Excerpt from Light: Fine Art the Sixth, Vol. 13: A Running Nomenclature to Underly the Use of Light as a Fine Art
It is humbly I stand before you and in this building. You do the work; we artists come along and reap the fun. Fun, did I say? And yet you, more than others, I think, would grieve at the blind groping and wasted labor, the flapping around after wrong trails, that has been gone through these dozen years of really hard thought and really hard work on just a pretty idea; labor which any one of you could have saved me, and all because in nearly all this time I was not even conscious there was in existence such a thing as an illuminating engineer, and my finding him finally was purely accidental.
My introduction to your vocation came as a result to the following "spark": How utterly enchanting to present these phrases of music, clothed with that colored lighting atmosphere best suited to them! How utterly enchanting to present these phrases of music clothed in that colored lighting atmosphere best suited to them!
Atmosphere, in the general use of the word, so conditions, so binds down the artist. If in a small gathering of a dozen people or more, one unsympathetic auditor can destroy his capacity to deliver, how much is he capable of being attracted by so subtle and supporting a surrounding medium within which to launch his interpretations. Corot was ofty-three years old when he suddenly realized the atmosphere was to paint, and then his fame came. Other people had painted atmosphere; he staged it.
Sunlight makes the world sing, why shouldn't light help the song sing.
The whim came at a given moment; the vision was of a certain instant, a juxtaposition of mental cells heretofore foreign to each other in my mind, and still foreign to each other, except I deliberately exercise choice regarding their being linked. Psychologically, this is an important point to the question.