There are many more features in the works, so please check back. Or, if you like, join us on Facebook.

Also, in the month ahead, we’re launching a new monthly feature: Guest Curators. Which will include a permanent photo gallery on the Saccades Project website with a series of twelve images chosen from our Flickr pool by a guest curator. That series will appear here, as well, alongside an interview with our guest, possibly a playlist, and any of the curator’s own film/video/artwork that they care to share with us.

Our first guest curator is the wildly multi-talented Stacie B. London, LA-based gallerist and exhibition production coordinator at MOCA, and in the meantime, here’s a film by our multi-fabulous September guest curator, Lisa Rovner:

Dirty Pretty Things on Nowness.com.

Officially, Saccades Project’s first birthday was October 21, a couple weeks ago. And I thought about it, certainly, but I didn’t want to make a fuss, because it just seemed kinda . . . kinda self-serving, you know? But, on second thought, I should’ve made a fuss, and a big one, at that. So, better late than never, it’s time for me to thank every artist who has allowed me to share their pictures on Facebook, as well as the hundreds of artists who regularly contribute to the project’s Flickr group.

What brought this to mind, really, is today’s featured artist, Tara Holder, who has been sharing her photography with our Flickr pool for months now. She’s been patient, she’s been consistent, and most importantly, she just kept working. And I’ve been watching her photography, waiting, anticipating the day I’d write her to ask permission to share one of her images here.  Well, a couple days ago, Tara posted a video in our pool. Aside from the fact that it’s a first for the project, that hers is the first video anyone has shared, it took my breath away. The video’s personal, poignant, and in its tenderness, it’s downright ballsy, that’s what. I was so blown away that she’d make this and share it with us, and then, when the video ended, my jaw dropped, thinking, Wait. It’s over? No, it can’t be over! What happens to the girl? In other words, it’s the perfect first video for this project, this novel in progress.

It takes real courage to search for your own voice, your own vision, to make your own work, to put it out there, to keep working and working, whether anyone notices or not. I know it does. And for me, that’s the greatest risk worth taking, the best good fight going.  These artists have trusted me to do right by them, and just so, if I may make one simple request of you, kind soul, taking the time to read these words? Support these artists. Please, it only takes a click of a button, and it’s the very least that they all deserve. And to those of you who do comment regularly, I am very grateful.

From my earliest collaborators, the first few to sign on, to take a chance and jump with me, teen phenoms Mike Bailey-Gates, Laurence Martel-Olivier and Tara Violet Niami, to well-established artists like photographer Chris Friel and illustrator JP Thurlow, to the youngest contributor, Sita Marie, who joined our Flickr pool last year at the ripe old age of eleven (Honestly, seeing her stunning photograph, the brilliantly titled, “Human Skin Can Be So Hard to Live In,” I was sure I must have misread her age, until Sita told me she better go ask her mom permission for us to collaborate), they’re ridiculously talented, extremely hard-working and incredibly brave, one and all. They don’t ask for anything, in return, but I will: please, speak up by clicking the button when you see work you like.

Now. At the risk of making a fuss, I just want to say that nothing means more to me than getting behind someone I truly believe in, supporting another’s art, and I get to do that, here, every day. It’s a honor. Really, Saccades Project has been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had, and I’ll say it, straight out, I well with pride, every morning when I post a new Picture of the Day — or video(!), as I’m about to do, here, momentarily. So, to each and every artist who is part of this project, who make this collaboration possible, please know that when I say I believe in you, and that you inspire me, I mean it. Word.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Courtney Eldridge

Well, having just hit the halfway mark of this project, 180 days in, I now have a thousand pages of writing that’s been generated in collaboration with a group of incredibly talented and extremely generous visual artists. Originally, the way I conceived Saccades Project was to collaborate with young artists, many of whom are in their mid-teens, to use their very real imagery to help develop a visual world  and identity as part of the story of this fictional fifteen-year-old artist, Thea Denny. Structurally, the story will come full circle, beginning and ending at the same point in time—a 360-degree turn in 360 days, basically. And now I know for certain the book will absolutely be finished in 360 days from the day this project began, October 22, 2009.

Things just happened a little faster than expected, that’s all. Trust me, a thousand pages is a lot of material to handle. It’s a good problem—it’s a great problem to have, and I’m grateful for it. But now I need to make some adjustments to the original concept, slow things down, before continuing any further. After all, no project will succeed without making adjustments along the way, right?

