Pretty in pink

 

Pretty in pink by aylmerqcPretty in pink, a photo by aylmerqc on Flickr.

I recently had supper with a couple of friends I hadn't seen for a very long time. Over the course of the meal, one of the two told me that she didn't "get" my pictures she had seen online. I asked her what she meant, but she just repeated that she didn't get them and didn't seem able to explain any further. I wasn't quite sure what to do with the comment and laughed it off.

The remark clearly stuck with me and I've thought a bit more about it. It seems to me that -- in the absence of a shared vocabulary or grammar -- that's about all we can do: say what we do or don't "get." I wasn't bothered that we had different taste in photography, but it was frustrating that we didn't have a common language to discuss our different tastes.

When I saw the elements of this scene, I knew immediately that I wanted to compose a picture. The idea wasn't fully formed, but I found the dress incongruous in its drab surroundings and wanted to highlight the relationship. Only later, when reviewing and processing the image, did I think more about meanings and choices.

And perhaps that's why we don't always "get" what others are doing. Our language skills are limited. Or we don't do the work needed for understanding. Or both.

Cycling for Dummies


Cycling for Dummies
Originally uploaded by aylmerqc
This was a fun shot. I'd already decided to take the picture of the dummies, but wondered what to do with the empty frame of the mirror because the other side of the street was a bit bland. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this gentleman approaching on his bike and thought that he would do nicely for a background. I was pretty confident he would look over as he passed, to see what I was shooting... and he obliged. Human nosiness is usually a safe bet.

I also realized, over and over again on this trip to Toronto, that a part of me really misses the sheer variety of life and events available in a big city. Ottawa is a pale imitation and the semi-rural area in which we currently live is not even on the scale. Something for me to think about, I suppose, in terms of family, career and retirement interests.

Alley surveillance


Alley surveillance
Originally uploaded by aylmerqc
I had the chance to spend a day in Toronto with my camera a couple of weekends ago. I happened to hear of "Graffiti Alley," a back alley immediately south of Queen St. West between Spadina and Portland, so I went looking for it.

I wasn't disappointed and it was interesting to see some of the steps Toronto is taking to provide a "canvas" for graffiti artists in order to reduce the amount of ugly paint there is in the city.

Since the local business association seems to be ok with this, I guess it's a good thing. Otherwise, I think the rule should be quite simple: if you want to paint the outside of a building, start with the one you live in.

Dignity meets patience

I saw this gentleman at the rally for Egypt in Toronto's Dundas Square on January 29.

I wandered into the demonstration almost by accident and had a very interesting time in the company of an unusual collection of fellow-travellers: Iraqis, Tunisian pro-democracy types; a mix of pro-gay, Communist and broadly anti-regime Iranians; anti-mutilation feminists; a Welshman draped in his national flag; semi-pro malcontents; and the list goes on.

This gentlemen, a Tunisian-Canadian, stood out by reason of his calm demeanor and dignified appearance. He told me he'd been in Canada since the early '70s and was excited to see the changes that are taking place in his country of origin and those around it. I wished him well and said I hoped future governments would be able to offer their people freedom and prosperity.

That's not everything in life, but it's better than what many people enjoy now.

New York City!

We had the chance to visit New York a couple of months ago during my son's March break from school. This was my first trip to NYC, but it certainly won't be my last! Just a day's drive from our home, there's no reason not to come more often.

This shot is a vertical panorama of the main building at Rockefeller Center.

I had a lot of first impressions -- the realization that I could drive in New York during rush hour and not be involved in an accident (the pedestrians here are much more aggressive than the drivers); the overwhelming scale and vitality of the place; the awareness of just how much of our collective idea of what constitutes a modern city is tied up in New York; and the sense that there is something new around every corner.

To tell the truth, Ottawa-Gatineau seemed like pretty small beer when we returned from our trip.

What took me so long? Dunno, but I'll fix it.

Yukon Cinema

Time I got cracking and started posting here more regularly again. That will probably mean that I'll be putting up more of the pictures that I take on work-related trips around Canada -- this shot from Whitehorse, YT last fall is a prime example.

Yours, 'til the end of Tim

I may have lost the taste for Tim Horton's coffee. After several years of drinking a large, double-double from Timmy's every day (the office complex I work in has no fewer than three outlets), I can no longer stomach the stuff.

Yes, I know this is tantamount to high treason.

But the thrill is gone. In its place is a faux-caramel aftertaste that threatens to make me gag with every swallow. I will now take my coffee dollars elswehere or hope someone near my workplace can make a decent cup of tea (not as easy as obvious as you might think).

I may have to turn in my Canadian passport.

Photosho-off

There's no reason for this post... except to say how pleased I am that this image was selected to appear in Issue 5 of Photosho, a new Canadian photography magazine.

