Charles Bukowski’s now dead. When I’m not taking or processing the pictures I’m mostly thinking about the pictures. I’m trying to publish a library of 1,000,000 finished, processed photographs before I die. The absurdity of my obsessive compulsive view on photography is not lost on me. But it is the absurdity of life that I find most beautiful of all. Where Sisyphus had his stone I have my camera and a bag full of lenses.
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