[Four of
seven in B&W] In my twenties I absorbed great photographers. An hour with
Cartier-Bresson left me seeing everything as a decisive moment. After Ansel
Adams no landscape came up to scratch. Kertész pictured my absorption in books.
I was captured by their erudite talk about Leicas and Hasselblads. Warhol
though made sheets of famous friends at Studio 54, his dachshund dressed as the
pope. I couldn’t like looking at other people’s breakfasts January through
December, themselves somewhere or other, no light check. Photography was art
from the start, but I lived in denial. It was always social media.
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