A poppy does not wait to be told the light is good enough. It opens on the day it opens, in whatever weather is available, and it is not embarrassed about the mess of it — the crumpled first hour, the petals still folded from the bud.
I have never once looked at a flower halfway open and thought: you should have waited.
The wall is the same wall every afternoon. What changes is a few degrees of sun and whether the wind is doing anything. That is the whole subject.
People ask what the shadow pictures are of. They are of an ordinary Tuesday, photographed slowly enough that it stops being ordinary.
Noget slutter, og kroppen kender det før hovedet gør. Det er den samme sammentrækning som ved en begyndelse — samme åndedræt, samme uro, samme lys der pludselig står skarpt.
Jeg fotograferer ofte frøkapsler efter blomsten er faldet af. De ligner ikke død. De ligner opbevaring.
In June the sun goes down over Køge Bugt at around half nine and the water goes completely flat for about four minutes. If you are not already standing there you will miss it.
That is most of what I know about making pictures: be standing there.
In a session I am not fixing anyone. I am keeping the room steady enough that the person in it can stop bracing. Almost everything opens on its own once the bracing stops.
A camera asks for the same thing from me. Stop pushing. Stay. Let it come up to the surface by itself.
Every clematis on that fence came off the same plant and not one of them is the same shape. Six petals, seven, one with a torn edge from the hail in May.
Enjoy it. That is the whole instruction.
These sit beside the pictures rather than explaining them. The work itself is in Like a flower you shall bloom, Gigantically Subtle and Greve, at the hour of gold.
Letters
New writing and new work, at the pace it actually gets made.