I made the image last year in Old Montreal, so it fits well in the gallery devoted to black-and-white shots of "Rural and Urban Architectural Grandeur." It was also nice to see that the photo made it into the online preview for Issue 5. If you're a Canadian photographer -- and even if you're not -- consider supporting the magazine by subscribing, advertising, or displaying your work in its pages.

Man the lifeboats!

We've got a forecast high of 13C tomorrow for the National Capital Region? With all this snow still lying around?

Now, doesn't it feel good to panic about something other than the economy for a change?

Time for some warmth and colour

There's no real reason to post this image, except that it is bright, and warm, and I feel like posting it.

We've had a long winter in the Ottawa Valley and, while it's not over yet, cracks are appearing in the snow's armour. Ice is hinting at receding and the accumulated yuck of the last few months is being unveiled at the side of the roads. We'll have weeks yet of cold and salt and sand blowing around -- and at least one end-of-the-world snowstorm -- but eventually rain will wash the anti-slip muck into our creeks and rivers.

It's March and spring will come. Even in Canada.

Bye, Gran

My mum's mum died just before Christmas. I would never have called her that, of course: she was always "Gran."

Gran was the hub of our extended family. Mother of seven, grandmother of 16 and great-grandmother to 23, she was the queen of our clan and no trip home was complete without paying a visit to her. Besides, that was where you were most likely to run into the rest of your relatives.

As the eldest grandchild, I have many years of memories of Gran from before we left Scotland in 1966 right up until the last time I visited her in mid-November. She was always glad to see her grandchildren and was proud of every one of us. She was absolutely convinced that we were all brilliant and I lost count of the times that she told me "you'd be good at that, son." It wouldn't have mattered what it was, from flying an airliner to performing brain surgery, I'd be good at it. If I was cheeky when I was younger, Gran would threaten to come to my "backside wi' a teaspoon." It wasn't much of a threat, but I seem to remember behaving. If I was cheeky in fun when I was older, Gran would usually just laugh. She enjoyed a good laugh.

When we got older and had our own children, Gran was thrilled with every new addition to the family. Even though you might think some of the wonder had gone out of the business after raising seven kids of her own, she still loved babies. And it didn't matter how many of us showed up at her house or, later, at her apartment -- we could always order out or, as the minister reminded us at Gran's funeral, just "pit another tattie in the pot."

That was Gran. And it was typical of the woman who decided in her 50s that it was time to emigrate to Canada to give the children she still had at home a better future than the one they might have in Scotland. Over the years, her adult children followed with their own families until all my aunts, uncles and cousins were in Canada. Most located within 20 or 30 km of "Gran Central Station."

I'm not sure what will become of our big family now that Gran has gone. We'll all miss her, of course, but I think we'll also wind up seeing each other less. Perhaps that's inevitable when the centre of something big and growing finally gives way.

I know I'll miss her. Bye, Gran.

Reality: pre-, mid- and post-processing

No one would believe that this image of the pond behind our house is a factual recording of an actual scene. Yet it makes me think about a question I often hear from people who are beginning to get serious about their photography.

Concerned about how much an image should be manipulated after it has been taken, they fret about the best techniques for "getting it right" in the camera in the first place. The idea is that there is a way to take a picture "as it really was." They often look back fondly at film-based photography as being more honest and less subject to manipulation than digital photography.

This concern is entirely misplaced -- and not just now, in the digital age. While there may be a popular understanding that photography offers a documentary view of the world in a way that other graphic arts do not, it completely ignores the fact that everything about the photographic process is an abstraction. From the photographer's choice of subject matter, time, place, lens and angle of view, to the projection of a three dimensional world onto a two-dimensional screen or sheet of paper, there is not a single aspect of the process that is not subject to interpretation and alteration. From the very first image on a light-sensitive surface until now, not a single photograph has escaped being fiddled with.

We could ignore this truth during the film years by squinting through our cameras with one eye and then entrusting our film to a lab -- thereby concealing the impact of the photofinisher's choices and our own selection of film type. The difference today is that most of those choices have become explicit and obvious as even rank beginners have access to powerful image manipulation software.

Manipulation has always been the norm. But it is now impossible for photographers to ignore the impact of choices they make between scene and finished product. And our understanding of the relative importance of camera work versus "process" is also changing. The job is not about creating a document in-camera that preserves the scene as it really was -- it's about capturing data that will best support the image we choose to present to the world. And it always has been.

So, perhaps we should stop talking about our time on the computer as "post-processing." There is no time when we are not processing.

In praise of monotasking

As with many people I know, there is an unrelenting contest for my attention. From the moment I get up until the moment I turn out the light, someone or something wants me to listen, agree, react, spend, perform, change or press "enter." In my current job, I receive over 200 work-related e-mails a day.

