Britt and Ian wed

Student Hat

Student hat. Concordia University; Montreal, QC // September 2011

This funny portrait was shot by an eighteen year old kid with a large mouth in early September of 2011. I was 25 then. His mouth suited him. He was curious and asked to shoot my Kiev 60 and then he surprised me by shooting me in the back of the neck. By the look of things, I was scrambling on foolscap to make a scrap of sense of the concept we were learning at the time: Exposure. Ha! Still learning that song. Three years ago feels like a long time ago / feels like yesterday. Looking at this photo from an arm's length now, I appreciate that time in life all the more. I had my hair cut then, on the cusp of great change while living by my lonesome in Montreal. Psychological chop. Three years of growth later and it has all come off again, to mark yet another cycle of learning. Diving into the deep with no bangs to block my way.

While the cold night winds of this wet September feel the same on the nape of my neck, student-hood feels different. I recently launched into a year long program to becoming a teacher of Montessori. Alternative learning / teaching. Cycling to class feels different. I caught myself grinning like a fool in the middle of insane rush hour traffic on the Sterling Lyon Parkway today, all thanks to that great feeling of being prepared for class. Ready. Read. Opinionated. Damn that felt good.

In class, which consists of a semi circle of small furniture in an actual Montessori environment built for 2-6 year olds with rugs and plants and hamsters and birds chirping, we are learning how to be children. Perfect, courteous children with absorbent minds, ready for anything. Open hearted. Curious. We observe the guide and then we teach each other. Watch me, she says. Are you watching? Yes. Would you like to try? Yes. We are expected to climb into the head of the child and feel around up there. Through acute observation and hands-on practice with miniature materials plucked from every day life, we are expected to eventually let go our premeditated handles on education and just BE. You be you and I'll be me. Watch and learn.

Observe. Guide. Respect. Listen.

It is humbling beyond words to be taught and re-taught the correct way to hold a saucer, to roll a mat, to tuck in a chair with grace, to snuff a candle, to pour from one vessel to the next in a specific sequence. How are we to teach if we are not taught the correct approach ourselves? This method is up for debate, I know. But thus far, the 100 year old philosophy of Maria Montessori's feels like something I can get behind. Or sink my teeth into. Or at least try on for size. It makes perfect sense in a way that I never could seem to understand while studying Fine Art photography. And that's okay. Photography will always be a tool I use to communicate what is deeply rooted within me, a secret way of seeing I cannot pen or plan. Teaching is in me to give. I know this. Just a few weeks into the philosophy, I am beginning to understand this as truth. There is much to learn, though the thought of the unknown does not overwhelm or consume me as it has in the past.

This is a good sign.

Below are a few photographs from the same roll as the portrait above, shot in and around Montreal in the first few weeks of autumn.

Aforementioned teen with large mouth. 

A man called Ron. I asked for his portrait and this is what he gave.

A chic lady in a lovely wool coat.

I remember feeling terribly heavy this day. My sister once said to me, "when you feel heavy, look up" so I did. Erin, this one is for you.

This was shot from the beautiful back balcony that I shared with Lo while living in Montreal.

Kiev 60 // Portra 400

Silver and Gold Have I None

Nature bath for Coco, Sara, Luke, Kaja, Chad, Reesa and Lisa.

Upstairs entrance, come on in.

Contrast flash blast of one of many hand-painted milk carton fixtures to illuminate the footpaths.

Natalie, you beauty.

Old and silvered cart. A perfect nook to pitch a tent.

Shot this series in and around a beautifully dense property on the Roseau River near St. Malo, home to the annual Rainbow Trout Music Festival. These are some of my favorite contrast shots from the festival weekend and they sum up the experience well for me. I had never taken my Kiev for a dip in the river before that portrait of Natalie was composed. She looks like a happy pup working hard to remain graceful in a river with a mind of its own. Natalie makes it look easy. I know I was working hard to remain graceful while blindly toeing my way over submerged terrain to the middle of the current with the camera above my head. Worth every step.

I have felt quite discouraged by my photo work in the last few weeks. Making errors I can't afford to, pulling technical stunts I should know better than to risk at this point. Just when I thought I had my wits about me, the harshest learning curve rushes in like a bandit in the night. It is humbling to hand over client based work that lacks the integrity I pride myself on. Ca va. Such is life, all one can do is keep reading, applying the lesson and moving forward.

Now that I am a student once again, it is time to lay my cameras to rest (in the interim) as I head back to the books. Endings, beginnings. It has been a hell of a summer for those work horses. Gotta lay low, brush up on the technical spectrum; you know, the usual. Same old song I'll be singing until I'm old and silver, no less. For now, I have three giant stencils to complete! Yikes what a laundry list. Two are in process, competing for my evening attention as the clock ticks louder and louder reminding me of the deadlines that draw near. The third, which has yet to be pioneered whatsoever looms larger than the rest. Tall orders. This is how I like to gallop into the new season: stencil projects in full effect lying on their backs all over the hardwood, change in the air, cold hands and wool jerseys in the morning, new information at the forefront of it all and a good book and a cup of tea beside the bed. Hot bath, candles.

Adios. Here it comes. I am ready.

Kiev 60 // Tmax 400

Mousing Season

It is suddenly mousing season. JJ sits in his highchair in a shaft of sunlight, a bowl of quinoa, poached eggs, slow roasted garden tomatoes and baby potatoes before him. The tail of a perfectly caramelized carrot dangles from his cheshire grin as he watches me, writing about him. As if on cue, a neighborhood cat runs across the backyard with a mouse in it's maw. JJ tells me there are ants in his lunch, though I know he is mistaken. We laugh at his new joke.

Early this morning I swung into the saddle to ride to work through a long, low fog. I couldn't help but slow to a stop on the pedestrian bridge over the wide, chugging Assiniboine River to contemplate the sudden changes all around. Cold hands grip handle bars and it is the perfect, perfect time of year to cycle in a wool jersey and tight layers early in the morning. Layers long peeled off for the ride home at dinner time. BBQ smells linger in the air along the river.

#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