I had this notion of what I called a democratic way of looking around, that nothing was more important or less important.

I don’t think that has ever changed. I don’t think I see any more or any less than I did years ago. Let’s say I have the print of a photo taken in the 1960s and one I took a month ago. I think it’s pretty difficult to tell any difference, personally.

I have some that I have become a well-known-even infamous-client of, mostly in Memphis. But a great deal of that is legend and doesn’t have anything to do with truth.

Many people one meets in life somehow think they know you simply because they’re hanging out at the same counter-but they really don’t know a thing about you.

Unfortunately they’re practically all dead. And many were my closest associates: friends, co-directors, whatever you want to say-my partners in crime.

And what we called photojournalism, the photos seen in places like Life magazine, didn’t interest me either. They were just not good-there was no art there. The first person who I respected immensely was Henri Cartier-Bresson. I still do.

I want to make a picture that could stand on its own, regardless of what it was a picture of. I’ve never been a bit interested in the fact that this was a picture of a blues musician or a street corner or something.

There’s plenty of film out there, and quadrillions of cameras that use film-I don’t think it makes much sense not to use it. The thing that’s going out is the manufacturing of the paper. Incidentally, all these years my wife has told me that I’m color-blind.

Only the few times I’ve been to so-called treatment centers, which were a complete waste of money and useless. I didn’t know what I was doing at the time, because I was always drunk when I checked in.

The immediate reviews were very hostile, but they didn’t bother me-I had the attitude that I was right. The poor guys who were critics just didn’t understand the works at all. I was sorry about that, but it didn’t weigh on my mind a bit.