
Walking the dog
She pulls toward the same hedge every morning. I have started to look forward to it.
Creative Community Technologist — writing, photography, and experiments at the place where technology meets people.

She pulls toward the same hedge every morning. I have started to look forward to it.
Third admin. Same domain. Different question this time.
Craig Mod's new piece on walking and writing routines. The middle third is the part to read twice.
There is a tax on building your own things, and it is not the time. The time is small. The tax is harder to name.

Three of us drove out on a Friday afternoon. By Sunday I had taken four hundred photographs and was certain about only two of them.
The personal site was never really about the technology. It was about having a room. I think the room matters more now, not less.
I shoot RAW at home. On a trip, I shoot JPEG. The difference is not technical; it is about what I am willing to commit to a future version of myself.

There is a gay bar in Ogunquit that stays open through the winter, and walking up to it on a February Tuesday is one of the more quietly moving things I have done in a while.

Five days on the Maine coast in the worst week of February. Most of the photographs I kept were taken after dark.

A friend invited me to a slip-casting workshop and I went with no intention of making anything. I came back with notes that have mostly been about my own work.

A small ritual I have at the end of projects that I am not sure I can explain.
I wrote a forty-line Python script in an afternoon. A year later it has more or less reorganized my reading life.

A small bike shop on a corner I do not live near. I have been going there for a decade. I think I have finally figured out why.

Six frames, two hours, one tripod, and a city that did most of the work.

I had a long weekend planned around the coast, with three locations and a packed itinerary. The fog had its own plan.

Two days in a converted warehouse with eighteen other people, all of us making something different. The point was not the thing.

A forest that burned two summers ago, walked through this fall. What's still standing is mostly fallen.

Three minutes between when there was no light and when there was too much.

The Centre for Contemporary Photography is under threat. This is what is actually at stake, and why these fights matter beyond the institution itself.

A two-person tent next to a Mazda in tall grass, four hundred miles from home. The whole point was the silence.