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Photography does not exist. – Efrem Raimondi
My journey as a writer keeps pace with my photography. I analyze the world around me and, above all, my inner world, a process bordering on the metaphysical, a constant recourse upon which my act of observing relies.
A certain way of going about photography isn't for me. I seek something else. I do something else. It isn't arrogance, though, without knowing me personally, it might seem that way. It is, rather, an acknowledgment of what I am feeling while I photograph. Certain things no longer interest me. And so, even when I do end up taking certain shots, I effectively discard them during the editing process, leaving them unpublished.
The fact is, I am demanding more of myself. And I have adopted a different approach that, or so I feel and believe, is beginning to define me better.
Today, more than ever, it matters to me that my photography embodies the qualities relevant to my creative inquiry. I am no longer satisfied with simply hitting the streets to rehash what I have already done. What takes precedence now are presence, intention, and that constant need to let the sense of a place truly sink in.
A sense of place not to be understood merely in material terms, but rather as a metaphysical destination where the ES becomes one with the worldly moment. So that the persistent act of being on the street with a camera might become an opportunity to discover territory within one's own inner space; and, at the same time, so that the place might be defined by the atmosphere and the dimension to which I am transported, and transformed, during that sliver of time, becoming one with my state of mind and my deepest self.
Obviously, this is all bullshit and mental masturbation for people who think photography is just the camera and the settings we use. But then again, I have absolutely no interest in that kind of photography—the sort practiced by nerds who lack cultural depth and, as a result, look more like mechanics than photographers.
