#RTMF2014

Chelsea

Boreal

Jill

Andy

Chloe, Ben, Andrew

George

Reesa. This series was shot in the bush along the Roseau River near the town of St. Malo, MB. August 2014.

This past weekend spent at the Rainbow Trout Music Festival was a damn good treat for the soul.

The river, the river, the river.
The people, the people, the people.
The music, the music, the music.
The babies, the babies, the babies.
The food, the food, the food.

It was all good. Happy people all around. There were portraits to be found at every turn. Here are some portraits I asked for and some I didn't. This is what they gave.

Kiev 60 // Ektar 100

Grandpa

A moment between two strangers on a jobsite outside of Rosenort, MB.

Seeing as The Judd's song 'Grandpa' has been on loop in my head this week, I smiled long and hard when this photograph--shot two weeks ago on my dad's current jobsite--came back from the lab. Grandpa. I see my Grandpa Frank in my dad's hands. The hammer and pencil at ease in between thick fingers. Black nail of the builder. Co-op cap ringed with sweat. White T-shirt. Classic Cal.

Frank would never have been so liberal with his funny faces for the sake of a smile, but I see him in his son pictured here nonetheless. Frank's son, my dad. JJ looks concerned, determined and disgruntled by the hammer looking him in the eye. Typical look on that child. But little does he know how much love there is to had if only he got to know my dear ol' dad a little more.

They say a picture speaks a thousand words. This one speaks right to me. I love you dad. Can't wait to meet the Grandpa in you (no I am not pregnant). xo

* Olympus 35-SP // Kodak 400 vanilla

This Many

Meet Lissa. I asked for her portrait and this is what she gave. True self? Methinks so.

Re do. Her sister later corrected Lissa and kindly reminded her she is not three, but 4!

I love this little gremlin. Lissa is my neighbor to the north. I always ask before I capture any child's portrait (with parental consent when possible). I remember having my portrait taken as a little girl and feeling empowered when faced with the decision: Yes or No. Lissa said yes and gave her face wide open. She likes to come hang out in my porch while I carve away at the latest Arbus-inspired stencil crawling it's merry way across my glass topped table. She likes to water color paint or flip through the Maira Kalman art books I bring down for her. The other evening I introduced Lissa to the photography of Vivian Maier and she could barely wrap her brain around it. Too soon for street photography books? Her sister Tia (who is eleven) on the other hand, ate up the contrast images hungrily.

I can't wait to teach.

Kiev 60 // Portra 400 processed by Lab Works, scanned at Photo Central in Winnipeg. Support local.

Observation deck

I asked and this is what he gave. Forget his name now; should have written it in chalk on the board. What an amazing face of his. Young beauty.

Lo in the flesh in my porch. Can it be? It must be. 

My stars I love this creature. There she is, soft beauty.

Typical look of Lo making a weighty point, no less.

Bobbin' beside my flowers. Photo of me by Lo.

Riley with my witches broom and brew, off to paint new art over the old on the back shop. Summer tradition.

 * Kiev 60 // Delta 400 pro --- July 2014

Looking Glass

From time to time, I need to cry alongside the river. That old brown Red River is mighty swollen these high days of summer and last night it felt good to just let my woes go with the flow. No mask whatsoever. My oldest (not to be mistaken with eldest) friend in the book smoked a real skinny cigarette on a long log and nodded with those long black lashes leading the way wisely, while I just let 'er buck; heaving sorrow into that gurgling abyss as the sun set at our backs. Cheap whiskey out of a three day old Little Sister coffee cup, yup. Out of me, into the swollen river it went. Hi ho.

Below lies a very dear photo of my great grandfather. This is the man who taught me to wear hats. We have never met in physical form to my knowledge. He was long gone before my time. Though I have been getting to know him quite well through the lupe, diving deep into the grain of his negatives and seeing his world crack open in the dark of my basement. Family form / stepping back in time on a solo journey; this is how I like to party. Good eye Peter, good eye. And goddamn, what a hat!

PJB stands tall. Photographer unknown. Handprinted in my darkroom // 2013

The Iceman Cometh

This is Gaspar, Iceman of the Winnipeg Folk Fest. He asked me to title this photo "The Iceman Cometh".

Sun-filled sun porch.

Young Blue Eyes Serduletz looking sharp in a large hat.

Theodore and David ready for their portrait. I shot this from the open air kitchen I was working in.

A true blue Shit Eating smirk. 

Meet Timdian, my line cooking mentor. Order Here; we are team Diversity Foods.

JJ and myself. Photo by five year old Sloane.

Ladykilling grin.

Felix feeds.

Theodore and David, ready at last. 

Colorful fruit of July. The high arc of summer lends itself beautifully to color photography and I try not to take the easiness of the season for granted. I shot this aray colorful characters in and around July, weaving in and out of neighborhoods, on Victor observing scenes of home in different lights of day, whilst at work as a line cook in a hot and windy kitchen at the Winnipeg Folk Festival, in Charleswood working with my petit coucou JJ and entertaining his little family members from afar. July was bright and good. Thank you Ian of Shoppers Drugmart for doing such a bang up job my color film development. My bank account thanks you. 

