In the Age of Schizophrenia, Icebergs, and Things that Grip the Mind

Encountering Saigon in the early 1990s, I was confronted with an unfamiliar concept of time in photography. I am not talking about moments, the tripping of shutters, the splattering of light onto a frame of film. No, I am referring to historical time. Time as epochs. Time that lingered thick and dense like heavy wedges or chunks that could barely be budged.