We’re all so frightened by time, the way it moves on and the way things disappear. That’s why we’re photographers. We’re preservationists by nature. We take pictures to stop time, to commit moments to eternity. Human nature made tangible.
People are taking more pictures now than ever before, billions of them, but there are no slides, no prints. Just data. Electronic dust. Years from now when they dig us up there won’t be any pictures to find, no record of who we were or how we lived.
Let me tell you something. Happiness is bullshit. It’s the great myth of the late 20th century. You think Picasso was happy? You think Hemingway was? Hendrix? They were miserable shits. No art worth a damn was ever created out of happiness. I can tell you that. Ambition, narcissism, sex, rage. Those are the engines that drive every great artist, every great man. A hole that can’t be filled. That’s why we’re all such miserable assholes.
Let me tell you something, happiness is bullshit. It’s a great myth of the 20th century. You think Picasso was happy? You think Hemingway was? Hendrix? They were miserable shits. No art worth a damn was ever created out of happiness. I can tell you that much.
