer has made my life possible.
I’ve worked out of a series of no’s. No to exquisite light, no to apparent compositions, no to the seduction of poses or narrative. And all these no’s force me to the “yes.” I have a white background. I have the person I’m interested in and the thing that happens between us.
If you always put limit on everything you do, physical or anything else, it will spread into your work and into your life. There are no limits. There are only plateaus; and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.