William Klein: Artist Profile

William Klein, a name synonymous with a raw, visceral, and often confrontational style of street photography, remains a pivotal figure. He wasn’t interested in the polite, the picturesque, or the perfectly composed. Instead, he embraced the chaotic energy of urban life: the blur, the grain, the awkward angles, and the sheer messiness of the world. His work, particularly his early street photography, crackles with a restless energy, a sense of immediacy that continues to resonate. He wasn’t a detached observer, but an active participant, his camera a weapon, a tool for exploration, and a means of engaging with the world on his own terms. “I was a kind of anti-photographer,” Klein once said, “I was going against all the rules.” This rebellious spirit is evident in every frame. As he later reflected, “I’m an outsider, I guess. I wasn’t part of any movement. I was working alone, following my instinct. I had no real respect for good technique because I didn’t know what it was. I was self-taught, so that stuff didn’t matter to me.”  

Klein’s influences are complex and, perhaps characteristically, somewhat contradictory. He wasn’t formally trained as a photographer. His background was in painting, studying with Fernand Léger in Paris. This artistic foundation undoubtedly shaped his visual approach, giving him a keen sense of composition, even when seemingly abandoning traditional rules. Léger, as Klein recalled, “told us not to worry about galleries and collectors, but to go out onto the city streets and paint murals.” It was while photographing some of his interior murals, “big hard-edged geometrical paintings,” that Klein had an epiphany. “Somebody turned one of the panels when I was shooting on a long exposure, and when I developed the photographs this already abstract shape was a beautiful blur. That blur was a revelation. I thought, here’s a way of talking about life. Through photography, you can really talk about what you see around you. That’s what I’ve been doing ever since.” One can see echoes of the bold lines and dynamic forms of Léger's work in Klein’s own compositions, albeit translated into the language of photography. However, Klein’s real education came from the streets, from the raw energy of New York City in the 1950s. He cites Weegee, the tabloid photographer known for his gritty depictions of crime scenes and urban life, as a key inspiration. “Weegee showed me that photography could be tough,” Klein said. But Klein’s work goes beyond Weegee’s sensationalism. He adds a layer of social commentary, a sense of irony, and a distinctly modern aesthetic.  

What sets Klein apart is his unflinching gaze, his willingness to confront the viewer with the raw reality of urban existence. His photographs are often confrontational, sometimes even aggressive. They capture the chaos, the noise, the sheer overwhelmingness of city life. In his iconic series “Life is Good & Good for You in New York,” the city becomes a stage for a kind of urban theatre, populated by characters who are both ordinary and extraordinary. The images are often close-up, sometimes blurred, capturing fleeting moments of interaction, expressions of joy, despair, and everything in between. “I wanted to show the city as I saw it,” Klein explained, “not as it should be.” This desire to capture the unvarnished truth, to embrace the imperfections and contradictions of urban life, is what makes his work so powerful. He wasn’t interested in creating a sanitised version of reality, but rather a visceral and immediate experience of the city. As he put it, “People said, ‘What a put-down — New York is not like that. New York is a million things, and you just see the seamy side.’” His view of New York, as he confessed, was that it was “like a big shithouse.”

Klein’s work evolved over the course of his career, moving beyond the raw immediacy of his early street photography. He ventured into fashion photography, bringing his distinctive style to the pages of Vogue. Even in this commercial context, he retained his rebellious spirit, pushing the boundaries of the genre. His fashion photographs are often dynamic, energetic, and sometimes even humorous, a far cry from the static and posed images that were typical at the time. He used wide-angle lenses, unusual perspectives, and blurred motion, creating a sense of immediacy and excitement. As Dorothy McGowan, a Vogue model who worked with Klein, recalled, “People were terrified of him, as though it was the lion’s den.” Klein himself acknowledged, “They were probably the most unpopular fashion photographs Vogue ever published.” This willingness to experiment and to challenge conventions is a hallmark of Klein’s work, regardless of the subject matter. He even made a film about the fashion world, “Who Are You, Polly Maggoo?”, which, as he recalled, “was completely foreign to the whole movie scene here in France.” Later, he made documentaries on figures like Muhammad Ali and Little Richard, drawn, as he said, to “great characters.”

