There Are Only A Few

So-called "realist" Photography Does Not Capture The "what Is." Instead, It Is Preoccupied With What Should Not Be, Like The Reality Of Suffering For Example.

Art Does Not Die Because There Is No More Art. It Dies Because There Is Too Much.

If You Say, I Love You, Then You Have Already Fallen In Love With Language, Which Is Already A Form Of Break Up And Infidelity.

The Sumptuous Age Of Stars And Images Is Reduced To A Few Artificial Tornado Effects, Pathetic Fake Buildings, And Childish Tricks Which The Crowd Pretends To Be Taken In By To Avoid Feeling Too Disappointed. Ghost Towns, Ghost People. The Whole Place Has The Same Air Of Obsolescence About It As Sunset Or Hollywood Boulevard.

When The Real Is No Longer What It Used To Be, Nostalgia Assumes Its Full Meaning.