From Ernest Hemingway‘s
“A Moveable Feast”
The blue-backed notebooks, the two pencils and the pencil sharpener (a pocket knife was too wasteful), the marbled topped tables, the smell of early morning, sweeping out and mopping, and luck were all you needed. For luck you carried a horse chestnut and a rabbit‘s foot in your right pocket. The claws scratched in the lining of you pocket and you knew your luck was still there.
All Content ©Copyright Craig Carlson 2016 All Rights Reserved
I often feel when making pictures that the images I make have always been hanging around in my consciousness. I carry those pictures around until it‘s time to let them go and let them live in the picture world. It‘s like watching a bird take off and wondering why it decided at that moment in time to leap into the air and exist in space. Making photographs for me is an impulse to see something fly.
…Craig Carlson
“Yes, when you take photographs, solitude is often tied up with a particular feeling of happiness, a quite specific kind of contentment that I‘ve occasionally noticed in other people I‘ve met taking photos on their travels too. Usually they‘re fairly quiet people, not as het up or agitated as other travelers.”
Wim Wenders, (From The Book) “Written In The West”
