The Society of Smallness

Underachieving since 2012

Odysseus in a barrel

by societyofsmallness

jacques savin

Jean-Jacques Savin aboard his barrel.

On December 26, Jean-Jacques Savin, a 71-year old French adventurer, set off on a three-month transatlantic voyage aboard a plywood barrel that is just big enough for him, a tiny kitchen, a sleeping cot, and a carefully selected stash of supplies. He follows in the wake of mariners of yore, mythical and real.

Odysseus’s voyage lasted ten years and was fraught with danger, but at least he had a fleet of twelve ships. Savin has opted for a tiny craft partly inspired by the voyage of an earlier seafarer, compatriot Alain Bombard, a biologist, physician, and politician who in 1952 sailed across the Atlantic in a small, inflatable boat measuring a mere 15 feet. Bombard took only a sextant and a few provisions on his voyage. He lived on fish and saltwater for three months.

Savin’s equipment and provisions are more extensive. On his website, he lists safety, technical, and miscellaneous categories that include a fire extinguisher, a raft, a GPS reader, and a manual water making machine. Among the extras, “bonbonnes de gaz,” which we’d like to think are scientifically designed vapor pellets that turn into saltwater taffy when they come in contact with the surface of the ocean, or maybe they are canned farts so Savin can amuse himself on those lonely days at sea. But no, these bonbonnes are strictly functional, they are fuel canisters presumably for cooking his “nourriture lyophilisée,” or freeze-dried food. According to CNN, Savin also brought along “a bottle of Sauternes white wine and a block of foie gras for New Year’s Eve, as well as a bottle of Saint-Émilion red for his birthday in January.”

Savin has a fascinating past as a military paratrooper, a private pilot, and a ranger at a national park in Central Africa. A consummate sportsman, Savin has sailed across the Atlantic four times, swam across the Bay of Arcachon, and climbed Mont Blanc in 2015. But his voyage in a barrel is the most audacious feat by far for it entails, as Savin explains, a “crossing during which man isn’t captain of his ship, but a passenger of the ocean.”

Godspeed, Jean-Jacques Savin! We are inspired by your odyssey and will continue to follow your progress as you float across the ocean in your tiny capsule.

Learn more about Jean-Jacques Savin’s project on his website or follow him on Facebook.

JSavin_kitchen  JSavain_sleeping


“Unseen Things are Still There”

by societyofsmallness

hare and dandelion

Hare and Dandelion by Kubo Shunman (Japanese, 1757–1820). The Met.


We take pride in being underachievers, but as 2018 comes to a close, we’re committed to turning over a new leaf. We embark on our New Year’s resolution with Stars and Dandelions, a beautiful poem whose simple style nonetheless tackles a scale of cosmic proportions.

Stars and Dandelions  is one of over 500 poems that Kaneko Misuzu wrote during her brief lifetime. Born in the fishing village of Senzaki in the early 1900s, Misuzu blossomed into a curious and voracious reader and continued her education at a time when Japanese girls completed only up to sixth grade. In her early twenties, Misuzu worked in a small bookstore owned by her mother. It was there that one day, leafing through a stack of magazines aimed at young readers, Misuzu saw a call for poetry and prose and she decided to send in five of her poems. Hence began her short-lived, but prolific writing career. Tragically, Misuzu took her life in 1930 to escape a miserable life next to an abominable husband who cheated on her, infected her with venereal disease, and forbade her from writing.

Misuzu’s poems were forgotten in the turmoil and aftermath of World War II. In the 1960s, Setsuo Yazaki, an aspiring young poet, discovered a poem by Misuzu in a rare book. Yazaki would spend over fifteen years tracking down additional information about Misuzu and her ouvre. It wasn’t until 1982 that Yazaki found Misuzu’s younger brother—already in his late 70s—and through him, Misuzu’s diaries and poems.


Stars and Dandelions
by Kaneko Misuzu

Deep in the blue sky,
like pebbles at the bottom of the sea,
lie the stars unseen in daylight
 until night comes.
You can’t see them, but they are there.
Unseen things are still there.

The withered, seedless dandelions
hidden in the cracks of the roof tile
wait silently for spring, 
their strong roots unseen.
You can’t see them, but they are there.
Unseen things are still there.

Why We Fired Lawson

by societyofsmallness


A disruptive occurrence involving Justin R. Lawson, a new employee who began his appointment with Documents Bureau during the Chicago Art Department’s Crystal Ball necessitated the following OFFICIAL STATEMENT to nip in the bud any innuendo and back room snickering.

At times like this, we must face the fact that the collective “we” is only as strong as the weakest member of the team. Mr. Lawson had reckless ideas and with his unruly behavior Saturday night he went one step too far.

We will not apologize for our swift action. Was it not by the book? Was it not public and severe? Did we have the “absolute right” to descend and remove? We make a promise to each clerk on day one: your inevitable dismissal will be swift and unimpugnable.  At Documents Bureau no one is coddled.

Furthermore, conformity is the fuel that this document-producing machine runs on. And it burns hot, it burns quick, and the engine always needs more fuel. If you can’t get on board, maybe you aren’t cut out for this sort of work.

