The thing about Eggleston, for me, is that you take the picture in one gulp, swallowing it whole.
The notion of 'intuition', vs analysis, depends on this. Intuition is the process of reading a scene in one chunk, rather than bit by bit, analytically.
Intuitively, one proceeds from the general to the specific,
Analytically, one goes from the details to the general.
Partly, this is a matter of personal temperament, how one is wired.
Partly, it is determined by the job at hand.
An all star short stop does not pull out a pencil to determine the calculus of a ground ball. He reacts, based upon the the humidity, density of the grass, the velocity of the pitch, and so on. This is INTUITION.
Eggs' picture doesn't read easily if one tries to add it up. But if it's grokked (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grok), you see it as a musician plays by ear, and it comes alive. (Gestalt is the same thing)
I was troubled by his work when I first encountered his pictures in the '70s. In time, I managed to shed the 'predjudice of analysis' and found that I responded to his pictures emotionally, rather than intellectually. It was a big deal. In the same way my B&W work changed when I began to seek out LIGHT rather than IDEAS or COMPOSITIONS, my color work changed when I sought out COLOR to photograph.
Haas, Kane, Porter were interesting to me at the start. This was the late '60s, early '70s, and there was a still a thrill to get color in an image. Pure white was still hard to do, and brilliant color was a remarkable thing. "If you can't make it good, make it red" was the editor's mantra.
Eggleston blew that all out of the water for me, and I realized that nearly every color image up till then that I liked would have been a good B&W picture. Eggs was the first photographer to make images that depended upon the color. There have been precious few color shooters to manage to actually SHOOT COLOR: commonly, it is simply a black and white picture made on color film. Eggleston is still disturbing, because there have been so few GOOD color photographs, and Eggleston still succeeds.
It's tempting to make an allegory - the woman blends into her landscape, kind of forlorn and tired. Her dress, neatly contained within the glider's cushion, stands out demurely - Eggs lets the colors contrast each other, but she is still framed within her setting. She is in her place, at ease with her cigarette.
Only her head and legs break out of her social frame. A vitality from a mature woman in an exhauseted society ? Who knows.
It'll be nice to let the subconscious work on this for a few days,
to listen to it.