1. the sound of a bird not hitting a window

  2. yes yes yes, from field notes

  3. Four photos from field notes working sessions, with a few sketches from when I was figuring out what I wanted to do.


  4. "I wandered home by unfamiliar streets. There was no point in trying to find a taxi at that hour, in that suburb. In any case I was in the mood to walk. I wanted to be alone and take my time and move through space at my own tempo, not the forced pace of a car or mass transit, yes, I needed to feel the distance, the physical, mental, and personal space, that separated me just then from my own house, and for once I’d lost the craving for speed, with its bland reassurance that nothing happens while you pass from one point to another - as if the points themselves were all that mattered and were not in fact part of a single, identical, self-same, monotonous place, a place you can never leave."
    — Grégoire Bouillier, from The Mystery Guest
  5. A few failed attempts at making field notes images. Sometimes the work just doesn’t photograph well, or I realize afterwards that the text doesn’t work.

  6. the least i could do, from field notes

    There’s an earlier animated version of this one.

  7. More postcards from field notes! I’ve been having fun mailing these to friends near and far.

  8. I write mostly on a computer, but when I walk I carry a notebook, which is useful for collecting first impressions. I sometimes type these notes afterwards and expand and edit them. Occasionally the notebook handwriting captures something which, though full of flaws and things I would rephrase, feels true to the moment in which it was written. This is a fragment from a walk around Mundy Pond in St. John’s.

  10. I moved to St. John’s a month ago, and absolutely love it here. I’ve started writing in notebooks again instead of on a computer, and am spending as much time as I can writing outdoors. I feel luminous.

  11. I’ve updated my small landmarks book with a few new pages.

    (Source: smalllandmarks)


  12. "Loss is not something that happens to individuals alone. Instead, loss is a kind of collective condition, and it simply exists in the world. Loss isn’t a momentary event or unfortunate occasion. We inhabit loss, like it’s a building. What this means, of course, is that loss outlasts all of us. If anything remains of our civilization, Building Stories seems to claim, it will be loss, a sense of dashed hopes, unhappy romances, missed opportunities, and all-too-fleeting joys. But, these losses themselves are records of potential and, even, happiness."