Windows allow us a view into an inner world or an outer world, depending on where we are situated. And we can see through windows, yet they are also reflective. In this sense windows are mirrors.
When I take photos I often look for visual tricks that may give the viewer a double take. I like creating a sense of ambiguity for it ties in with how I see the world. There are many constants, yet so many flaws and inconsistencies. The best we can do is try and enjoy the ride (and in my case, document it.)
No Money Down – Toronto (1980-1986) documents the city of Toronto, Canada, in the 1980s. It is a follow-up to my first book: Toronto Flashback (1980-1986).
From the introduction: These photos were taken in the early days of my twenty years
in Toronto. I’d just moved there to study photography at Ryerson, and I found
myself inundated with new images and experiences. Whenever you’re plunked down
in a wholly changed environment, there’s lots of space to create new memories.
Leafing back through my archived slides while pulling together this book, I
found I could remember taking so many of these shots. And, of course, there
were many others I had no recollection of taking, pictures from places I
couldn’t remember being and sometimes couldn’t even identify. Moments fly past
us, noticed or unnoticed, all with their particular shadings of beauty and
uniqueness.
When I look back on that time, everyday routines and
unforgettable events are all mixed up together. I lived in a gritty
neighbourhood near the school and spent hours walking around downtown Toronto
with my camera. I was simultaneously watching and participating in the life of
this new city. I had french fries at least once a day, usually at a diner,
usually late at night. Squirrels got into my apartment through an open window
and chewed my prized Bose speakers to shreds.
Our Ryerson professors gave us assignments like
photographing shadows, or reflections, or exploring the use of the frame; this
guidance helped me walk the pavements with intention and with something to
learn each day. I carried a Konica SLR at first, and later a tiny Rollei 35S;
they were my constant companions. Being frugal with film was important to me,
since I was on a student budget–usually I shot just one or two frames of a
scene. Most of the photos in this book were one-offs.
In those years, walking with my camera gave me a way of
getting to know this new city at the same time I was getting to know myself and
honing my skills as a photographer. My shyness faded. Toronto became a place I
felt at home. I lived there for years–I got married, had children, and felt
completely a part of things.
Looking back now at the photos I spent my precious film on back then, so much comes back to me about dropped into a new environment. We use our creative tools as extensions of ourselves; they help us understand and define our place in the world. For me, having a camera in my hand at all times helped me remember, You only get to do this once. We have to take time and see it, as clearly as we can.
I like to observe the shapes of things–it’s a big part of my photographic vision. I also like the 1966 hit song by the Yardbirds. You may recall the the opening line…”Shapes of things before my eyes.” Some photos I take remind me of this song with its dark and moody lyrics that are said to be in opposition to the Vietnam War. I love the guitar sounds, the marching beat, and the unforgettable “rave-up” with Jeff Beck’s eastern sounding guitar solo. It is said to be the first popular psychedelic rock song.
When I take a walk with my camera, I’m always on the lookout for the unusual–odd scenes, quirky juxtapositions. To me unusual things are more visually interesting. They demand our attention in different ways than traditional beauty does.
Do you remember those unforgettable Hipgnosis album covers? If you are around my age, you probably spent a lot of time in your teenage years listening to LPs and studying the album covers. You would play side one, then flip over to side two, all the while contemplating the meaning of the prism on the cover. The album art was often straightforward–an attractive portrait of the singer or band. But sometimes it was surreal and enigmatic–very artsy, and unusual.
When I got a camera some years later I remembered those cool Hipgnosis creations (by Storm Thorgerson) and looked for photos with similar moods and juxtapositions. A discarded door on a sidewalk, an odd reflection in a mirror, a blank sign–this lead me to produce a series titled: Wish You Were Here. Thorgerson was good at isolating odd elements in the image, much like the painter René Magritte. It was clear what you were supposed to notice, but an intended meaning was not so clear. This ambiguity can draw you in and keep you looking for a long time.
Wish You Were Here is available through Blurb Books .
It’s paradise here in Nova Scotia, but in winter it becomes a salt stained paradise. On certain days, when the road salt and brine have melted the snow and ice, you literally need gallons of windshield washer fluid to constantly clean your windshield.
When driving to Halifax recently I had to make an emergency stop in Bedford to buy some windshield washer fluid as I had run out. It was very hard to see, driving into the sun. I took this photo to show the effects of the salt. After all, if you want to properly view the salt stained paradise you need a clean windshield.
