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I’m writing this entry with a request to listeners. As you may know, when Celer began, all of our releases (for the first 2-3 years) were handmade, in hand-cut, hand-painted cases, and each copy had individual, personalized artwork, all created by Danielle.

Now looking back, I realize how great it would have been if we had scanned all of the covers, for some sort of artwork retrospective, however it wasn’t the case, and we never knew we’d stop making them, or that we’d even care about it in the future. There’s no way to predict such things, and maybe I know better now, but that’s also why I’m buried up to my neck in boxes of stuff.

I have a request to you, the listener, at this time:

Do you own any of the handmade self-releases of Celer?

I have decided to begin collecting scans of all of the covers that I have, and want to include all that I can find in a book for the future, of such things. If anyone would be willing to contribute scans of their own collection, I would be glad to include them in this book, and give them credit.

If interested, please send high-quality scans (or high-quality photos of non-flat releases)
to celer.adr@gmail.com

I appreciate your support, and hope to hear from some of you!

Many thanks,
Sincerely,
Will

For a long time now, I’ve been going through all of the photos that Danielle took while on her travels in India, Nepal, Sri Lanka, and Pakistan. I’ve collected them all through various prints, negatives, and slides, scanning and compiling them all for a photography book of her work for the future. In going through the negatives, and scanning them directly, I came across this image, which I hadn’t seen anywhere until that point. Most of the images were printed, and collected in several large photo albums, but not this particular frame.

I realized, since the photo is not clear-cut, and it does contain some defects and errors, as wel as bleeding onto other frames, that despite its beauty, possibly when the film was developed it was skipped over, and not printed. Personally, this is a common problem, and when revisiting negatives sometimes I find some of my best photos in the vaults of the negatives that photo labs had skipped over. It occurred to me that its very probable that Danielle never actually was able to see the results from this photo, taken somewhere unnamed on her travels, but only when she originally took the photo on that glowing evening.

In searching for the proper artwork for our album ‘Generic City’, the circumstances and preservation of this photograph seemed absolutely perfect to me, and in many ways its preservation though featuring it as our artwork made it even more special. It’s likely I won’t ever be able to find out where exactly this photo was taken, but in the end I think its vagueness and beauty transcends the need to be defined, letting it exist simply as it is.

She smiled, with a pleasant inquiry, and a little bit of a bedhead. Walking into the room, in her v-neck cotton shirt and pajama pants, at midnight where I was on the couch, my mouth cracked because of infomercials. Just that soft cotton tshirt of hers. The warm smell from her hair permeates every inch of space left on this couch, that we don’t occupy together. Just a blinking tv, with a below-audible volume and the occasional car horn in the sleeping city streets are around. Even the old tomcat is asleep, but what else does he ever do? Goodnight, these dreams.

I drove down the streets next to sunset, stopping at the red light. Two streets up, you were crossing the road, your long, straight hair and bangs concealing your face for a moment, before I saw it was you. You answered your phone, and spoke, without ever noticing I was driving past, almost as if being glad to have a distraction. Or did you notice? Did you want to notice? You walked into the door to the laundry room, and out of sight. Others stood talking in the double rooms, separated by the long hallway, in the whorly hum of washing machines and dryers. I drove ahead, turning east, and up the hill past the empty stadium. Sunset was near, with the sky a cold blue and burnt orange. In the empty, spacious parking lot was a police siren, and a parked police car; just in silence with their actions, waiting. Myself and other cars stopped at the stop light, with nothing crossing, and waiting until it turned green to drive ahead, over the next hill.

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”
– Haruki Murakami