I'm really, really glad I never got into the glove project all those years ago. Gloves. Once you start noticing them you see them lying around, everywhere. And all the time. On the pavement, in the middle of the road, on the floor in shops, in car parks, on building sites, everywhere. If I had a telescope big enough I'd probably point it at the moon and expect to see a shiny US astronaut one glinting in the sunshine in the middle of The Sea of Tranquility. Just the one, they are always just the one.
Once you decide to do the glove project and make that fateful decision to photograph each one you come across you are committing to having to interrupt your life on a regular basis from then on. The routine of getting the camera out, power it up, adjusting the settings and shooting several frames from various distances and from different sides and angles, hm. And you'd have to always be setting off early to places otherwise you'd never get anywhere on time ever again. And if you don't like being late, well there's millions of them out there, lurking.
Today I gave in and stopped to take a few pics of a shabby glove, and was nearly late as a result. But as I caved and was getting the camera out I imagined I'd actually spent the 30 years acquiring a huge archive of these nothingy single images and maybe they could each be printed two inches wide, on tiles, and assembled into a patchwork quilt the size of the exterior of Tate Modern. But even ignoring the inevitable staggering fame and wealth to follow such a feat, the prospect of having spent a life looking at the ground all the time instead of up at the sky, it would have been like something out of a children's fable.