note: paul combrink.

I’m writing this in the 30.448.203rd minute of my life, and the 1.055.657.526th minute of our calendar.

I was born at twelve thirty in the afternoon on the fourth of March in the year nineteen hundred and forty-nine. The midwife was probably not checking a stopwatch when she cut the umbilical cord. It’s highly unlikely that the time of my birth was recorded accurately down to the second. It’s not impossible, but if it was captured exactly then it’s a case of dumb luck rather than knowledge.

I take note of my life when the sun is at its highest point. At noon, I capture the image that happens to be on my retina. If it’s very inconvenient to do so, I might do it later. I take note of the time and my imperfections more precisely than the midwife who helped me into this world.

Yesterday I have recorded the 1/228.565.996.875th part of my life. I struck at hours. I stilled something that disappeared instantly, replaced by a new image. Thankfully I have evidence of what occurred. I back it up onto two hard drives and safe it into fourteen different calendars.


Today I took a photo at hours. That’s 1.827.228.717 seconds after I was born. I did this in one sixtieth of a second: the 109.633.723.020th part. This way, I save the moments that disappear into other images.

I don’t go looking for it. I just do what I do.

Images present themselves. The day, the minute, the second, the tenth of a second, and the exact moment. It’s practically impossible to pronounce the number of figures. The visual experience will triumph over language. The image I captured in my 508.164th hour occurred in the 1.466.852.979.839th second of the Chinese calendar. Four days ago, the Chinese celebrated new year’s day.

Hrant Dink was born 10-02-1403 in Malatya. He was murdered 7-07-1456 in Istanbul. All this is according to the Armenian calendar. Hrant Dink was murdered on my 21.141st day. It is important the Armenian calendar be included in my work. However, I am still imperfect.


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