No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted

Not quite sure what you mean by conceptual, it is question of idea, rather than technique.
An economy that bases prices in scarcity will have a perverse incentive to deplete any resource. This is how capitalism functions. It is not only economically sound, but economically profitable to generate crisis. For example, look at the crops that get burned due to over-abundance, look at how diamonds are price gouged, look at how clothing is liquidated because of overstocking. It is disgusting. We destroy our excess in order to make profit. Not donate, destroy. The compassionate route is blocked off by greed. We have enough housing, clothing, and food to keep our entire society off the streets and fed, yet because we worship the dollar over morality, we prefer to allow and encourage suffering.
The overall theme of my works is alienation. And in my recent works it is with particular focus on loss of or confusion about identity. In mine eyes the world we live in is extremely turbulent and fragmented - we are constantly exposed to disturbances and information that we need to relate to. My works are a reaction to this, as I here seek to capture and question the psychological, emotional and existential consequences of societal development.
There’s no rhyme or reason to what makes a great photo. Most of the time it is pure chance and a quick shutter finger, but other times it is planning, ingenuity and sometimes even stalking.
I have always photographed loneliness because that is my life.
As long as I am nothing but a ghost of the civil dead, I can do nothing.
I had nothing to offer anybody, except my own confusion.
Just imagine living in a world without mirrors. You’d dream about your face and imagine it as an outer reflection of what is inside you. And then, when you reached forty, someone put a mirror before you for the first time in your life. Imagine your fright! You’d see the face of a stranger. And you’d know quite clearly what you are unable to grasp: your face is not you.
You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.
I had an artist’s instincts….You can see the picture before it’s taken; then it’s up to you to get the camera to see.
A good snapshot stops a moment from running away.
The immature artist imitates; the mature artist steals.
Though her wild heart bathes the universe in red, no spark kindles in the space between her arms; for all of her pouring prayers she doesn’t feel the faintest tremor of an answer in the darkness against her. Her sense of the third person with them widens enormously, and she knows, knows, while knocks sound at the door, that the worst thing that has ever happened to any woman in the world has happened to her.


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