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Matthew Sheret

You should talk to Matt Locke – James Bridle

Chats about Sandsmark – the codename for a personal project – have been pretty varied, but I’ve written little down. After following James’ advice and chatting to Matt I’ve decided to write down some of the bits that have stuck with me.

These aren’t direct quotes, but nearly are. I’ll add bits to this as I remember more/have more chats.

I’m getting less and less interested in having a [souvenir] from work I’ve done. – Matt Giraudeau

I’m not sure audio on its own is interesting. – Laurie Penny

People think they’ve worked out sharing. But they haven’t. We can see how many people watch something, but not really how those ideas are shared and how they spread – Matt Locke

It’s an interesting problem – and I’d love to see a solution – but you’re not there yet. – Matt Locke

Find five ways of sharing it and see what happens. – Matt Locke

I’ve just come back from this chat with Matt. I walked in with a product in my head, but left with a bunch of questions about the problem I want to solve. I’m almost completely convinced that the product I described is not the answer to those questions, so there’s little ‘point’ to it, but now I have some questions to help me find out what the answer might be.

Oh, and if I’ve just ‘quoted’ you and you’re not happy with it, let me know.

My Grandad died last week. William Dibben, Keith to his friends, played a big part in bringing my sister and I up. Twice-a-week most weeks he made sure we got home safe and sound, cooked us dinner, and did whatever he could to help us with homework.

He introduced me to Star Trek and The Animals of Farthing Wood. He sat with me when I came home and saw the second tower fall. He broke his collarbone in the search for instamatic camera shots when I told him about The Polaroid Press. He cared deeply for his children and their children, and I’ll miss him.

Grandad was a man familiar with blurring the boundary between work-life and social-life, and he seemed to get the best of both worlds. I’ve learned a lot from that. Personal projects will be stepping down a gear for a few weeks as I visit family, but work continues. Here’s Week 38…

I’ve been to Donnelly’s island twice, the second time last Sunday. Chill was setting in across London, and the clouds were perilously close to spitting out snow. The table by the window felt very cold. The view was magnificent.

The lighthouse

Dear Esther plays like pastoral Ballardian fiction. It feels like the bleak cousin of the Superman trailer I love so much (Clark Kent: Trawlerman a dream that will never come to be). It’s brilliant. I could play stories like this all the time, if I only knew where to find them.

The cave

Both times I’ve played through I’ve found myself just stopping and staring. It’s an incredibly linear journey, but not more so than any of the mapped walks I’ve taken over the last couple of years. Sometimes the route is more important than the daydreaming, sometimes not. Always the journey though, always the walking that’s important. Working things out, seeing things. Stopping and staring.

The way out

Sometime over Christmas I remembered how much I enjoyed hearing stories spoken. It might have come during Tom’s Radio 4 talk, or maybe while I read Guards! Guards! aloud, or maybe while spinning Pea Green Boat again. I think, in my head, all stories are told on remote islands.

I finally got around to reading James’ Six posts about the present this week. It’s very good. Meaty thoughts about the impact of the network on thought, art, culture and all that.

This concept stuck in my head a bit…

We are now ready to declare the death of the work. *books are symptomatic of this death: not of the author, but of the work—of the singular, whole, completed, standalone work. They are hybrid, unformed, inconclusive—inconclusive not in the sense of vague, but their conclusions are not located exclusively within the work, but are distributed across the network.

(From the fourth post, ‘Starbooks and the Death of the Work’)

Obviously pretty bold, essentially ‘the singular, finished work cannot exist when considered in the context of the network’. I’m almost there, almost there, but I’m not convinced that this hasn’t always been true.

Ben Hammersley has a line where he talks about the incredible impact of Moore’s Law on politicians, and the fact that politics as we in the West experience it isn’t built to cope with the technological status quo shifting continuously. It’s built to cope with slower changes, over the length of several parliaments. The important point though is that change still happened. Politics and law are a continuous dialogue with the shifting social context of a people, even if they appear to be playing catch up with those people to an increasingly alarming degree.

And I think that extends to ‘the work’. The book was never the finished product, but part of a writer’s continuous dialogue with themselves, their form, and (possibly) their readers. Even when I first studied Shakespeare in primary school, it was made clear that Romeo and Juliet matters not solely in and of itself, but as part of a canon.

The network speeds all that up, making it much much more obvious, but I don’t think it’s new. In other words, ‘the work’ has always been dead.

I met a student this week who was writing his dissertation about GDS, and we joked that my management of the blog had made it very hard for him to establish a stable thesis; contant publishing, constant change and revision. And I thought ‘Man, your lecturers have no idea what’s about to happen’. Nothing is finished, but everything about the academic system (and news publishing, and lawmaking, and planning applications, and everything else like that) expects things to have a full stop. 

Literacy in the network requires continuous partial engagement, across more apps and social networks than it’s meaningful to list. And it means revising how you engage all the time. That’s the network in action. (Which, brand folks, is why the only social media strategy I will ever write will be ‘Use some social media’).

Anyway, have a read. I guarantee you’ll find many things in there that totally passed me by.

I’m starting to recognise that I need to artificially establish routines that have been useful in the past. Checklists, accounts forms and RACI documents all have roots in working methods I’ve had to use and liked. But tools are different beasts to processes.

One of the things I left behind at Last.fm was a daily rhythm. For two years I wrote copy about music news for CBS radio, knocking out a thirty second script first thing in the morning. A quick scan of news sources, a bit of research, write, revise, rewrite, send. Try as I might, I haven’t found anything that good at cranking me up to speed since.

