One word a day. Ten strokes each.
You are never given enough to finish anything. Ten strokes will not make a drawing. They will make a gesture, a fragment, a line that stops early and waits for someone else to answer it.
That is the whole idea.
Somewhere else, someone opens the same word and finds the space you left behind. They spend their ten. By the end of the day the page is crowded with hands that never met, and the word has become something none of them could have drawn alone.
Then it closes. The word changes. Nothing is ever added to that day again.
What remains in the Log is not a picture by an artist. It is the record of a day when strangers looked at the same word and reached, separately, for the same empty space.
Ten strokes is almost nothing.
Together it has always been enough.
None of this is set up yet. The addresses below are placeholders — nothing will reach anyone until the site has a real home.
Once these are real, write about a day you would like removed, a word you would like to see, or anything the site gets wrong. Everything will be read.
You draw ten strokes. We keep them.
If we ever print a poster, your strokes are on it and we will not be sending you a cheque. That is the entire deal. By drawing, you have agreed to it.
You made them, so they are yours. But the second they land on the canvas they are tangled up with everyone else's, and nobody can pull them apart again. So we are going to treat the finished day as ours — to keep, show, print, hang on a wall, and, if we ever get that far, sell. Forever, everywhere, for nothing. If that bothers you, don't draw. It is ten strokes.
Nobody gets to point at a finished day and call it their artwork. Not you. Not really us. It belongs to whoever showed up.
Nothing illegal. Nothing that goes after a person or a group. Nothing sexual involving minors. No phone numbers, addresses or handles — yours or anyone else's. No advertising. No bots. And if you find a clever way around the ten-stroke limit: congratulations, but please don't.
If something is ugly in the wrong way, it goes. Maybe the whole day goes. We don't owe anyone an explanation, and removing one thing doesn't mean we'll remove yours.
This is a website made by one person. It might break. A day might vanish. The whole thing might quietly disappear one afternoon. Please don't build anything important on top of it.
There is no sign-up. Your browser holds a random string so we can count to ten. That is all of it. We don't know who you are and we would like to keep it that way. Clear your browser and it's gone.
If this ever becomes something bigger than a website about drawing, we'll write duller terms and put the new date at the top. Until then — it's a drawing. Relax.