Iterations

I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that I’ve experienced my fair share of loss over the past 59 years, and each time the wound is reopened so it never really gets a chance to heal. I would even say that grief and loss have become recurring characters in my life, rather than just a single episode walk-on in season 2 — sort of like The Smoking Man from The X-Files. I know that loss will show up again and again, so it’s not really even much of a surprise anymore. I don’t want to sound like I’m minimizing it or that I’m comfortable with the arrangement — because as I said, each new loss still hurts — but over the past decade, I’ve been working on carving out a different relationship with it.CONNECT WITH MEVisit my Website: https://jefferysaddoris.comGet my Newsletter: SubscribeEmail me: [email protected]

For the better part of a year-and-a-half now, the Supernote Manta has been my daily driver when it comes to writing. Whether I’m journaling, starting a new edition of my newsletter, or simply capturing thoughts and ideas to flesh out later, the Manta is where nearly all of my writing begins.CONNECT WITH MEVisit my Website: https://jefferysaddoris.comGet my Newsletter: SubscribeEmail me: [email protected]

I’ve always thought of archives as places where things go when they’re finished. Sort of a record of the past or a cold storage collection of what mattered after the fact. But lately, I’ve started to think of an archive differently. Maybe it isn’t just a repository for things that stop being useful. Maybe it’s also where they start asking new questions. A few weeks ago, I picked up a scanner, which I wrote about in a previous Iteration. Since then, I’ve been scanning all sorts of things without much of a plan. Things like magazine covers, vintage ephemera, and old photographs. I’m not looking for anything in particular, I’m just following my curiosity and trusting that some of these pieces might surface later. Over the last few newsletters, I’ve tried to explore different ways of paying attention. For example, the camera says: “Pay attention to this moment.” The scanner says: “Look closer. There is more here than you thought.” I think the archive says: “Now sit with what you found long enough for it to tell you something you couldn’t hear (or see) at first.”CONNECT WITH MEVisit my Website: https://jefferysaddoris.comGet my Newsletter: SubscribeEmail me: [email protected]

So there I was, looking through stacks of receivers, DVD players, and the odd VCR when I spotted something I didn’t recognize. It was big — big enough to cover nearly two receivers. A CD player was sitting on top of it and when I lifted it off, I think I actually gasped, which Adrianne says is a sure sign that you’ve found something good. It was a flatbed scanner made by a company called Viisan, a brand I’d never actually heard of. Epson? Sure. HP? Of course. Microtek? Absolutely. Viisan? Not so much. And like I said, it was big. Most flatbed scanners are letter or legal-sized, but this one was A3, which means it can scan tabloid-sized magazines like my old issues of LIFE and Look in one pass.LINKSGoodwillHomer Laughlin chinaBroyhill Brasilia side tableSansui 9090Marantz 2270ViisanLIFELookAffinityPrint Size CalculatorCONNECT WITH MEVisit my Website: https://jefferysaddoris.comGet my Newsletter: SubscribeEmail me: [email protected]

When I was a kid, the camera only came out for special occasions. A single roll of film might last months, sometimes longer. Most of the time the camera lived in a cupboard until there was a reason to bring it out. Birthdays. Christmas. Vacations. Graduations. Film wasn’t something you wasted, so every frame had to justify itself. Back then, the camera itself felt almost mysterious. My father loved machines of every kind, especially engines, and while I didn’t inherit his expertise, through him I became fascinated by how things worked. But a camera seemed different. It wasn’t just a machine. Somehow, it could stop time. It could preserve a moment long after the moment had passed. I didn’t understand how it worked at the time, only that it felt capable of something almost magical.What’s your instrument? What do you find yourself noticing? How does that curiosity find its way into your work — or your life?I’d love to hear from you. Email me at [email protected] 124GWilliam EgglestonPentax Super ProgramMaarten RotsCONNECT WITH MEVisit my Website: https://jefferysaddoris.comGet my Newsletter: SubscribeEmail me: [email protected]