Let us, once more, air his faults as they were aired during his hasty public rebuke:

  • messy (did you see the floor under that fool’s desk?)
  • cray spelling (seriously, typos every other word? C’mon!)
  • overly nervous demeanor
  • chronic daydreamer

There is a sacred if lopsided arrangement between the lowly functionary and his/her embiggened superior. Put simply, it prevents chaos. Without constant evaluation would we ever meet our quotas? First, the document line comes to a standstill, then inactive stampers are LAID OFF? You don’t want it, and neither do we!

With this firing, please take heed.

The members of the Hastily Assembled Rebuking Committee

Bughouse Square again asks S.o.S. to mind their Open Mic in 2016

by Micromanager

Unfairly Portrayed

by societyofsmallness

goliath spider_full

In the darkest depths of the Amazon rain forest, there lives a spider that eats birds. Its name is theraphosa blondii, more commonly known as the Goliath birdeater, and it is the biggest spider in the world, measuring about a foot from end to end. Its body is roughly the size of a tennis ball, and its fangs are about three-fourths of an inch long. But don’t worry; this spider’s bite isn’t deadly to humans—it just hurts a lot.

In spite of its name, the Goliath birdeater doesn’t eat a lot of birds. An old 18th-century engraving by Maria Sybbilla Merian depicts it in the act of killing a hummingbird. This gave rise to its reputation as a bird predator, an idea that stuck around in the collective consciousness. Blondii is a burrowing spider, and so its food tends to live on the ground as well. Mostly, it eats earthworms, which according to top scientists are very nutritious, as well as frogs, lizards, small rodents, and the odd snake, though if it came across a bird, it would definitely eat that too. This is a very hungry arachnid.

Speaking of hungry, local villagers consider blondii to be a very tasty meal. To prepare it,  the hairs are singed off first, as these can cause itching and irritation, then the spider meat is wrapped in banana leaves and cooked to perfection. Our sources tell us it kind of tastes like shrimp.

Documents Bureau Makes it Official

by societyofsmallness

We introduced bureaucracy to a group of 7th graders from Walsh Elementary (somebody had to do it and better us than some soulless clerk at City Hall). The induction took place at the Chicago Art Department on February 12, two days before Valentine’s day. That’s right, the love was flowing, the ink was fresh, and the documents official. Furthermore, Nat Soti shot and produced an awsum video about us. See it here.


Video by Nat Soti, director and editor at Inpoints

Documents add to a weighty discussion at the National Museum of Mexican Art

by Micromanager



Our performance paid tribute to Rodrigo Lara’s exhibition, “Deportable Aliens.” Few Americans are aware of a mass deportation of Mexican-born persons during the 1930s euphemistically called repatriation and we appreciated Rodrigo’s efforts to bring this shameful event to light.

Putting the oft-repeated motto of Documents Bureau to work we employed the path of most resistance. Our event at the National Museum of Mexican Art included numerous steps that aimed to expose the absurdity of repatriation.

The event was coordinated by Illinois Humanities and the Museum. 5 Rabbit Cerveceria was present with their special edition anti-bigotry beer Chinga Tu Pelo.

The Event

In the time before the main speaking event, Documents bureau assigned people new identities and “repatriated” them to faraway or not-so-faraway lands.

Attendees spontaneously formed an enormous line, further adding to their misery and the illusion that bureaucrats held their fate.

When they reached the front of the line they were made aware of their fate and advised to make use of the document services provided.

They were given a travel fortune.

They met with our team of clerks and addressed their new problem head on or else denied their fate and worked to better their lives in other ways.

Photo Gallery: Documents Bureau at the National Museum of Mexican Art

by Micromanager

The Best Summer Spot to Spout off — the Bughouse Square Debates

by Micromanager

Summer is here…and so are flies!

by societyofsmallness

Saint George and the Dragon

Saint George and the Dragon
Bernat Martorell
Spanish, about 1400–1452

We’re not here to incite any violence against flies (or dragons). This image merely shows the presence of flies in art (look along the bottom edge to see one that’s landed on a bone).

In Soledades. Galeríar. Otros Poemas (1907) Antonio Machado offers an endearing and philosophical take on the pestiferous insect.

by Antonio Machado

Old familiar flies,
greedy, unavoidable,
plain flies of everyday,
you bring back everything.

Old flies with appetites
as keen as April bees,
or running those tickly legs
over my infant scalp.

Flies of my first tedium
in the parlor of our house
on bright summer afternoons
when I first began to dream.

And in the hated schoolroom,
funny zooming flies,
hounded from sheer delight
in everything that flew
(flying is all that counts),
buzzing, bumping windowpanes
on autumn days…

Flies at every stage—
babyhood and teenage,
golden days of youth,
and now this second innocence
with nothing to believe in,
always flies…

Plain old things,
you’ll never find your singer—
you’re far too commonplace:
I know that you’ve alighted
on the charmed plaything,
on the shut schoolbook,
on the love letter,
and on the rigid lids
of the dead.

Greedy, unavoidable,
you never work like bees,
nor glitter like a butterfly,
you tiny little gadabouts,
you’re old friends just the same
and bring back everything.