What ends up in your scrapbook? The pictures where you look like a good guy and a good family man, and the children look adorable - and they're screaming the next minute. I've never seen a family album of screaming people.
People, unprotected by their roles, become isolated in beauty and intellect and illness and confusion.
I think all art is about control - the encounter between control and the uncontrollable.
I am always stimulated by people. Almost never by ideas.
If each photograph steals a bit of the soul, isn't it possible that I give up pieces of mine every time I take a picture?
People - running from unhappiness, hiding in power - are locked within their reputations, ambitions, beliefs.
