Writings, Reviews, Cultural Criticism
When I’m out with my camera, I’m drawn to horses the same way I’m drawn to children blowing bubbles and protesters rioting. Photographically speaking, horses make a great subject, especially on a 21st century city street where they seem so out-of-place.
In an essay called “The Ideal Palace” John Berger tells about a creation by Ferdinand Cheval, a “peasant” country postman who, in his spare time, spent 33 years and some 93,000 hours building a massive monument from stones.
If Dr. Seuss were writing his “How The Grinch Stole Christmas!” in 2019, I think the Grinch would be a fanatical Christian.
As I walked through the cemetery, I found myself entering a Zen state. First was the enveloping silence. As I pressed further into the grounds, the sounds of the city—traffic, construction, shouts—receded and other gentler sounds drew to the foreground…
This is the endemic neglect one can expect from a long string of mayors and city councillors who have drunk the neoliberal Kool-Aid: slash government, lower taxes, defund social spending on things like public health, social housing, road repair, snow removal, libraries, public parks and, of course, the TRCA.
I had seen signs around the downtown core declaring a Global Climate Strike on September 26th 2019. Inspired by the outspoken activism of Swedish high school student, Greta Thunberg…
A funny thing happened. When I walked down Yonge the first time, all my photos were in black and white. But when I joined the parade and walked down a second time, all my photos were in colour. It was just like in the Wizard of Oz.
The more I tread the same ground with my camera, the more I come to recognize that an unwitting theme of my work is disappearance.
I milled around on King St. each of University for a time, reminding myself that, as a street photographer, I wasn’t there to photograph a parade, but to photograph the people who come to see the parade. So I started walking.
Last night was game six of the NBA championships. Throughout the series, I keep telling myself I’ll go down at night to photograph people going mental in and around Jurassic Park, but I keep playing mind games with myself, inventing reasons why I should stay at home, put up my feet and read a book…
For the time being, the images I make are the product of my true vision, and mine alone, but inevitably they will ascend to the pantheon of cliché as do all images, for like all truth the truth of my vision is provisional. It is not my entitlement, but a momentary privilege.
Le Grand Continental is a 30 minute line dance inspired production choreographed by Montreal’s Sylvain Émard.
This year’s theme was Until We’re Safe, acknowledging, among other things, the murders committed by Bruce McArthur. It was disheartening to see a group of “Christian” freaks near the end of the parade standing on the north side of Dundas at Victoria Street.
There are two kinds of people: those who share their umbrella, and those who do not.
Following my personal theory that “scary-looking” dudes are sometimes lonelier than the rest of us precisely because they are “scary-looking” and are therefore dying to talk to people, I asked if he’d mind me taking some shots. Once again, my theory seems to have been validated. He smiled. His face opened up. We started to talk. His name is Ben.