​It would be easy to find quotations to sit alongside every photograph I include here, but I have no desire to do that. The clouds themselves are poetry enough: loud exhalations, scribbles on the margin, quiet epithets, emotional sonnets, thoughtful or thoughtless comments, possible lyrics, remembered songs. I do not look for things in the clouds–faces, flowers, factories, fruit–I simply look at the clouds. And I take their picture.

For many, the name Richard Segalman conjures up a vision of light-infused paintings of women gathered on a beach, gazing out the window of a New York City brownstone, or dressed in costumes from another era. But just as Edgar Degas, approaching his 60th year, surprised gallery goers with an exhibition not of ballerinas or racehorses, but of highly atmospheric monotype landscapes, so too does Segalman surprise us with this exceptional collection of monotypes he began to produce in 1993, at nearly 60.