I remembered seeing it and it was this metallic turbine and I thought it was beautiful. I had never been in a power plant before, but I felt, without being overly dramatic, compelled to make photographs of this for myself.
Working conditions for me have always been those of the monastic life: solitude and frugality. Except for frugality, they are contrary to my nature, so much so that work is a violence I do to myself.
I never knew a more presumptuous person than myself. The fact that I say that shows that what I say is true.
The first day at the power plant I found myself photographing some steam vents on the roof of the structure. And I remember consciously thinking that they were just like trees but they were metal.
Survival is a privilege which entails obligations. I am forever asking myself what I can do for those who have not survived.
In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.
Courses on historical methodology are not worth the time that they take up. I shall never give one myself, and I have observed that many of my colleagues who do give such courses refrain from exemplifying their methods by writing anything.
I write to keep from going mad from the contradictions I find among mankind – and to work some of those contradictions out for myself.
What I myself experience is indescribable gratitude in the face of God’s perpetual and preemptive love, a love which is not contingent upon requital or even belief in His existence.
I’m not lying to myself like most people.