What Haas looked for, and began to find, in his last monochromatic work was what he finally realized most fully in color: a photography that was not dominated by what Richard Kirstel has called "the tyranny of the subject." Like those members of the New York School with whom he had most in common, and like another figure whose explorations must be factored into this equation, the late Aaron Siskind, Haas had grown tired of making pictures of the world and even of making images about it; instead, he'd become desirous of making images that were simply drawn from it. The teacher and theorist Henry Holmes Smith once wrote (in an essay on Siskind), "The question: 'What was really there?' becomes as irrelevant as what Monet's lily pond really looked like to Mme. Monet when she rode by on her bicycle." Haas's mature color images come to that same conclusion.
On Thursday, Acosta, who hadn’t enjoyed this trip nearly as much as the previous one, returned early to Los Angeles, and Thompson, sleepless and alone again, drove out to Lake Mead, about thirty miles east of the city 11 . Experiencing the sort of paranoia that’s to be expected after four days of heavy drinking and Dexedrine, he became convinced he was being followed. Every car looked like a cop’s. Later, he accidentally crossed into Arizona and was startled, as if in a dream, by the strangeness of a sign along the road—a warning to motorists to watch for mountain sheep.