Who are we fine art photographers? A small fringe of people that run circles around themselves, spew their brains and hearts out on paper, and for some reason see this as the most important calling in the world. I’ve slowly started regarding it not so much a community, but more a cult. Esoteric insider knowledge is required to fully grasp and appreciate much of the work produced, and the fetishism over the photograph as an object. What are we really doing? Killing in-the-world ‘latent’ photos, shooting them, taking them home, ‘mounting’ them, ‘nailing’ them, then ‘hanging’ them. These objects, dragged home to our little dungeons, are then looked at repetitively, penetrated with the eyes over and over. A photo that was alive, organic, and part of the living world, is turned into a photograph, dead, static, and which ends up being a kind of necrophilic rape-doll, used for extracting pleasure according to the fulfilment or subversion of certain culturally (or subculturally) established variables. That is what they really are. This is who we are. I’m no different. This is what’s really happening. Photographs hate you.

—Olle Holmberg, 2007