Quote of the Day
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by Herb Lubalin
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Trying to look good limits my life.
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“I am not interested in the kind of expression that you have when you
paint a painting with brush strokes. It’s all right, but it’s already
done and I want to do something new. I didn’t want to get into something
which is played out and narrow. I want to do as I like, invent my own
interests. Of course, that doesn’t mean that people who, like Newman,
still paint are worn out. But I think that’s a particular kind of
experience involving a certain immediacy between you and the canvass,
you and the particular kind of experience of that particular moment. I
think what I’m trying to deal with is something more long range than
that in a way, more obscure perhaps, more involved with things that
happen over a longer time perhaps. At least it’s another area of
experience.”
Donald Judd, Untitled, 1968.
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“In reality, and for the existentialist, there is no love apart from the deeds of love; no potentiality of love other than that which is manifested in loving; there is no genius other than that which is expressed in works of art. The genius of Proust is the totality of the works of Proust; the genius of Racine is the series of his tragedies, outside of which there is nothing. Why should we attribute to Racine the capacity to write yet another tragedy when that is precisely what he did not write? In life, a man commits himself, draws his own portrait and there is nothing but that portrait. No doubt this thought may seem comfortless to one who has not made a success of his life. On the other hand, it puts everyone in a position to understand that reality alone is reliable; that dreams, expectations and hopes serve to define a man only as deceptive dreams, abortive hopes, expectations unfulfilled; that is to say, they define him negatively, not positively. Nevertheless, when one says, ‘You are nothing else but what you live,’ it does not imply that an artist is to be judged solely by his works of art, for a thousand other things contribute no less to his definition as a man. What we mean to say is that a man is no other than a series of undertakings, that he is the sum, the organization, the set of relations that constitute these undertakings.”—Jean Paul Sartre
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I was completely unknown for thirty years, my books did not sell at all. I was comfortable with that situation which worked well with my view on things. The only important years are the years of anonymity. To be unknown is a voluptuousness which has its bitter sides sometimes, but it is an extraordinary state.
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Cities of what
the thing that propels me through life is my anxiety, although maybe i
never gave it that name in the past. restlessness. i wake up and the
light is in a certain way and i’m compelled to be outside, photographing
it, capturing it while the world is still in bed. the images give me a
language, and when the landscape here changes little, i find little to
say. until i look back retrospectively and the images tell their own
story.
ever more i rely upon photography to speak for me. it means
more than it ever has. through it i’m taught that every country exists
in these unchanging photographs of san francisco; that my restlessness
for another place is a restlessness that likely would remain unsatisfied
by another place. but still my list of places to go, where the light
might fall in a certain way, grows larger by the month.
provence, portland maine, myanmar, copenhagen, kyoto.
when
spring looms nearer, i catch glimpses, shards really, as they’re tiny
intrusions upon my consciousness – of feeling and foresight for all the
photographs i’ll take in the future; scent and flavor and experience
reduced to a moment. i guess you could call it excitement, or
anticipation, but one that lasts for all of a split second, soon
followed by a feeling of having lost something. i’ve always lived with
this fear of missing out, and the pressure of maximizing every moment
for creative benefit. maybe because my head’s been so stuffed with
images of everywhere from a young age. maybe because of south america, a
country i saw at fourteen that gave the world a shape, and made my own
never enough by contrast.
to take up permanent residence in that one second, though: i suppose it’s what we’re all striving for.
—Anonymous