I just sent the files of the latest issue of 52 to the local printer, Fireball Printing. This issue is a collection of photos of leaves, usually just a single leaf though a few pairs of leaves. They reflect quiet fall moments before a breeze or a car disturbs them.
The printed photograph encourages a different, lingering engagement with the image, and allows for sequencing and order that digital photos discourage. There is no scrolling, no share-on-social-media button (no buttons at all, in fact), no likes. Just a series of photographs. Perfect for a cup of coffee, a pastry, and enjoy.
If you would like me to send you a copy, let me know: darin@drhayton.com. You can also download pdf copies from 52.
The latest issue of 52 arrived yesterday. They look great. I had them printed locally, at Fireball Printing in Philadelphia. They did an excellent job. The print quality is superb. The paper has a nice, rich, substantial feel, making it a pleasure to sit and look through while enjoying a cup of coffee.
I’ve started distributing them. So let me know if you want a copy.
I just received the proof for the next issue of 52. This issue collects together black and white photographs documenting some effects of the current pandemic — the vacant streets and empty businesses — as well as some photographs of the city at night.
As with the previous issues, I enjoy the way the printed photograph encourages a different engagement with the image. There is no scrolling, no share-on-social-media button (no buttons at all, in fact), no likes. Just a series of photographs that would complement a morning coffee and croissant.
I should receive the final version in the next few days. Let me know if you would like to receive a copy.
For a number of years now I have each morning written down a single thought. I had assumed a thought a day would be easy. It has been at times, however, surprisingly difficult. Some mornings I stare at the blank page and struggle to produce a thought, one that is my own. I take drink of coffee and in that moment the tendrils of thought reach up into my consciousness but retreat as soon as I set my coffee down and grab for my pen. Finally, I force out something that looks like a thought. Other days, thoughts trip over each other. But I need only one. Those mornings I merely filter out the bad thoughts and choose the one I like best.
Some notebooks containing my single thought for the day.
Looking back over these thoughts, I have come to see that some are interesting, many are trite, and some incomplete. But the exercise is valuable for a number of reasons. First, sitting alone I know that nobody but I must see my thought. So if it is dull or boring or trite, that’s between me and the paper. The act of producing a thought, of writing it down, of seeing it on paper is valuable in itself. It keeps me from considering my thoughts precious or looking at them with some reverence. They are just something I write down each morning.
Second, the habit of writing a thought — good, bad, or neutral — each morning makes it easier to produce something. Now, after some time, I sit down with my coffee, pen in hand, open my notebook, and jot down a thought. I don’t tend to struggle as I once did. I doubt my thoughts have improved in consistent way, but by producing more of them I am able to produce more good ones.
Third, when I look back over these thoughts I begin to see patterns and trends. Some topics seem to recur, separated by a few dozen thoughts. Others erupt into my notebook, consume me for a week or so, and then fade. Often some seemingly random observations clearly agitate or animate me for a morning, never to return. There is no rhyme or reason to this series of thoughts, joined as they are by nothing more than chronology. But as fragments of my existence, they are interesting all the same.
In a variety of ways those thoughts urge me to take more photographs.
Finally, and perhaps most surprising to me, these thoughts encourage my photography. They offer thoughts or ideas that direct my attention, encourage me to look for something in the world, suggest a theme for a series of photographs. Sometimes they remind me that photography, like so many creative projects, needs to satisfy me. These thoughts also remind me that I can take photographs every day, photographs of whatever passes before me. It’s ok if many of those photos are trite, banal, or poorly executed. That’s between me and my camera. Some, however, will be interesting.
Whenever I take a photo, it is somehow unfinished until it is a physical print. Some constellation of emotional and aesthetic preferences compels me to edit and print the image so that I can hold the photograph, and can feel its weight and the thickness of the paper. I like to look at the photograph in different light and in different places, sometimes holding one vertically against a wall to see if a framed version might look good there, sometimes rifling through a box of snapshots to recall a moment. Regardless of a photo’s quality or size, I simply and always prefer looking at physical photographs.
A book or a magazine is a really interesting way to print images. I like seeing how photographs work together, how a book or magazine collects together different photographs into a series that reflects a particular issue or concern. Sometimes those issues reflect fleeting interests from a particular moment. At other times those issues capture an enduring question or problem that fascinates a photographer. Thumbing through magazines or books reveals something about the photographer and that person’s evolving interests.
That’s why I so enjoy 52, my short, occasional journal. This latest issue reflects on, inter alia, the flâneur and my fascination with windmills. Pairs well with an afternoon coffee and a sweet.
