To photograph is to hold one's breath, when all faculties converge to capture fleeting reality. It's at that precise moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy.
Henri Cartier-Bresson
There’s always dessert.
How could it be getting dark already?
He was just intense, slightly feral.
The place seems poised for a postcard.
The air smells like diesel.
Doesn’t that look nice?
Often he didn’t sleep well.
The tiny stretch of daylight that will become summer.
The seconds pass.
And what did he find?
It will be there.
The answer or the question, one or the other.
He had lost a great and wonderful silence.
It was more like a silence.
He used to have a place in his mind where he could go.
I think the cat was sad.
What have I done now?
The night was very big out there.
The loss of that place made him unsure of this one.