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The disordcr which from thc very flrsc I had ob-servcd in Photography—all practiccs and all sub-jects inixed up togcther—I was ro rediscover in the photographs of the Spectator whom I was and whom I now wanted to invcstigare.

I sec photographs cvcrywhcrc, like everyone clsc, now-adays; they come from thc world to mc, without my ask-ing; they arc only "images,’’ thcir modę of appcarance is heterogcncous. Yec, among those which had been se-lcctcd, evaluatcd, approved, collccted in albums or maga-2incs and which had thereby passcd through thc fiitcr of culture, f realized chat somc provokcd tiny jubilations, as if they referred to a stilled center, an crocic or laccrating value buried in mysełf (howevcr harmlcss thc subjcct may havc appeared); and that others, on the contrary, were so indifferent to mc that by dint of sccing them multiply, like somc weed, 1 felt a kind of aversion toward them, cven of irritation: thcrc are moments when I detest Photographs: whar have I to do with Atget's old trec trunks, with Picrre Douchcr’s nudes, with Gcrmainc KrulTs double cxposures (to citc only the old names)? Furthcr: I realized rhat I havc never likcd all the picturcs by any one photogra-pher: thc only thing by Stieglitz that delights me (but to ecscasy) is his most famous image ("The Horse-Car Terminal,” New York, 1893); a ccrtain picturc by Map-plethorpc led me to think f had found ''my" photogra-

Only Stseglitz’s mott famous photograph deUghtt me..." A. Stiegutz: The Horsb-Car Tbrmjnał. New York, 1893

Screen shot 13 02 08 at 59 53

Screen shot 13 02 08 at 59 53

Screen shot 13 02 08 at 59 53

Screen shot 13 02 08 at 59 53