Divine inspiration is needed to animate a created form, whose shadow a chance flash of light will then suffice to cast upon a stretch of urban asphalt. So photography, which is scarcely art, but a mere shadow of art. Often enough it is a grotesque or suggestive apparition, yet the facility with which it is summoned betrays its random, mechanical, refluent essence. Often enough it is striking, or persuasive, or evocative; but it is never profligate, or more than truthful, or beautiful beyond endurance. It outlines, never prefigures; and it captures without letting loose.