Papergirl delivers. Don’t ask for a subscription.

Yesterday afternoon, a group of artists and writers rode up and down Prenzlauer Berg with boxes on their bikes, tossing unsolicited wrapped “newspapers” into doorways, American paperboy style. We met one of them, a woman who just graduated from LSE, but is living temporarily here, at a party on the Spree last night.

Inside the wrapper was an assortment of art, beautiful unique silk screens, memories and manifestos, none of it particularly connected but all of it thought- or emotion-provoking. One hundred copies only; if you weren’t lucky enough to an issue of Papergirl thrown at you, or have one unwrapped for you at a party later that day, odds are that you’ll never see one.

I want to subscribe, I told the writer. She laughed, and said I can’t. Just be at the right place at the right time for Papergirl #2.

Someone on Flickr has a picture of one of the “artgifts” in preparation.


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