His books are as important to his oeuvre as his individual photographs. “Life is Good & Good for You in New York,” published in 1956, is considered a landmark in the history of photobooks. Its raw energy, its unconventional layout, and its unflinching portrayal of urban life made it a radical departure from the prevailing aesthetic of the time. The book itself becomes a kind of extension of Klein’s photographic practice, a dynamic and immersive experience for the viewer. Other notable books include “Tokyo” (1964) and “Moscow” (1964), both of which capture the unique character of these cities through Klein’s distinctive lens. These books are not simply collections of photographs; they are visual essays, capturing the spirit and energy of a place. As he described his approach to his books, “The sequencing of the New York book, and even the composition of individual images, also seems to owe something to comic-books.” His first book, however, met with resistance. “They just didn’t get it,” he said of the initial reaction to “Life is Good & Good for You in New York.” “They thought it should not have been published, that it was vulgar and somehow sinned against the great sacred tradition of the photography book. They were annoyed for sure.”  

Klein’s exhibitions have also played a significant role in shaping his reputation. His work has been shown in major museums and galleries around the world. One particularly important exhibition was his retrospective at the International Center of Photography in New York in 1996. This exhibition brought together a wide range of his work, from his early street photography to his fashion work and his films, providing a comprehensive overview of his career. It highlighted the diversity of his practice and his consistent willingness to challenge conventions. Even in his exhibitions, Klein sought to create a dynamic and engaging experience for the viewer, reflecting the energy and immediacy of his photography. More recently, a joint retrospective with Japanese photographer Daido Moriyama at Tate Modern explored the similarities in their depictions of New York and Tokyo. Klein, however, remained characteristically nonchalant about the exhibition. “I think it’s kind of stupid,” he said, shrugging, “but a lot of things happen without me really being involved. There’s a connection all right, but…”

Klein’s work sits squarely within the tradition of street photography, but it also transcends it. He shares with photographers like Henri Cartier-Bresson a fascination with the decisive moment, but his approach is radically different. While Cartier-Bresson sought to capture the perfect composition, the harmonious balance of form and content, Klein embraced the chaos and the unpredictability of the street. His work is more akin to that of Robert Frank, whose book “The Americans” also challenged the conventions of the time, but Klein’s work has a distinct energy, a sense of urgency that is all his own. “I’m not a documentarian,” Klein has said. “I’m an artist. I’m interested in my own vision of the world.”

Klein’s influence can be seen in the work of many photographers who followed. His bold use of composition, his willingness to embrace the imperfections of the medium, and his unflinching portrayal of urban life have all had a lasting impact. While it's difficult to pinpoint specific individuals, his influence is more pervasive, a kind of spirit of rebellion that encourages photographers to break the rules, to challenge conventions, and to find their own unique voice. He showed that photography could be more than just a record of reality; it could be a powerful means of expression, a way to engage with the world on a personal and visceral level.

William Klein’s legacy is one of innovation, experimentation, and a relentless pursuit of his own vision. He wasn’t afraid to challenge the established norms of photography, to push the boundaries of the medium, and to capture the world as he saw it, in all its messy, chaotic, and often beautiful complexity. His work continues to inspire and provoke, reminding us that photography can be a powerful tool for exploring the world around us and for engaging with the human experience in all its richness and diversity. He showed us that the streets can be a gallery and that life itself is the greatest subject of all. As Orson Welles said of Klein’s film “Broadway by Light,” “the first film I've seen in which colour was absolutely necessary.” This sense of innovation and pushing boundaries is a hallmark of Klein’s entire oeuvre, from his early street photography to his fashion work and his films.

Lewis Baltz: Artist Profile

Lewis Baltz’s photographs are not about beauty in the conventional sense. They are about the stark realities of the contemporary landscape, the overlooked corners, the banal architectures, the spaces in between. They are about the quiet unease of the post-industrial world, the subtle violence of urban sprawl, the creeping anonymity of late capitalism. Baltz’s work, one could argue, is a kind of forensic examination of the built environment, a meticulous cataloguing of the often-unseen structures that shape our lives. As he himself stated, “I am a describer. I describe things as accurately as I can.” It’s this commitment to description, this almost clinical detachment, that makes his work so powerful. He wasn’t interested in the picturesque, the sublime views that had defined landscape photography for so long. As he explained, “I was living in Monterey, a place where the classic photographers—the Westons, Wynn Bullock, and Ansel Adams—came for a privileged view of nature. But my daily life very rarely took me to Point Lobos or Yosemite; it took me to shopping centres and gas stations and all the other unhealthy growth that flourished beside the highway. It was a landscape that no one else had much interest in looking at.”

