Nathan Phillips Square is a large city square in downtown Toronto (12 acres) that is the home of Toronto City Hall. It is a place of numerous activities–skating rink, farmers’market, concerts, demonstrations. There is often lots going on here, but at other times it is eerily empty.
It is a place that I rarely went to for an event; I was usually just passing through. So my photos are usually just little glimpses of what was happening there. Looking back at my contact sheets from the 1980s it seems that I passed through Nathan Phillips Square a few times a year. It was a good place for photos–lots of open space, interesting architectural details, plenty of concrete, and human activity.
These photos were just random moments at the time, but mean a lot more to me now as I rediscover the past life of my 20s. It reminds me that life is short and we must Carpe diem— “sieze the day.” 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’ve always been amazed at how images, like words, can convey so much emotion. I have always thought of black and white photography as an abstract medium and colour photography as a psychological medium. American photographer Elliot Erwitt said, “With colour you describe; with black and white you interpret.” If it’s true that colour appeals to our emotion and leaves less to our imagination, then it makes sense for us to be judicious in using it.
This can have a lot to do with how the photo is framed—how much of a particular colour, or colours to leave in or crop out. When I view a scene, then, I look for ways to combine colours–for me, it’s about balance. Sometimes a tiny splash of red is enough to counteract a sea of green, or a little orange goes well with a lot of blue. There are no hard and fast rules here, but the conscious combining of colour is something to keep in mind when you’re out taking photos.
On Instagram there are dozens of filters to choose from, each giving the image a certain look, but it seems the most-used Instagram filter is “normal”–that is, roughly the colours our eye sees. And that’s good news for an old-school guy (like me) who believes that colour is something to be observed, not added with a filter.
This photo was taken in Toronto, near the corner of Carlton and Parliament, in 1982. The area is known as Cabbagetown and was my neighborhood during my first two years in the city. I’d moved to Toronto 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.
My apartment was tiny, basically a 12 x 15 room with a fridge and stove, no counter and no kitchen sink. Dishes had to be washed in the bathroom sink. The walls were 1960s era wood paneling, and filled with cockroaches. A window left open allowed easy access for squirrels–one day I came home to discover they had chewed up my prized Bose speakers. It wasn’t exactly a palace, but the rent was only $175 a month, and it was close to school.
I felt at home living in the neighborhood. It was a bit run down but never seemed threatening or dangerous. Having moved from rural Nova Scotia, it was a good place for me to start exploring the streets with my camera. When I look back of my photos from this time, I find I can remember taking so many of these shots. And, of course, there are many others I have no recollection of taking, pictures from places I can’t remember being and sometimes can’t even identify. Moments fly past us, noticed or unnoticed, all with their particular shadings of beauty and uniqueness.
Cabbagetown got its name from reports in the 1870s that Irish immigrants were digging up their front lawns to plant cabbages. The area is known for its large number of preserved Victorian era houses, and also for its numerous homeless shelters and drop-in centres–apparently the highest concentration in Canada. Gentrification began in the 1970s and these days it isn’t so run down and scruffy.
Because its so close to the downtown core, Cabbagetown has long attracted urban professionals as well as writers and artists. Famous residents include Robbie Robertson, Avril Lavigne, and Al Purdy.
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.
Reflections create another layer of reality in a photo. It can be like gazing into an alternate world, or listening to the layered sound in a Brian Eno recording.
When I was a boy I would walk around the house looking down into a mirror. The reflections of the ceiling created a whole new space to walk in. Several years later when I first picked up a camera, I was drawn once again to layered images found in mirrors, windows, and water.
