I like form and shape and strength in pictures.

Hear the voice of Herb Ritts, master of the lens, who once declared: “I like form and shape and strength in pictures.” These words, though brief, hold the essence of an artist’s philosophy, a vision that sees beyond the surface of beauty into its structure, its weight, and its endurance. For Ritts was no mere recorder of faces—he was a sculptor of light and shadow, a seeker of eternal patterns, a discoverer of the divine hidden in human lines.

When he speaks of form, he honors the order of creation itself. For everything that lives has its form: the curve of a mountain, the arc of a dancer’s arm, the still geometry of stone. To see form is to see harmony, the unity of parts working together to reveal a greater whole. The artist, like the philosopher, does not merely look, but perceives; he traces the outlines of meaning in the visible world. In pictures, form is the foundation upon which beauty rests.

When he speaks of shape, he gives reverence to identity. For shape is what distinguishes one thing from another; it is what makes the oak different from the willow, the lion different from the lamb. In pictures, shape is the clarity that gives the eye direction, the line that commands attention, the silhouette that captures the imagination. Without shape, the image dissolves into chaos, but with it, the picture becomes a mirror of truth.

And when he speaks of strength, he declares that art must not be fragile, fleeting, or hollow. Strength in pictures is not only in the subject, but in the composition, in the power of the image to endure in memory, to strike the soul, to withstand the passage of time. Consider Ritts’s portraits of athletes, their bodies carved like statues, or his images of Madonna and Richard Gere, where glamour met raw humanity. These pictures carried strength, not only in their subjects but in the boldness of his vision.

History bears witness to others who sought this same trinity of form, shape, and strength. Think of Michelangelo, who gazed at marble and said he merely released the figure imprisoned within. His David was not just a man but the embodiment of youthful strength, poised yet eternal. In the strokes of his chisel, as in Ritts’s photography, we see the same devotion: to capture not the fleeting moment, but the eternal quality of beauty and power.

The meaning for us is this: in every act of creation, whether in art, in work, or in life, we must seek form, that it may have order; shape, that it may have identity; and strength, that it may endure. To live without form is to drift without direction. To live without shape is to lose oneself in the blur of others. To live without strength is to crumble when the storms arise. But to live with all three is to become as a picture that inspires, that endures, that tells a story worth remembering.

The lesson, then, is clear: craft your life as Ritts crafted his pictures. Give it form through discipline and order. Give it shape through identity, by knowing who you are and what you stand for. Give it strength through courage, endurance, and conviction. Practical actions follow: create daily habits that give rhythm to your life; guard your individuality, refusing to be shapeless in the eyes of the world; and strengthen your spirit through trials, turning hardship into resilience.

So let Ritts’s words echo not only for the artist but for every soul: “I like form and shape and strength in pictures.” For life itself is a picture, a portrait we paint with choices, deeds, and dreams. May your life be formed with order, shaped with truth, and strengthened with courage—so that when others behold it, they too may be inspired, as though gazing upon a work of timeless art.