Born in Newport Beach, California, Baltz’s own journey through this overlooked landscape began with studies at the San Francisco Art Institute before receiving his MFA from Claremont Graduate University. His subsequent career, marked by his involvement in the seminal 1975 “New Topographics” exhibition, solidified his position as a key figure in redefining landscape photography. Alongside Robert Adams, Stephen Shore, and Bernd and Hilla Becher, Baltz presented a new vision, one that focused on the “man-altered landscape,” the often-unassuming spaces of tract housing, office parking lots, and industrial parks. As William Jenkins, the curator of the "New Topographics" exhibition, noted, the photographers shared a “stylistic anonymity,” which he linked to the detached point of view employed by Ed Ruscha.

Baltz’s influences are complex and not always immediately apparent. He admired the work of Walker Evans, particularly his documentary photographs of the American South during the Great Depression, but Baltz’s approach was fundamentally different. Evans’s images, while often stark and unadorned, possess a certain humanism, a sense of empathy for his subjects. Baltz’s photographs, on the other hand, are more detached, more focused on the structures themselves, the way they impose themselves on the landscape. He also acknowledged the influence of the New Topographics exhibition itself, a landmark show that provided a crucial context for understanding his work and that of his contemporaries. As he said, “I never saw myself as a photographer. I never liked photography very well. I never felt any allegiance to its so-called history … I made photographs because photography was the simplest, most direct way of recording something.”

His early work, particularly his series The New Industrial Parks near Irvine, California (1974), established his distinctive style. These photographs, taken in the newly developed industrial parks of Southern California, depict rows of identical warehouses, anonymous office buildings, and vast expanses of empty parking lots. They are images of a world without people, or rather, a world where human presence is reduced to a mere trace, a fleeting shadow. As he explained about this series, “I was interested in the idea of a kind of tabula rasa, a place where everything was possible, but in fact, nothing much was happening.” This sense of emptiness, this feeling of potential unfulfilled, is a recurring theme in his work. As he recalled, growing up in Southern California, “You could watch the changes taking place and it was astonishing. A new world was being born … this new homogenised American environment that was marching across the land. And it seemed no one wanted to confront this; it was invisible.”

Baltz’s photographs are not always easy to look at. They can be monotonous, even depressing. But they are also strangely compelling. They force us to confront the often-unseen realities of the world we inhabit, the structures that shape our lives, the forces that drive our society. He had a knack for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary, for revealing the hidden beauty, or perhaps the hidden ugliness, of the everyday. His minimalism, as seen in his influential photobooks like The New Industrial Parks Near Irvine, California, San Quentin Point, and Candlestick Point, possessed a stark, geometric beauty, making visible this “new homogenised America” in a way that echoed – and criticised – the soullessness of urban planning and the corporate rationale behind it.

Lewis Baltz in Jean Nouvel's Amat hotel. Image: Slavica Perkovic

The New Industrial Parks near Irvine, California, published in 1975, quickly became a seminal work in the history of photography. It established Baltz as a leading figure in the New Topographics movement and helped to redefine the way we think about landscape photography. The book itself, with its minimalist design and its stark, unadorned images, mirrored the aesthetic of the photographs themselves.

Later in his career, particularly in the late 1980s after moving to Europe, Baltz’s work underwent a significant shift. He moved away from the modestly scaled black-and-white photographs that had defined his early work and began to produce large-scale colour prints. He was interested, he said, in representing “the generic European city.” This change in format and medium allowed him to capture the “massive hermetic spaces” of hi-tech and government research facilities in France and Japan with a new level of detail and intensity. He also became fascinated with digital technology and its uses, particularly in surveillance and control, as seen in his monumental 1992 installation Ronde de Nuit at the Pompidou Centre in Paris.

Baltz’s work fits into a broader context of 20th-century art that explored the themes of alienation, industrialisation, and the changing nature of the landscape. His photographs share a certain kinship with the work of artists like Edward Hopper, whose paintings depict the isolation and loneliness of modern life. They also resonate with the work of photographers like Bernd and Hilla Becher, who documented the industrial architecture of Germany with a similarly detached and objective eye.

