I would love to say that you start with a blank. But it’s me.
I start with a blank.
Then I have eggs and toast and coffee on the road and
then I end up somewhere with my cube shaped camera
that I hold like my lovers breasts…i love it, seriously, because it connects me to a past you don’t care about and future which literally does not exist, but i hold it like a cubical warm croissant on a Sunday morning, every time, like that. I can’t explain it, but I describe it hoping you get how powerful the mechanical thing is to me.
Then I make a picture. I don’t take a picture. I am making something not taking something–sounds like stealing. I am collaborating with a particular moment. You are invited, after, but still that original moment is there, somewhat frozen, although I hope you write a poem about it and…thaw it.