The 210 Archive gathers a single number, photographed wherever it appeared — on scales and price tags, road signs and rulers, screens and street corners.
The rule is simple. If the number 210 turns up in front of me, I take a picture of it.
It has turned up on a bathroom scale in Patagonia and a hotel door in Ningbo, on subtitles and speedometers, in a price, a room number, a bus route, a countdown. It has been photographed on 35 mm film, on a point & shoot, on a DSLR, on five or six phones, and — more and more — as a screenshot of something on a screen.
Nothing here is staged and nothing is searched for. That is the whole point: the archive is a record of attention, not of effort. What it actually measures is where I was, what I was looking at, and what I was carrying a camera in.
Lean years are travel years spent without a camera in hand, or years I simply stopped noticing.
Each dot is one sighting, placed on the year it happened. The archive doubles as a record of consumer camera history.
| Between | Days |
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Every sighting with coordinates, plotted on a bare latitude & longitude grid. No coastlines — just the shape of a life.
| Country | Sightings |
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| City | Sightings |
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