Admitting we know less is knowing more. Consider the stars. When we reduce them to what we know about them, when we feign a nearness that is really a list of objective characteristics—calling them spheres resulting from the gravitational collapse of a gaseous nebula and the thermonuclear fusion of hydrogen into helium—we lose the reality, that primordial encounter of the stars that makes us care enough to study them in the first place. We list things about the stars, and in the smirk of superiority, pretend that this knowledge-about ever equates to a knowledge-of: to encounter.
Faith is indeed a surrender; faith indeed involves a kind of leap into darkness; but it’s a surrender on the far side of reason. It’s a leap into the darkness beyond the place illumined by philosophy and science and reason. Faith is a trusting confidence in a God who can’t be controlled by reason.
Bored with obvious reality, I find my fascination in transforming it into a subjective point of view. Without touching my subject I want to come to the moment when, through pure concentration of seeing, the composed picture becomes more made than taken. Without a descriptive caption to justify its existence, it will speak for itself – less descriptive, more creative; less informative, more suggestive; less prose, more poetry.