As mentioned in the comment banter below with an old mentor (yes, you heard me Jer), while I appreciate the sure-shot qualities of the Canon EOS 3, it is TOO easy to use in actuality. Manual cameras are better for my brain, eye, heart. I prefer handling my heavy, mechanical, clunk-clacking Russian camera because it lends me a photo experience that that Canon cannot. As mentioned below, yesterday I shot a family series of some real damn fine dear ones in my life. I realized while walking around with my Kiev in the crook of my arm, rolls rolling in my pocket that I know that camera inside and out and was finally free of my handheld meter. I get it now, exposure. F'n A. Photo Professor Chih-Chen Wang of Concordia would nod in approval methinks. 

I need to go into the deep. What that means, I have yet to find out. 

Dear Universe, I am ready for the field camera when you are. The winds of change are howling. 

*Canon EOS 3 // Kodak 400 vanilla

Life's a Beach

Life's a Beach starring Dayna, Jill, Nik, Rollin, Olive, Beatrice, Ives, Jackson and Mortimer.

Bird's Hill beach, Winnipeg, MB.

Kiev 60 // Tmax 400

Papa Georgio's portrait

I asked and this is what he gave.

* Canon EOS 3 / Kodak 400 vanilla // whateverrr

La Vie en Rose

Miss Sloane, age five / Winnipeg, MB

Mister Jackson, age one / Winnipeg, MB

Their twin archer's mouths spell out their family relation; cousins for life. Serious summer, apparently.

* Canon EOS 3 // 400 vanilla

You Be You // I'll Be Me

Tonight I will sit and write, because I simply need to. While my body slumps with tiredness at this old desk by lamplight, I cannot help but straighten when I think of my 14 month old boss Jackson tossing and turning in his own sleep-state tonight. We fell in love this week. I should speak for myself: I fell in love with him this week. Hook, line and sinker. It took eight months of knowing each other to get here, but we have arrived. And today while he labored to breathe in my arms, those little goose honks coming in and out of his sick, wee body affirmed something new in me. I don't quite know how to articulate what it is exactly, but today I came away from my "job" with a new appreciation of motherhood, parenthood and more specifically for the mother of Jackson. How hard it must be to leave one's sick child in the care of someone else. While I am no stranger to that boy, I was not the one he needed today. He came down with a strong case of croup over night and it was quite a wake up call for all who love him dearly; the call being the fragility of life that is.

Being employed as a family's private nanny is a privilege I do not take for granted. It is the best job I have ever known and one I return to again and again. The two families I have worked with intimately in the past changed my life for the better. Not a day goes by that I don't think of Le Poulet or the Leopard Child. It took time, but we fell in love at some point too. We were not cut from the same cloth, these things take time.

For as long as I live I will not forget the feeling of walking with Le Poulet on my shoulders as if we were one. His trusting little paws resting on my head like a great hat. Or the way he liked the feel of wet concrete and how he taught me to appreciate the vantage point of lying down on a busy sidewalk in Montreal. Leo gathered energy from puddles in the back lane on Ruby and loved nothing more than sitting on the front stoop with a bowl of raisins and watching the world go by. I can't fathom the deep love one must feel for one's own. I do not have my own children, but today was one of those sweet, slow, hard, exhausting, worrisome days where I was given a good preview of what is in store for the mother in me. There were two specific moments in the day where that little creature communicated with me in such a fierce way without words or body language that I couldn't help but grin through my worry as we swayed together in the dark of his room. Jackson is an independent spirit who needs not a protective neck to snuggle into but today he found his way. 

Funny how swiftly the evasive mysteries of life tend to reveal themselves at the height of chaos. This work week has been challenging beyond explanation, but amidst the upset of the routine Jackson and I have carved out like a well-rehearsed dance, there was clarity. 

Strong love for another blonde boy not my own, clear as a bell. 

Strong admiration of a man whose mind never rests, clear as a bell. 

Strong sense of direction in a world that is always changing, clear as a bell. 

I have so terribly much to learn in this lifetime, it can become overwhelming when pondered too long. There is time. Everyday is for learning something new. Today I learned a valuable lesson about three year olds: check yourself before you wreck yourself. Around 8:45 this morning I became irrationally frustrated by the bullheaded decision of a boy named Lee to eat his granola out of a snack container intended for babies. Three year olds are not very rational creatures and he was incapable of grasping my exasperation over his flying mess of breakfast 2.0 that I would be responsible for cleaning up after he was finished. Eventually I realized I was fighting a losing battle with another kid not my own and gave up, instead envisioning how good it would feel to vaccuum that godforsaken carpeted dining room (??!!?) when he was fast asleep later on. BREATHE. WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT GRANOLA ON THE FLOOR. There's a baby over there that sounds like a goose, shift your focus. GET IT TOGETHER WOMAN. These were some thoughts I experienced today. 

These are minor things (though it felt good to put down). 

I am 28. As my friend Louis put it (well): it is an interesting and serious time.