Last year I took one photograph of the same bench on the first of every month, and I recommend it to anyone who thinks that nothing ever changes.

It stands at the end of the path above the harbour. I chose it because it was close, and because I knew that I would otherwise give up by March. The rule was simple: same spot, same lens, whatever the weather, and no moving the empty crisp packet if there was one.

What the year looked like

  • January: frost, and one set of footprints.
  • April: nettles, suddenly, as if overnight.
  • July: two people who did not notice me.
  • September: the best light of the year, for about a week.
  • November: a single glove, placed on the armrest by someone hopeful.
  • January again: frost, and the same bench, but somehow not the same.
Two people walking on a path through grass
The path up to it, in the summer.

What I learned

When you take a picture to prove that you were there, you look at the thing for about two seconds. When you come back on purpose, you start to see what happened in between. I noticed the paint go. I noticed the tree behind it lean. I noticed that I was walking up the hill a little slower than I had in the spring.

I set out to photograph a bench, and I ended up with a fairly accurate portrait of a year.

It is the only project I have ever finished. It needed no talent and no equipment, only that I keep turning up. I have started again this year, on a different bench.

Sample content for The Pixel, a fictional personal blog.