It’s winter in Canada–a good time to post a selection of snow photos. It a wonderful sight to see the landscape transformed by a blanket of fresh fallen snow. In the following poem Emily Dickinson makes mention of the snow sifting down, making an even face of mountain and plain.
Taking snow photos is a good way to connect with the season, and enjoy the absolutely unique qualities of winter. On windy days, photographing snow is a good way to photograph the elusive wind. There are amazing shadows cast on sunny days, and an abundance of soft textures. I like to go out around twilight time when the snow is coming down. It’s a good opportunity to use a flash to freeze the snowflakes.
Snow by Emily Dickinson
It sifts from leaden sieves, It powders all the wood, It fills with alabaster wool The wrinkles of the road.
It makes an even face Of mountain and of plain, — Unbroken forehead from the east Unto the east again.
It reaches to the fence, It wraps it, rail by rail, Till it is lost in fleeces; It flings a crystal veil
On stump and stack and stem, — The summer’s empty room, Acres of seams where harvests were, Recordless, but for them.
It ruffles wrists of posts, As ankles of a queen, — Then stills its artisans like ghosts, Denying they have been.
Here are my favourite photos of 2020. What a long, strange trip this year has been–one of isolation, uncertainty, and sadness as the pandemic spread around the world and took so many lives. It’s also been a year of hope– people have been brought together in unexpected ways, and a vaccines have been developed in record time. We can only wish for a better year in 2021.
The photo above seems to symbolize my year. It shows a twisted web of grape vines in the fog, illuminated by a flash. It has been a foggy year, but not without it’s moments of brightness. My year started out in Nagoya, Japan. My family was on a big trip through Europe and Japan–the trip of a lifetime for us. We started out in France in November and finished in Budapest, Hungary, in early March. We had to cut our trip short by three weeks in order to get back to Canada before the pandemic. The trip was fantastic in every way, and has provided a wealth of memories for my family.
I have continued to work on my photography–selling prints from my website Shop, and putting together photo books. The most recent is Toronto In Colour: the 1980s.
This was taken on the Tokyo Sakura Tram in late January, 2020. It is the only streetcar left in Tokyo, running between Minowabashi Station and Waseda Station (12.2 kilometers; 30 stations). The slow pace of the streetcar seemed out of step with the bustle of the city and reminded me of what Tokyo must have been like in the old days.
Taken along the Meuse River in Liege, Belgium, where I went jogging everyday (sometimes I did more photography than jogging!) It’s a juxtaposition of the new and the old, a thing I noticed a lot in Europe.
The metro in Prague was beautifully designed, with wonderful colours. I waited for the train to start so that the door was framed in the center of the entrance.
A train station in Budapest, Hungary. I remember having to hold my phone high over my head to get this photo. I just realized that all the travel photos so far include some means of transportation. Interesting!
Back in Canada in March to a pandemic lockdown, and snow. We saw almost no snow on our four month trip, but weren’t surprised to see it in Nova Scotia in March.
I really missed visiting my mother while I was away. She has dementia and is almost deaf, so communicating through glass with a cell phone proved to be challenging. But it was much better than not seeing her at all.
Toronto In Colour: the 1980s is my recent collection of Toronto photographs, and is now available at Blurb Books. In the years 1980 to 1986, I shot about 800 rolls of film, most of them street photographs. Of the thousands of photos only about 10% were in colour. I tended to look for different scenes when I had colour film in my camera–usually Kodacolor II, but sometimes Ektachrome or Kodachrome. I would think in terms of “light and colour” rather than “tones and the moment.” So, I sought out slightly different subject matter than when shooting in black and white.
Book Introduction to Toronto In Colour: the 1980s – There is a feeling of freedom walking around a city with a camera. At 62, I still have that feeling but it was more pronounced when I was in my mid twenties, studying photography as a student at Ryerson Polytechnical Institute. I took a lot of photographs in my early years in Toronto, capturing street scenes and ordinary aspects of daily life that happened to catch my eye. American photographer Henry Wessel sums up my approach in this way: “Part of it has to do with the discipline of being actively receptive. At the core of this receptivity is a process that might be called soft eyes. It is a physical sensation. You are not looking for something. You are open, receptive. At some point you are in front of something that you cannot ignore.”