So far, if you haven’t seen, heard and/or read any of the collaborations, please be sure to check out the work created in collaboration with Michael Bailey-Gates, Laurence Philomene, Keith Davis Young, Eliza Graumlich, Audrey Gatewood, Alex Simms, Lauren Smart, Tara Violet Niami, the eight photographers of Flickr Favorites Week, Ashlie Chavez, Bentley Wood and Aeschleah.

There will most definitely be more collaborations in the near future, but I’ve never wanted to impose deadlines on other artists. So when that work arrives, I will post notices of new collaborations on the project’s Facebook page, where, in the meantime, I will continue posting a Picture of the Day, chosen from the Saccades Project’s Flickr pool.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Saccades-Project/160947417585
http://www.flickr.com/groups/1246677@N21/

You can also check out all project playlists at the project’s Mixpod and YouTube channels. And there are some good ones, too!

http://www.youtube.com/user/SaccadesProject
http://www.mixpod.com/account-playlists.php

Much thanks, and we shall return.

The thing is, Bentley is one of those people, one of those very rare types of people who’s always cheerleading others, always talking about someone he knows, someone he’s discovered, just how brilliant they are, how gifted. And he’s right. He has incredible taste in music, art, film, people. But the thing is, Bentley never seems to see that in his own abilities. If he does, he doesn’t say much about it, and it’s a deafening humility, because he’s as talented and capable as anyone I know. He’s just quiet about it, and few people are, you know?

Case in point, when I asked him if he has a Flickr link, so that I could link all his images, he said he’d have to get back to me. It’s not the sort of thing that would occur to him, you see. Though, clearly, it should. That’s just Bentley, see. He’ll send you a hundred links about people he knows, admires, but he doesn’t even remember what he did with his Flickr password. Classic.

In any case, he sent me about fifteen photos this past Christmas. He was just sharing some pictures from a trip, like he always does, always has. Soon as I saw them, I wanted to use them. It was the first time I really wanted to think about how Thea might write, the difference between her thoughts and what she’d actually commit to paper. In the end, there wasn’t much need, because she trusted her reader, despite the fact that her reader is missing.

Working with Bentley this week was obviously about far more than the images he shared. It was a very real, very personal reminder of that time in life, how fragile an age fifteen truly is. And how those experiences can remain with you your entire life—more than childhood, more than last week, in all likelihood.

Regardless, Bentley’s been a cheerleader for this project from the start, and, personally and creatively, he’s one of those people always who keeps me going. No small task, trust me. I have to say, of all the incredibly brilliant people I’ve worked with on this project, I’m particularly proud to share Bentley Wood’s work. Thank you, B.

C.E.

And then, a few weeks ago, I saw one of Aeschleah’s photo, this series she’d just shot, using two models who looked almost identical. If not twins, they were clearly sisters, related, blood. That was it, exactly. Because this series, 77 Hudson Street, a title taken directly from Aeschleah’s photo, is going to take the story, the book to its conclusion, the cliff hanger scene. I’ve always known the final scene of the book comes down to these two girls, the night of their sixteenth birthday. And I needed something equally dramatic, as a starting point for those events, but softer. Like real girls, only the nth degree of girlhood.

It’s a lot to think about, which is why it’s taken this long. I mean, I have all these characters. How would they all come together? I think I found the entry point in Aeschleah’s work, I really do.

The fun, of course, of working with different artists every week is that the work is always different. Aeschleah’s work is exceptional, of course, but no exception in that sense. Because her photography is clearly rooted in fashion photography, but it’s very conceptual, too. What I mean by that, the real concept of Aeschleah’s fashion photography, as I see it, at least, is to find the genuine emotion within each image. That’s her reinvention of the conceptual fashion photography wheel: honesty. These two girls, twins, maybe, sisters, definitely, but what’s extraordinary, for me, is that the photographer never loses sight of their eyes.

That’s what I love about Aeschleah’s photography, that she’s challenging doe in the headlight fashion quality in such a human, genuine way. She knows that all girls want to act, to play different roles, live different lives. They’re real, however imaginary, however put on. They’re sharing something, revealing something, reaching.

So, at long last, I think I’ve found a way out of the maze—in fashion photography, of all things—who’d have thunk it, right? Very special thanks to Aeschleah for trusting me with her work, for her sweetness and energy and, once again, bringing something so real and so unique and so completely unexpected to this project.

C.E.

The other great thing about Jamie is that when I first wrote him, asking if he would be interested in collaborating, he said yes, and then, within the hour, he sent me his eight images and playlist. Just like that: done. Might be a collaboration record he now holds.