Baltz’s influence on subsequent generations of photographers is undeniable. His work has paved the way for a more conceptual and critical approach to photography, one that questions the traditional notions of beauty and landscape. Photographers who explore the built environment, who examine the impact of human activity on the land, owe a debt to Baltz’s pioneering vision.

Lewis Baltz’s legacy is complex and multifaceted. He is remembered as a photographer who challenged our notions of landscape, who revealed the hidden structures of our world, and who explored the quiet unease of the contemporary condition. His photographs continue to fascinate, to disturb, and to inspire. They are a testament to the power of photography to illuminate the often-unseen forces that shape our lives and to remind us of the beauty, or perhaps the strangeness, of the everyday. As he himself said, “I certainly wanted my work to look like anyone could do it. I didn’t want to have a style. I wanted it to look as mute and as distant as to appear to be as objective as possible, but of course it’s not objective.” Therein lies its enduring power.

Diane Arbus: Artist Profile

Diane Arbus’s photographs are not for the faint of heart. They are unsettling, often disturbing, yet undeniably compelling. They are portraits of the marginalised, the eccentric, the “freaks” as they were often labelled, but also of the seemingly ordinary – the suburban housewife, the child in its Sunday best. Arbus’s lens doesn't simply record; it probes, it questions, it forces us to confront our own preconceptions about normality and otherness. Her work, one could argue, is a kind of visual anthropology of the American condition, a sometimes brutal, sometimes tender, but always unflinching examination of the human psyche. As Susan Sontag wrote, “Arbus’s photographs are… about the secret life of America.” They are, to my mind, less about the what and more about the why – why we look, why we categorise, why we recoil or connect with the figures in her frames. As Arbus herself said, “I don’t press the shutter. The image does, and it’s like being gently clobbered.” It's a powerful description of her process, the sense of being overtaken by the image itself.

Arbus’s influences are complex and not always easily discernible. She studied with Berenice Abbott, Alexey Brodovitch, and Lisette Model, formative experiences that undoubtedly shaped her approach to photography. She encountered the works of Mathew Brady, Paul Strand, and Eugène Atget early on, visits made with her then-husband, Allan Arbus. These early encounters undoubtedly shaped her understanding of photography’s potential. While she admired the work of Weegee, the tabloid photographer known for his graphic images of crime scenes and urban life, her approach was fundamentally different. Weegee’s photographs are often sensational, focused on the dramatic moment. Arbus, on the other hand, was interested in the quieter, more subtle aspects of human experience. She sought to capture the inner lives of her subjects, their vulnerabilities, their anxieties, their hidden selves. “A photograph is a secret about a secret,” Arbus once said. “The more it tells you the less you know.” This sense of mystery, this feeling of something unsaid, is a hallmark of her work.

Her early work, including her commercial work with her husband, honed her technical skills and her eye for composition, but it was her personal work, her exploration of the city and its inhabitants, that truly defined her. She photographed circus performers, transvestites, and other individuals who lived on the fringes of society. These early images, while already displaying her distinctive style, are often more straightforwardly descriptive. Later, her work became more introspective, more focused on the psychological dimensions of her subjects. She began to use a Rolleiflex camera, which allowed her to get closer to her subjects and to capture their expressions with greater intimacy. This shift in technique coincided with a deepening of her artistic vision. She moved beyond simply documenting the “other” and began to explore the ways in which we all perform our identities, the masks we wear to navigate the world. “I really believe there are things nobody would see if I didn't photograph them,” she asserted. It's not just about the subject, but the relationship between photographer and subject, the implicit contract of looking. As she further noted, “For me the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture. And more complicated.”

Arbus’s photographs are not always comfortable to look at. They can be disturbing, even shocking. But they are also deeply human. They remind us of our own vulnerabilities, our own anxieties, our own sense of being different. She had a knack for capturing the awkwardness, the fragility, the sheer strangeness of human existence. “I’m always interested in people who represent themselves in a certain way,” she explained. “It’s like a mask that they put on. It’s a way of dealing with the world.” And it is these masks, these carefully constructed personas, that Arbus’s camera penetrates, revealing the humanity beneath.

Her inclusion in the Museum of Modern Art’s “New Documents” exhibition in 1967, alongside Garry Winogrand and Lee Friedlander, marked a turning point in her career, though her work was already evolving in this direction. This exhibition, which highlighted a new generation of photographers who were challenging traditional notions of documentary photography, placed Arbus’s work in a broader context and helped to solidify her reputation as a significant artist. Her two Guggenheim Fellowships in the 1960s also provided crucial support for her work.

