Nº 07 — the print edition
Once a year the good frames come off the wall and go into a book. Sewn, uncoated, flat to the gutter, printed in one pass with no varnish so the paper stays matte enough to read in daylight. Three hundred copies, numbered in pencil, and then that is that.
what you are actually buying
A book heavy enough to stay open on a kitchen table.
The website is the shoebox. The book is what happens after somebody finally sorts it out. Plates run full bleed on the right, pencil captions sit alone on the left, and there are no page numbers because you are not meant to be looking anything up.
Lisbon, the Furka Pass and a fortnight of Icelandic rain. The first one, and the one where I had not yet worked out that a caption should be four words long. Sold out; a copy lives in the National Art Library reading room.
Out of print
Zákynthos, Kyoto in the wet season, and eleven days lost somewhere south of Marrakech. Twice the plates, half the words. The Venice section is printed on a lighter stock so the flooded frames sit slightly cooler than the rest.
Out of print
The Sahara crossing, the alpine passes in fog, and the roll from Höfn that nobody expected to survive the airport. Going to press in the autumn. Subscribers get first refusal and pay nothing extra for it.
At press — autumn
How to get one
There is no shop. There is a list.
Volume Three is at press now. Everyone on the seasonal letter gets an email the week the pallet arrives, with a week to claim a copy before the rest go out. Two hundred and twelve of the three hundred are already spoken for by people who were on that list for Volume Two. Nothing is held back for resellers, and there will not be a reprint — the plates for One and Two were struck once and the files archived.
If you would rather not wait for a book, the seasonal letter is the same journal in smaller pieces: four long emails a year, loose photographs, and a map with a coffee ring on it.
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