I had no way to anticipate how significant these Toronto photos would seem to me 30 years later. They show things that no longer exist, even though it hasn’t been that long. Without necessarily trying to, I caught images of buildings, cars, fashions, gadgets that are no longer part of our world. Toronto’s entire skyline is utterly changed, part of the inevitable growth and evolution.
Back in the 1980s I would shoot a roll of film (usually black and white), process it a few days later and make a contact sheet. After that I might make an enlargement of one or two of the strongest shots, and then move on. The contact sheets may have been reviewed from time to time when I was preparing for an exhibition, but basically I didn’t look at them for years and years.
Looking back, I wish I had taken more colour photos, but I’m thankful for the ones I have. There were reasons for not shooting much colour. First, there was the added cost; second, I didn’t have much access to a colour darkroom to make prints. And in those days black and white was the preferred medium for fine art and documentary photographers. Ernst Haas was one of the few to exhibit colour photographs. William Eggleston, Stephen Shore, Edward Burtynsky and other colour specialists were just emerging, and colour photography was not yet fully accepted in the art world.
There is a sense of hyper realism in a colour photograph, like looking at a Technicolor movie, that you don’t get with the more abstract black and white view. Japanese photographer Shin Noguchi is one of my favourites. Chuck Patch writes, in the introduction to Noguchi’s In Colour in Japan, “He prefers shooting in colour, because he says, black and white distances his audience by interjecting a layer of artifice between the viewer and the ‘Real World.’” And there’s also the psychological component of how the colours make us feel. Toronto In Colour: the 1980s is a collection of colour photos not seen in the three Toronto books I assembled previously; many of these images, in fact, haven’t ever been posted or published at all.
Toronto In Colour: the 1980s photographs by Avard Woolaver Hardcover, 44 pages; 89 colour photos 20 x 25 cm / 8 x 10 in.
Here are a few photos from the book. I hope you enjoy them!
The photos in my new book, Toronto In Colour: the 1980s, were taken during my time studying at Ryerson and a few years beyond graduation. I was doing street photography, looking for interesting people and scenes. My contact sheets formed a sort of visual diary. I carried my camera everywhere and shot about 800 rolls of film.
These images lay dormant for over thirty years. In 2016, with the encouragement of a friend and former classmate Michael Amo, I began scanning the negatives and posting the images on social media. Seeing images that had lain dormant for thirty-plus years was certainly a voyage of rediscovery! It seems there is a sense of nostalgia in the work. People love to remember their younger days and see a city that in some ways no longer exists. I thought that producing books would be a good way to edit the work and give it some structure. I put a lot of effort into the selection and sequencing of the images.
My intention is to connect with people in a meaningful way. Photography is one way of doing this. Toronto In Colour: the 1980s will be released on December 15, 2020, and will be for sale at Blurb Books.
Here are a few photos from the book. My camera sees the darndest things.
During the pandemic I have been in relative isolation, and have taken some comfort in returning to black and white photography. It takes me back to the late 1970s when I first learned to process and print black and white film. These days, however, I shoot everything digitally in colour, and do the conversions to monochrome later–it leaves more options.
I’m in my early sixties, which means I grew up with a black-and-white television. When I was young our TV got two channels, both of them snowy. Even shows that had been filmed in colour were, in our household and others like ours, translated into varying shades of grey.
And I loved paging through Life magazine; there, too, reality was shown in black and white. It became my default understanding of what a photo was.
Old family photos in my parents’ and grandparents’ albums, similarly, were in black and white. We had colour film, of course, and I enjoyed my father’s colour slides (shown on a big screen in the living room when we had company or at Christmas). But the basic set of beliefs I had about photos or images was that they were in black and white.
I think there’s some level at which, when I got seriously into photography in my twenties, I was working from that assumption. I still love looking at tonal variation and shades of grey—how a black-and-white photo can contain everything from deepest inky black to a pale, foggy, mist, to white and nearly silver. Black and white isn’t lacking, or second-best; it’s just different. American photographer Robert Frank called it the colours of hope and despair.
And it’s not better. There can be a kind of high-handedness about it, a sort of snooty, superior quality. A whiff of reading Russian novels at breakfast and watching only foreign films, an “I’m better than you” air. That’s an empty pretense, though. There doesn’t need to be any message in using it.
It’s beautiful. Colour is beautiful. Both are great—a pleasure to shoot, a pleasure to look at.
