That's what happens with writing. Ingredients bubble and cook. Material becomes substance.

But I lie. I embellish. My words are not deep enough. They disguise, they conceal. I will not rest until I have told of my descent into a sensuality which was as dark, as magnificent, as wild, as my moments of mystic creation have been dazzling, ecstatic, exalted.

But fantasy kills imagination, pornography is death to art.

My father was a painter and he taught art. He once said to me, 'I never knew an Indian child who could not draw.'

I have never felt inhibited in trying to write as well as the greatest English poets.

I want to allow others to reveal and celebrate aspects of themselves that are usually hidden. My camera is a witness. It holds a light up for my subjects to help them feel their own essence, and gives them the courage to collaborate in the recording of these revelations.