Also, for weeks now, months, even, I’ve been wondering how to start working in the whole feeding frenzy, the instant celebrity of this character, Thea, once her story and Cam’s story hits the media cycle. They become household names, basically, but she’s the only one who has to face the reporters, the insanity of becoming, basically, an overnight start. That part of the story has been there from the start, of course, but the problem was that I wanted a sense of the magnitude, the very real weight of that sort of fame, but I wanted it to feel genuine. I wanted to spend some time, thinking about what this girl experiences, but specifically how surreal it would be, living in the middle of a media circus—news crews camping outside your house, for example—that’s all the more surreal for how little her daily life has changed, how common her situation still is. That push and pull of the surreal and everyday, I guess.

So, a couple weeks ago, when I came across one of Jamie’s photos—Jamie Paul, Image 7, the one of the amazing black-and-white wallpaper—I wrote him right away. I took one look at his photostream, and that’s what I felt, the sense of exaggeration, a piece blown all out of proportion, and yet,  in a single frame, how graphic and textural that piece becomes. The surfaces he captures were so well-suited to this sort of fishbowl experience, this period of her life as I imagined it, but couldn’t quite find an entry. Also, there’s the fact that Jamie shoots color, primarily, but there’s always a black-and-white feel about his work, something slightly anachronistic, even if it just happened last night.

In any case, I got started, writing, but I had another question for him in the meantime, about a song on his playlist that I couldn’t find on YouTube, surprise, surprise, so I wrote him again, and Jamie emailed me from the road. He was on road trip, taking pictures, and the reason I mention it is because I immediately wanted to see what he was doing. Which also led me to thinking I’d use that, the road trip, somehow. And I did, and I will.

But still, my point is that I’m fortunate not just to work with someone like Jamie, but to get to watch his work continue on its own course, in its own time. And, of course, to laugh whenever I think of him. I need that, and god knows this project needs that. So, thank you very much to Jamie Paul for presenting Jamie Paul.

C.E.

What I think of most of all, when I think of Ashlee’s photography, are all things in this world that you cannot understand despite seeing them with your own eyes. All the times, all the situations in which seeing is not believing, so what is, you know? For me, that’s a theme in Ashlee’s work.

Take one of my favorite photos, which has that wonderful old-fashioned sexiness in sharing what’s not seen, not exposed, witnessing a very private moment of a girl lying on her back, in a chair, in a kitchen, late at night. Who is she? Where is she? What’s the story? Why? To see a moment that’s that intimate, but knowing nothing more about her, for me, that’s central to Ashlee’s work, all right.

And yes, I did read something about Disney possibly remaking The Wizard of Oz just before our collaboration began, last week; reminded, once again, of the classic of a girl trying to get home again, having wanted nothing more than to leave home for good. Now, I happen to be opposed to the idea of a remake, but it reminded me of many things about Ashlee’s work, these little journeys she takes you on, often bringing you full circle.

As well as the fact that that Ashlee shoots entirely in film. And that can’t be an easy decision to make, I don’t imagine, at least not from an economic standpoint. But that’s her love, her belief. And you can feel the difference in her work. Her imagery has a soul to it, yes. It really does.

She has such a genuine warmth about her, too. I mean, the first time I wrote her, sent her a note, right before Christmas, she was so damn warm. Just lovely, you know. Now, every time I see a note from her, I can’t help smiling, because I know she’ll say something, even a few words, like how she calls me “little lady,” and it’s that humor you see, out of nowhere. From the start, she has been kind, generous, always inspiring. Really, she’s exactly the person you would expect her to be, given the mind and free spirit you see at work in her photography, but on the other hand, she’s a complete mystery. And I am very grateful that I’ve had this chance to work with her. Thank you, Ashlee.

C.E.

At this point, the question is, how to edit creatively? Because the real magic of writing happens in editing, after all. By the time a book is published, you’ve read any give page, any given paragraph, at least a hundred times. Actually, by the time a book is published, you’ve probably read any given page or passage four, five hundred times, easily. So it seemed reasonable to me, taking another pass at some old writing, reviving it, using the music/visual inspiration of a new artist.

Seemed so simple, so straightforward. And I have to say, I was pleased. I’ve been traveling this past week, and I didn’t expect a week’s vacation by any means, but I thought it would be, well, much easier. Turns out, I was wrong. By Day 5, Sketch 5, this past week, I was at a loss. Combining artists and inspirations proved to be far more difficult for my taxed brain that you’d imagine.

