| Recognition
of photography as an art form has been, contrary to logic
and expectation, slow and gradual even though now
implicit in international proclamations at various
forums. That such acceptance is not ungrudging and
somehow leaves an unexplained feeling of lingering doubt
is a stupendous anachronism. My pictures are composed by establishing an emotional rapport with the subject. While I do not scoff at the profusion of possibilities for variants with mechanical, chemical and electronic aids having limitless scope, my personal preoccupation has been with the aesthetic. This obsession has limited me to the gentle, rueful, poetic and melancholy and distanced me from the larger segment of reality. I am as much wearied of
comprehension as of incomprehension. One thread, however,
which binds the many lives I have lived and lost is an
obsession to communicate, somehow, anyhow. I feel obliged
to explain everything, including why the unexplainable is
unexplainable, the easiest way of doing so being by
talking incessantly. |
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