Why talk of it? Isn't anything we could say superfluous, imprecise, for the very reason that the precision we aim at is an impossible one? What statement could ever explain these signs, these emblems, these enigmas, the discarding of these chrysalid forms forever undergoing a metamorphosis?
Mountainous still The fluid landscapes Unfold us to the sharpening winds— They bite the coast line edge Of our utter nudity. We are In you Oh! Mother. Yours alone the images To wear streaming in Your long dark hair; Streaming in the wind Of your insanely meaningful, And wonderous Photoplay.
Wanted, gallery to exhibit and sell photographs—the kind that one hangs on walls to live with, to enjoy, to comtemplate; a gallery that can grow and that perhaps can begin to provide that center of photography about which we all talk and dream, one which would foster and encourage photography for its own sake.
During the last years of her life, Dorothea Lange lived in a manner unlike most of us. Seriously ill, she lived remembering that each breath might be her last. Her reaction to this actuality was courageous and typical of a woman who for most of her life looked at things as they are.
GALLERY 216 216 East 75th Street New York City UNDERGROUND GALLERY 51 East 10th Street New York City December/John Brook January/Steve Gersh March/George Tice April/Paul Petricone December/George Attecker, Brad Hindson January/Joe Meyerowitz February/Phil Niblok March/Bruce Davidson