Her 1972 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, a year after her death by suicide, cemented her place in the history of photography. It was a controversial exhibition, with some critics accusing her of exploitation and voyeurism. But it was also a hugely influential exhibition, introducing her work to a wider audience and sparking a debate about the nature of photography and its relationship to reality. Her work was also shown at the Venice Biennale, a rare honour for a photographer. Since then, numerous exhibitions, including major retrospectives like “Diane Arbus Revelations” and “in the beginning,” have further explored and contextualised her work, revealing the depth and breadth of her artistic vision.

Arbus’s book, Diane Arbus: An Aperture Monograph, published posthumously, has become a classic of photographic literature. It features many of her most iconic images, accompanied by her own writings and reflections on her work. The book offers a glimpse into her creative process, her motivations, and her unique way of seeing the world. The acquisition of her complete archive by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2007 has ensured that her work will continue to be studied and appreciated for generations to come. The ongoing publication of books and catalogues, such as Diane Arbus Documents, further demonstrates the continuing fascination with her work and its evolving interpretation.

Arbus’s work fits into a broader context of 20th-century art that explored the themes of alienation, identity, and the human condition. Her photographs share a certain kinship with the work of artists like Edward Hopper, whose paintings depict the isolation and loneliness of modern life. They also resonate with the work of photographers like Robert Frank, whose book The Americans offered a similarly unflinching portrait of American society. “My favourite thing is to go where I’ve never been,” Arbus declared. And it is this spirit of exploration, this willingness to venture into the unknown, that defines her art.

Arbus’s influence on subsequent generations of photographers is undeniable. Her work has paved the way for a more subjective and personal approach to photography, one that embraces the complexities and contradictions of human experience. Photographers like Nan Goldin, Sally Mann, and Joel-Peter Witkin, each in their own way, owe a debt to Arbus’s pioneering vision.

Diane Arbus’s legacy is complex and multifaceted. She is remembered as a photographer who dared to look where others wouldn't, who challenged our notions of beauty and normality, and who revealed the hidden truths of the human heart. Her photographs continue to fascinate, to disturb, and to inspire. They are a testament to the power of photography to illuminate the darkest corners of the human psyche and to remind us of our shared humanity, even in our most vulnerable and imperfect moments. As Janet Malcolm wrote, "Arbus's photographs are not about freaks. They are about us." And it is this unflinching self-portrait, this unflinching look at ourselves through the lens of Diane Arbus, that constitutes her enduring legacy.

The Democratic Forest: William Eggleston and the Everyday Sublime

William Eggleston (born July 27, 1939), a name synonymous with the elevation of colour photography to fine art, forged a unique legacy by focusing his lens on the seemingly mundane. His photographs, often saturated with vibrant hues and imbued with a quiet melancholy, transformed the everyday into something worthy of contemplation. This essay explores Eggleston's career, examining his influences, significant works and exhibitions, his place in photography's history, the evolution of his vision, and his enduring impact.  

Early Life:

Born in Memphis, Tennessee, in 1939, Eggleston's upbringing was steeped in Southern culture and privilege. Inheriting a plantation, he developed an early fascination with technology, particularly cameras. His initial explorations were in black and white, but encountering dye-transfer prints, a high-quality colour process, ignited his lifelong passion for colour. "I noticed colour very early on," Eggleston said. "It seemed utterly natural to me." This fascination distinguished him from contemporaries who considered black and white the only serious artistic medium.  

Influences:

Eggleston's influences were diverse. While he admired photographers like Henri Cartier-Bresson, whose "decisive moment" resonated with his interest in capturing fleeting moments, his approach diverged. Cartier-Bresson sought the exceptional within the ordinary; Eggleston focused on the inherent beauty and complexity of the ordinary itself. "I wasn't interested in the decisive moment," Eggleston explained. "I was interested in the moments before and after." He was drawn to the overlooked, the in-between moments.  

He also drew inspiration from advertising, graphic design, and popular culture, recognising the artistry in everyday imagery.

The pop art movement, with its focus on the mundane, also impacted his development. He recognised beauty in the vernacular, the overlooked, the seemingly insignificant. This embrace of the everyday set him apart.  

