
I was warmed to find out that the Whitney was mounting an Eggleston retrospective this fall. We two are from Memphis, a small town of a city. Though Bill is mostly a drunk and creepy specimen, his presence (the presence of his pictures) feels like home. He is due for a definitive show and catalogue, as each day, it seems, he becomes more influential. I have received an advance copy of the book, and I am not impressed by the title and cover. This is among my least favorite of his images (though it graced an Alex Chilton album), and the title feels like a butchering of the earlier
Democratic Forest (1989), a beautiful monograph with text by Eudora Welty. What, pray tell, is a D
emocratic Camera? Somebody summon Susan Sontag!
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