I found myself a curator - i think it might work.

Ps: have not been productive at all, since 4.46pm when my feet entered my room. Oh dear...

Anyways, today's a relatively good day. A friend dropped from my list of friends and became semi-leech position. Some sour lemons and grapes, some shoes in my face, but otherwise pretty good. Shaw Hong gave me some solid advice about how things should progress from here. And without being willful any longer, I gave my position as artistic director of the project and found a curator to handle the artsy work. (Ps: I'm adverse to doing so formerly, because of really a**hole examples. )

But the talks went fine and easy. My ex-lecturer, now curator, let's call her, B thought for about 3 secs (maybe she didn't really know how much work it entails, maybe she does) and said "Yes". And concept-wise, the flow has been quite good. B even mentioned a project in the states, so similar my P859. There's a photography book for it, and it's now top-place on my buy list, below it there's a new toothbrush and loose powder.



I want to share this project with you. If you're reading, its called 3191 Miles Apart. About two women photographers who take random shots of their mornings and uploaded it on flickr, never met each other but became friends. Like a urban fairytale.
http://3191.visualblogging.com/ - which is current.
http://3191ayearofmornings.com/mornings/ - which is about the book.


... these are vignettes of simple everyday things: a cup of coffee, soft-boiled eggs, rain boots kicked off at the front door, the stem of a flower, many crumpled napkins, many spoons. Though the two women were 3,191 miles apart the images are complementary in their color and composition more often than not. Sometimes startlingly so. The blog, and the book that followed after a year’s worth of images (and 3,000 visitors a day from Australia to Iceland), capture the rhythms of everyday life, often surprising the viewer by the sheer beauty of the most quotidian element. That each woman paused to record the curve of a daughter’s ear, a bowl of cereal or a shadow cast across the floor before sitting down in front of a computer is an act that carries with it the most clichéd, yet essential, of all messages: stop and smell the roses (and the coffee, the toast, the morning air). We’re living in difficult times, and it seems it’s exactly these tiny details and fleeting moments that can offer us the most solace and even joy. —Allison Arieff, The New York Times

How beautiful. 107 days. J