How is photography violent? I mean, if we take photos with appreciation and loving heart, then how? By observing the motives of taking photos, I think perhaps the violence of photography lies in the hidden declaration on each still images:"all these are mine." The luxurious dishes, family bonding, treasurable friendship, the taste of art, astonishing sunrise, romantic craziness, smiles. Faces. Moments. The meaning is framed. Few choices are left for readers. Admiration. Explanation. But on dead things. If things only live as they live to their fullest, if they only exist in the flow of time, then, to capture a moment of them is to make a specimen. Those beautiful little dead things.