Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe,
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out
a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is despatched—love for
instance—we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.
Peter Lindbergh, Malgosia Bela, 2008
Saul Leiter, Horse, 1958
Angela Bacon-Kidwell, Devotion, 2005