Writings, Reviews, Cultural Criticism
As with thousands of other kids who passed through the conservatory program, Glenn Gould was an enormous presence lurking in the background. I was one of those nerdy kids who collected vinyl. I bought everything by David Bowie, Pink Floyd, Brian Eno … and Glenn Gould. I had both releases of the Goldberg Variations, both volumes of the Well-Tempered Clavier, Partitas, Haydn Sonatas, Mozart Sonatas.
I was shooting in Callaghan Lane, near Dundas & Parliament, when a guy spotted me and came over to chat. Before he went on his way, I asked if he would pose for me.
This is a selection of photos I shot while walking along Bloor Street & chatting with whomever I bumped into. There are times when the camera becomes a tool not so much for making images as for setting aside the customary barriers between strangers and enabling connection.
More men at work to supplement a January post on the same theme:
Despite the luridity of Toronto’s literary imagination (I know there’s no such word as luridity but it seems to work), its ravines aren’t always the dark repositories of our unconscious desires.
This is Richard. I was climbing the stairs from Ted Rogers Way to Huntley Street and he was sitting on the top step so I stopped and we chatted. The conversation was rambling, driven by a free-association game that Richard seemed to be playing with himself.
So Saturday we’re driving down Highway 27 from Haines City towards the Polk County Sheriff’s Office at the corner of Thompson Nursery Rd. It’s 32 degrees Celsius which is a far cry from the sub-freezing temperatures we left behind in Toronto. We pass a sign advertising a gun show this weekend.
Some images from Sunday’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade here in Toronto. I didn’t mean to take these photos. It’s just that I had to go through the parade to get home and happened to have a camera in my pocket. Incidentally, the parade taught me a valuable lesson. In an attempt to get interesting angles…
I met The Dragon near Parliament & Winchester. He was standing outside with his Timmies and a cigarette. Why The Dragon? He said it was because his mom gave him a crazy-assed name no one could remember or pronounce. He told me the name and he’s right; I couldn’t remember it or pronounce it if…
Over time, as I do more street photography, I expect I’ll accumulate enough images to mount a credible “Men At Work” series. To be balanced, I should also mount a “Women At Work” series, too, but that will take longer because there seem to be far fewer women who work in open spaces.
I was walking down Parliament Street past Regent Park when I heard a voice: Excuse me. Excuse me. May I ask you a question? There was a man sitting on some steps. He held out his hand and asked for money. I gave him a twonie.
Fur is an imaginary riff on the life of Diane Arbus, who has come to be known as a photographer of freaks. That description might be a bit caricatured, but that’s what it comes down to.
When I see someone panhandling, or simply sitting there, obviously homeless, my usual response is no response at all. I stare straight ahead and direct all my energy to reaching a point further along the sidewalk. I pretend there is no hand outstretched, no voice asking if I can spare some change.
As a rule, I don’t do event photography. I prefer tramping around alone in a landscape (forest/urban/whatever). But every rule has its exceptions.
As we approach the September 18th referendum in Scotland, I will be posting images from my 2nd favourite place in the world (my first is my home — Toronto). I don’t feel it’s my place to express an opinion one way or another.