I could do that for this blog, but it wouldn’t feel like work. It would feel like blogging (a choice, a luxury, thinking into textboxes). It needs to feel like work.

One of the reasons I’m hoping to get week notes out on a Monday is because I don’t trust Mondays. They’re about catching up with the subtle shifts in perspective that happen among colleagues and clients over the weekend. Week notes have the capacity to focus that thought process for me, to assign bit of time to reflection and planning.

Doing that daily – not so useful. I tried, after speaking to Matt about that kind of stuff a while back, but it didn’t take. It’s also at the wrong end of the day to help me get started.

Kieron’s recent post about this kind of stuff reminded me page targets can be incredibly useful. I’m thinking about projects like The Polaroid Press and threesixfivestart and wondering if borrowing some of that rhythm might be useful for a particular comics project, and help me crank up to speed before my first tea has cooled.

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In case the two tweets that open this don’t show up on your reader of choice, James remarked that “The past few years taught me that structure is a wondrous thing when there is just the right amount. Too much or too little is misery. Also, on that point. Setting the right amount of structure is *really* hard. People are complicated.

My Dad’s asked my sisters and I to make him a photo collage for Christmas. A proper one, in a frame, using scissors and glue and all that stuff.

Far and away the most frustrating part of it has been getting old photos reprinted – it’s expensive and time consuming without a good scanner at home. The second most irritating is the gaps, where all we have between us are old cameraphone images.

The prints look so bad – there’s one in particular of my sister’s graduation where she and my Dad look like they’re on a COPS-style show but never signed their image rights over – and as a result there’s a noticeable leap forwards of about six years between one pocket of photos and another in the collage.

Gradcops

I had a blog post ready to go a few days ago that basically said ‘I like pictures, but I’m bored of taking them with my phone. I like the personal/social space of Instagram, but I miss being able to share better images using a Flickr-like service. Also, I want a camera.’

(It took a lot longer to say all of that of course)

I deleted it because by the time it was ready to post I’d bought a new camera and flickr had released its new app. Then Instagram changed their terms of service, and suddenly I found myself back on flickr, uploading pictures via desktop, as if the last three years had never happened.

Moving (back) to flickr

Exporting my Instagram photos I see that same awful quality appearing again. I know those old images have little value for advertisers, and little value for me outside of the social context they were posted in. So I’m left knowing that the important part of the Instagram for me was the illusion of ambient intimacy.

That illusion is shattered when I say to myself ‘am I happy for anyone to buy the rights to this image?’ every time I hit upload. So the service stops being important. Doesn’t mean I won’t use it again, just that it doesn’t mean quite the same thing.

Meanwhile, you solve the image quality problem by taking better quality photos. So I bought a new camera. I have no idea how to use it properly yet, but to keep that Instagram spirit going I present to you a photo of some bread what I baked.

Third attempt

Ambient intimacy, right there, all up in your RSS feeds.

Back from a brilliant weekend in Oslo, where I managed to do more Scandowegian things in 72 hours than anyone would have dreamt possible.

Frozen lake

Saturday’s daylight hours were spent in the woods, yomping about in snow and Hildafolk trees to find this spot overlooking the frozen lake, where I drank what might have been the best-tasting whisky I’ve ever had.

Monday I hunkered down at AHO as an external examiner. I shouldn’t say much about that until I’ve pressed send on the formal feedback I’ve got in the next tab, but it was a really eye-opening experience and wonderful to see Mosse with her students in their native environment.

(I also popped in to see Voy‘s latest prototypes, and they’re working on some lovely stuff… obviously)

But it’s half an hour from Sunday that’s currently bubbling away in my head.

Viking Ship Museum

Jørn took Anne and I to the Viking Ship Museum, on Timo’s recommendation. It’s twenty minutes out of town, in a spartan church-like building. Three hulking shells of Viking longships sit inside, surrounded by plain white walls and the bare minimum of signage. Cabinets of smaller finds are kept to their own wing, dimly lit and with as little between the viewer and the artefact as the curators can get away with.

It was so serene. These thousand year-old vessells command the space, and visitors are asked to contemplate them more than they’re asked to learn about them. We joked that it was the minimum viable museum… and there’s something in that. There were no distractions, no ‘spooky-action-at-a-distance‘, just a terrific lump of timeshifted history.

Viking Ship Museum

Epic thanks to Jørn and Marie for making us feel so welcome, and to Mosse and Einar for having me over at AHO.

Working on this hasn’t half made me regret not making this.

A magazine, released over a year, in which the content is edited over time by the contributors, overwriting the old versions.

I think I’m talking myself into it again, even as I type (always an interesting thing, thinking into a text box).

My initial concept was something fairly floppy and large format – plenty of very short pieces by people, probably using something like Magcloud. Now, I’m not so sure. Making the After School Club for Copywriters was a real pleasure, design aside, and I’d love to poke around at that scale again. Longer articles by a few people, revised and iterated and reissued over the year. Thicker though, but still something you can stick in a coat pocket.

Using print on demand would be a necessity. I don’t really want to have to deal with stock for a long while (probably the most pressing lesson from Paper Science to be honest). That means much less time spent on making a beautiful print object, which is a shame but you can’t have everything.

(Unless there’s some bespoke POD service out there offering awesome paper stock. Anyone know people doing that?)

The unresolved element would be ‘How would it live online?’ I’d like it to, but using tools like Google docs to throw this kind of project feels a lot simpler than using Github, weirdly. I don’t know how many columnists I could convince to use Markdown. But maybe that’s part of the pitch? Of course, there’s always wordpress.

Dunno. Clearly an idea that won’t go away, anyway.

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