Then again, not to overstate the obvious here, but the thing is, you gotta adapt. You get something in your head, you gotta stick to it sometimes by changing course, completely. What this project has taught me is just how rigid I can be in my thinking, in my approach. So, if the guest artists and imagery I worked with this past week have taught me anything, it’s to think outside my own box.

That said, there has to be a way, though. To use new artists, new artwork, new imagery. I’ll figure it out, I will.

So. To Marianna, Corinah, Bryce, Max, Elies, Lauren, Haley, and Emma . . . thank you very much for trusting me. It’s common knowledge that failures are more beneficial than successes, ultimately. This week was difficult, not a failure by any means, but unexpectedly difficult. Challenging, definitely. But still, each of those images, the music, the mood and emotions I felt, listening, looking, they’re with me. They’re as much a part of the project as any I’ve worked with so far, and more in some ways. Because they’ve become part of the riddle of this book, how to create this book I’m writing. I know for a fact they will all come into play, sooner or later. Besides, if at first you don’t succeed, edit, edit again.

Likewise, I can’t even tell you how happy I was last week, when I received Alex’s writing. It was the first time a collaborator shared writing with me, and Alex’s sketch, which was so clean and direct, gave our collaboration its direction this week, completely. Beyond that, though, Alex’s sketch made me think about Thea’s life in the weeks prior to meeting Cam. Where she was coming from, who she was, how she saw herself in the first two or three weeks of her sophomore year.

Also, Alex’s writing had great details, very specific idea. In that one sketch, there were things he told me about these characters that I didn’t know, hadn’t even thought to ask, really, but certainly do now. There were moments when I had some doubts about Walmart as story line, how I’d handle it, but in the end, I handled it by trying to imagine it was one of Alex’s pictures, how he would handle it, how he would treat it, the weight he would give that detail. And once I thought of it that way, I was off and running.

On the other hand, humor definitely has its place in Alex’s work, as well. I have to say, I was very tempted to a lift a line from his photostream and title the week’s writing sketches, “I Think They Were Astronauts, Or Something.” Another time, maybe.

So I tried bringing these different elements together, the slightly eery sense of hiding and seeking, the way light can hide right in front of our eyes. That genuine awe I feel for the way Alex perceives those very human blind spots, which could easily come across bleak or hopeless in the hands of someone less sensitive. When I think of his pictures, I think of Alex’s innate ability to sneak up from behind, and how, when Alex captures those moments, the light feels like it’s bursting at the seams. Caught, exposed. And then you just have to wait for Alex to return with another picture, another game, another secret hiding place.

Alex, thank you very much for your photos, your writing, your constant support of this project, not just me, but all the artists you encourage, believe in, and inspire.

C.E.

What came to mind from the first picture of hers I ever saw, was about ghosts on the inside. And it’s what I thought about throughout the past week, the idea that we’re haunted on the inside, internally, not externally. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to convince anyone else of their existence, because ghosts are a private matter? I don’t know about that, but that’s what I wanted to play with, looking through the series of images Lauren sent me for this collaboration.

Her pictures always remind me of all the times you see something out of the corner of your eye, thinking it’s one thing, and seeing that thing so clearly in your mind’s eye, but you’re too afraid to voice, to tell. Because you know how crazy it would sound, to say what you thought you saw—what you did see—that you immediately dismiss it. It’s some random act of trompe l’oie, right. Whatever it is, those are the moments that Lauren captures.

Even so, I don’t think of Lauren as telling ghost stories with her images, but rather, she’s simply using her photography to document the lives of shadows, whether internal or external. And again, looking at her pictures, it can be so hard to tell those sides apart. And really, the constant conflict her images question, between seeing with our eyes and seeing with our imaginations—I felt a real connection to those questions, with this story in mind.

That’s why, from the first time I saw Lauren’s work, last year, I knew I wanted to work with her. I think I saw two pictures, and I knew, because, barely twenty years old, and already, Lauren has such firm grasp of this territory, these shadow lands in our living rooms, our bedrooms. It’s so genuine for Lauren, too, where she’s taking her work, really continuing to push forward in her own direction, and that’s always humbling to watch. Especially humbling to work with.

Every collaboration is challenging, and Lauren was most certainly no exception. Lauren’s pictures embody that dreamlike/ghostlike/shadowy place of this story that I’d wanted to visit from the beginning, come what may. And, in addition to being so totally professional and on the ball with our collaboration, Lauren’s work kept me honest, as well. No small feat, trying to tell a ghost story. Thank you, Lauren, very much.

C.E.