Hello, my prettys.
It's not just my imagination, it's everybody's imagination.
I have a huge curiosity, and that's what separates me from other photographers,
because they're interested in looking at something,
but they never discuss the nature of what they're looking at.
So if I see a woman crying, I want to know why is she crying?
What's the nature of her grief?
So I'm constantly on the frontier of that cusp between looking and feeling.
When I was a little boy, it seemed to me that there were many moons.
My grandmother had a moon above her house, and my other grandmother had one too.
We had a moon over our backyard, and my best friend Art had moon shine through his bedroom window.
Oh!
I was born here 79 years ago.
It was filled with life, and now it's all dead, and the streets dead,
and the city's been abandoned, and all I have left are my memories.
I'm always particularly touched by this photograph of this room where I was born,
and I have this feeling that if somehow the walls absorb all those thoughts and words and sounds and tears and fights
and the snow on the window, if somehow it was all there.
And I wonder if maybe when the house burns down, you could hear the house crying.
I wonder if the house cries. I wonder if it makes noises in the clackling frame,
as all those memories go up in flame, you naughty child.
In case I always do a precautionary thing, I bring my own student just in case I find you boring.
So I brought my student, and if I find you boring and nobody asks questions, he will ask questions.
Hello.
Hello.
Okay, good. He's working.
We exist in oblivion, and then we have this little bit of consciousness in these tiny little brief years,
and we're out of here.
Anyway, so pay attention while you're here, okay?
Because it's all going to go away just the way yesterday did.
...
...
...
...
my father could walk in the sky he promised to teach me how but he left
without saying goodbye I don't cry I'm a grown-up now
I'm Dwayne Don Quixote the man from the keysport I've come here to free all the
serfs and this is my squire Sancho Tanya Tanya Avanti I've come to free the
workers Carnegie where are you you coward take your Pinkerton's and get out of
here Tanya look they fled kindness is triumphed
