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
I think I’ll stay home and tend my roses.
A place you get lost in.
It did not puzzle me too much.
I set right off. I was curious. You know how it is.
I didn’t know if anyone lived there. I never asked.
The wind had fallen. There was no sound at all.
He was outside, out in the cold, insignificant. He could not do anything.
The guest, a travelling priest, was talking about his travels.
He listened for the women’s voices in the room overhead.
For what else should move a man, these days?
There are no hiding places left.
Only by walking down a path could one achieve one’s absence?
The world is a big place.
She had learned to let the world come round to her.
Time moved on, overcoming many things it met on the way.
I recognize a familiar scene.
It has all happened a hundred times in my mind.
I only feel that all this has happened before — and it has.