Buzzy Sullivan

Automatic cat food dispensers, the song Bob by NOFX, questioning what ADHD pastime to take up after running a marathon, The Blackhole episode of Bluey, reciprocity failure, photography coaches, grapes, working on starting a company, but also realizing I don’t want to sell stuff to people over the internet.

First one’s from 2019, second one’s from yesterday. The rest fall between.

Broken Order is both a photographic project and an experiment in form. It begins with a set of questions and extends into a reconsideration of how artist books are made and circulated. Handmade books are materially rich but difficult to sustain—limited editions, labor-intensive production, and high costs. This project explores whether those tactile qualities can be preserved while developing a process that is more efficient, repeatable, and accessible. This led me to experiments with perfect binding and inkjet-printed softcover books, refining a process that balances efficiency with material presence. The work also expands the role of my studio, shifting from solely individual production toward one of collaboration. I became interested in the possibility that other artists might need support in producing handmade cased artist books, functional softcover dummies, and/or inkjet prints—bridging fine art practice and small-scale production. This led to the development of my scrappy business, Slow Undoing Press @slowundoingpress If you need help with anything I do, reach out. I’d love to work with you. Broken Order: -48-page book -23 photographs -11 × 14 inches The project exists in two forms: – A softcover edition of 50 ($75 each) – A collector’s edition of 5 Swiss-bound hardcovers, each including a tipped-in pigment print with matching edition numbers (starting $350)

If I had to pick between sinkholes and A.I., I’m going with sinkholes every time.

Is today my show & tell day? I haven’t done many formal portfolio reviews, but during one of the few, I sat down, showed my photos, and talked about the ideas behind the project. After a few minutes, the reviewer interrupted to explain how much effort it would take for them to help me write an artist statement about my work. They then launched into a very long story about helping a member of their institution’s janitorial staff—who they described as “almost illiterate”—write a statement for an artwork that was included in an exhibition. I got the impression they were suggesting that helping me would require a similar level of effort. The strange part was that I had already sent them my artist statement the week before the review and even had a printed copy sitting next to the photographs. I know I’m not exactly a heavy hitter, but I do have a semi-working relationship with words. Eventually, I told them, I naively thought we could just talk about photos, and then apologized for the misunderstanding. Anyway, the point being… I’m a lost cause, but I do truly appreciate the people who have supported my photos.

Been spending all my quality time playing playdoh and listening to Ani DiFranco with my daughter.

When it comes to advice, trust people who’ve ridden a Greyhound bus coast-to-coast. Just my opinion.

No matter where you live, you gotta figure out where the satan worshippers hang out. Lately I’ve been thinking about growing up in Great Falls, MT, and I still know exactly where they spent time.

sediment/water/time

I’ve seen crows so black you can only see them at night.

The way I make pictures feels like the most futile process I can imagine. I pick a direction and go. If something announces itself, I stop. If it resonates, I set up the camera. It doesn’t happen every time—maybe not even most times. More often, the work is just moving forward until my energy runs out, then I turn back the way I came. It’s certainly not efficient, but in the abundance of pauses, maybes, and almosts, its rewarding when the world meets you halfway. At this point it’s the only game I know.