Sally Mann (born May 1, 1951) is an American photographer, best known for her large-format, black-and-white photographs—at first of her young children, then later of landscapes suggesting decay and death.
It is easier for me to take ten good pictures in an airplane bathroom than in the gardens at Versailles.
To be able to take my pictures, I have to look, all the time, at the people and places I care about. And I must do so with both ardor and cool appraisal, with the passions of eye and heart, but in that ardent heart there must also be a splinter of ice.
If I could be said to have any kind of aesthetic, it's sort of a magpie aesthetic - I just go and pick up whatever is around. If you think about it, the children were there, so I took pictures of my children. It's not that I'm interested in children that much or photographing them - it's just that they were there.
I can think of numberless males, from Bonnard to Callahan, who have photographed their lovers and spouses, but I am having trouble finding parallel examples among my sister photographers. The act of looking appraisingly at a man, making eye contact on the street, asking to photograph him, studying his body, has always been a brazen venture for a woman, though, for a man, these acts are commonplace, even expected.
Like all photographers, I depend on serendipity I pray for what might be referred to as the angel of chance.
The fact is that these are not my children; they are figures on silvery paper slivered out of time. They represent my children at a fraction of a second on one particular afternoon with infinite variables of light, expression, posture, muscle tension, mood, wind and shade. These are not my children at all; these are children in a photograph.
Sometimes I think the only memories I have are those that I’ve created around photographs of me as a child. Maybe I’m creating my own life. I distrust any memories I do have. They may be fictions, too.
You can tell a good ruined lens, right from the get-go. . . . That’s the kind of lens I'm looking for.
I wish I could be a better writer, but writing is so difficult. I get seduced by visual aesthetics. Because I just like making beautiful pictures, sometimes I wander away from making a clear statement.
All the good pictures that came so easily now make the next set of pictures virtually impossible in your mind.
When the good pictures come, we hope they tell truths, but truths 'told slant,' just as Emily Dickinson commanded.
Unless you photograph what you love, you're not going to make good art.
It's always been my philosophy to try to make art out of the everyday and ordinary. . . it never occurred to me to leave home to make art.
Every image is in some way a “portrait,” not in the way that it would reproduce the traits of a person, but in that it pulls and draws (this is the semantic and etymological sense of the word), in that it extracts something, an intimacy, a force.
I’m past photographing to see what things look like photographed.
The things that are close to you are the things you can photograph the best.
These dog bones are just making art the way art should be made, without any overarching reference. Just for fun, if you can imagine that-art for fun.
The earth doesn’t care where death occurs. . . . It’s the artist, by coming in and writing about it or painting it or taking a photograph of it, that makes the earth powerful and creates death’s memory. Because the land will not remember by itself, but the artist will.
I think truth is a layered phenomenon. There are many truths that accumulate and build up. I am trying to peel back and explore these rich layers of truth. All truths are difficult to reach.
As an artist your trajectory just has to keep going up. the thing that subverts your next body of work is the work you've taken before.