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
This is it, he thinks. This is it.
He does not move.
We’ll come back later.
He has a sense, out there, of peace.
I don’t need a friend.
Autumn was moving in with stealth.
This was a revelation.
I think I’ve seen you before.
She arranged the picture in her mind.
I am getting older, you know.
Nothing made enough sense to matter.
Shall we get started?
It’s the same to me as any other place.
He’d slept dreamlessly but woke into melancholy.
You find me here because nothing keeps me elsewhere.