Key Works and Exhibitions:

Eggleston's first major exhibition, "Photographs by William Eggleston," at MoMA in 1976, curated by John Szarkowski, while now considered groundbreaking, initially received mixed reviews. Some critics found the images banal, others recognised their unique vision. Szarkowski wrote, "Eggleston's pictures are about the real world, not about photography." This exhibition, despite controversy, marked a turning point for colour photography's acceptance.  

His seminal book, "William Eggleston's Guide," published with the MoMA exhibition, solidified his reputation. This portfolio of 100 dye-transfer prints showcased his ability to find beauty in the ordinary. The book's seemingly random sequencing, focus on the vernacular, and embrace of colour contributed to its groundbreaking status. "The Guide" became a touchstone for a generation.  

Other important books include "Election Eve" (1980), documenting the American South during the 1976 election; "The Democratic Forest" (1989), a vast collection showcasing the American landscape; "Ancient and Modern" (1992), exploring history and modernity in the South; "From Black and White to Colour" (2000), a retrospective of his early work; and "Los Alamos Revisited" (2003), revisiting photographs from the 1970s.

The Eggleston Aesthetic: The Everyday Sublime:

Eggleston's photography is characterised by specific stylistic elements. His colour use is bold and deliberate, creating a heightened reality. His compositions are often unconventional, sometimes appearing casual, yet carefully constructed. He frequently uses the "snapshot aesthetic," capturing mundane subjects with directness. "I am at war with the obvious," Eggleston stated. He sought to capture the world as he saw it, without pretense.  

Crucially, he finds the extraordinary in the ordinary, the everyday sublime. He photographs car parks, diners, petrol stations, and other everyday scenes with the same attention as conventionally "beautiful" subjects. He elevates the mundane, revealing hidden beauty and complexity. He forces us to look closely, to see beauty in the overlooked, and appreciate the seemingly insignificant.  

Eggleston's Place in History:

Eggleston's work was crucial to colour photography's acceptance as fine art. Before him, it was often seen as commercial or amateur. His work demonstrated colour's artistic potential, showing it could create nuanced, complex, emotionally resonant images. He legitimised colour in the art world, paving the way for future photographers.  

His influence is evident in contemporary photographers who embrace his approach to colour, composition, and subject matter. His emphasis on the everyday and the vernacular has impacted the broader art world. His work challenged traditional subject hierarchies and expanded the definition of "art."  

The Evolution of Eggleston's Work:

While his core aesthetic remained consistent, his work evolved. Early work shows experimentation, gradually refining his vision. As he gained confidence with colour, his images became more saturated. Later works, like "The Democratic Forest," show greater breadth and a more complex understanding of the American landscape. He explored the interplay of nature and culture, past and present, individual and collective.  

Despite these evolutions, his fundamental approach remained unchanged. He continued focusing on the everyday, finding beauty in the mundane, capturing the world with a blend of detachment and empathy. "I just take pictures," he said. "I don't have any grand ideas about art." This reflects his unpretentious approach, focusing on seeing and capturing.

Influence and Legacy:

Eggleston's influence is undeniable. Photographers like Stephen Shore, Joel Sternfeld, and Nan Goldin cite him as inspiration. Shore said, "Eggleston showed me that you could make art out of the everyday." His impact extends beyond photography, influencing filmmakers, painters, and other artists. The cinematic quality of his images has been noted, further demonstrating his influence.  

His legacy lies in transforming how we see the world. He taught us to look closely at the mundane, appreciate beauty in the ordinary, and recognise artistry in the everyday. He demonstrated colour photography's power to capture human experience's complexity and richness. His work democratised vision, suggesting all subjects are worthy of attention.  

Eggleston's photographs are not simply documents; they are works of art inviting us to see the world anew. They are a testament to photography's power to reveal the extraordinary in the ordinary, the beautiful in the mundane, and the profound in the everyday. His "democratic forest" continues to resonate, reminding us the world, in all its messy, vibrant details, is worthy of our attention. As Luc Sante wrote, "Eggleston's photographs are not about what things look like, but about what they feel like." This emotional resonance, combined with his groundbreaking colour use and focus on the everyday, makes his work enduring and significant. He showed us the poetry in the prosaic, the beauty in the banal, and the art in the everyday, the sublime hidden within the ordinary.