A colleague asked me last week why I was attracted to photography. Although there are a number of reasons, the one he was able to appreciate fastest was the fact that using a camera lets me slow down and use a different side of my brain. As long as I'm holding my camera, I can view the world around me through a 2x1-shaped rectangle, one frame at a time. If I turn my lens this way or change my angle of view that way, a whole new vista comes into focus.

Time goes by at a different rhythm as I stop merely navigating my surroundings and start seeing and interacting with them. I can resolve complex scenes into their component lines, patterns, tones, textures and colours. I can isolate details and abstract them from their surroundings. I can see the world around me with fresh eyes.

Making pictures lets me concentrate on doing one thing at a time, because I choose to and to suit no one else but me. It's therapy and I'd miss it. So would the people who have to live with me.

Grudging appreciation

One of the benefits -- sorry, the only benefit -- of having beavers in the area is that you're guaranteed to have a pond in short order. The pond in question here is on farmland immediately behind our place and the lack of an outlet for the water means that the creek is gradually flooding our yard.

We've had the City send trappers several times over the years to... uhhh... relocate the little darlings (hats and mits, I expect). It's always a struggle to get the City to respond, so I usually fall back on reminding them what would happen to the nearby road should the dam ever break. By the time I get done with the clerk on the phone, the fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse sounds suspiciously like a semi-aquatic rodent.

The beavers are insatiable pests, so I have to keep reminding myself not to admire their industry. And I have to further remind myself not to enjoy the pond they've created, especially when the sun shines through the clouds and my youngest son and I go to take pictures of the riot of colour reflected on the surface of the water.

No. Must...not...appreciate...beavers.

Bed of red

I got up a bit earlier this morning to have breakfast with a couple of friends and then slip in to church.

After the service I went for a brief stroll to visit this pile of bright red leaves at the base of a nearby maple tree (I had spotted them on the way in to the parking lot).

This part of the world is blessed most years with a brilliant display of fall colours. The still-mild days, coupled with the chilly nights, seem to bring out the best in the hardwood trees of the Ottawa Valley. Gatineau Park, just a few minutes away, is renowned for its colours and attracts thousands of people each year at this time. The display usually peaks around the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, when traffic and parking control become necessary. The park is there to be enjoyed, but it can be disheartening to see the hordes tramping down vegetation and idling the engines of their road whales.

The fall colours and the invading vandals bring another challenge: with all those shutters clicking in front of similar patches of foliage, is it still possible to say anything fresh or interesting? I continue to hope so -- because the leaves are just too great an invitation to pass up.

Holiday (noun) versus vacation (noun)

We don't think much about the words we use to describe time away from our regular routines. Our holidays are rarely "holy days" to mark changes in agricultural or liturgical seasons -- even the ones that are holdovers from more observant times such as Christmas and Easter. (A few urban pagans still attempt to mark soltices and harvest and planting moons, but it all seems a little silly for people whose closest ties with the earth are forged at the produce counter.)

I'm guessing vacation from the daily world of work is closer to what most of us experience. To be honest, I shamelessly "vacated" at the start my annual leave this year. I abandoned work on a Friday evening and made a beeline for PEI with the family first thing the next morning. As I moved short-sleeved shirts, sandals and books into an unfamiliar closet, though, I could feel myself gradually downshifting into a slower rhythm. And it came with the smell of salt, the feel of wet sand and the sound of waves just outside. Perhaps it would be a holiday, after all.

In the End — The Beginning

A friend of mine died a week ago today and I attended his memorial service on Monday. Bob was closer to my gran's age than to mine, but it wasn't until the last couple of years that I noticed he had gotten older. The death of his wife Mollie and a stroke took their toll on him.

I think I overlooked the passing of time because Bob's outlook was always creative and fresh. He didn't exhibit the rigid habits of mind that so many older people — and some younger people — seem to have. He was always ready to learn, to teach, to discuss, to argue, and to re-examine in the light of experience and Scripture. I think that is a great model of humility. Bob would just have called it being a disciple — a learner.

I will miss swapping e-mails with him and going down to Kingston for visits. Bob and Mollie always showed me great generosity of time, space and spirit. (I think the strongest reply Bob ever gave to one of my less-than-thought-out pearls was a quiet, "Extraordinary.") I wish I were more like him.

The great thing about attending the funeral of a disciple like Bob is the atmosphere of unfeigned hope and thanksgiving that hovers over the congregation. A few people had tears in their eyes, but the tears often went with laughter over some story of Bob's.

I don't have a photo to go with this post. Instead, the creation account in Genesis 1 explodes against a background that is "formless and void." It helps me to remember that creative people like Bob come from, and return to, the God who creates and who makes all things new.

Tango

I'm stumped. I liked this image well enough to post it to my Flickr account, but didn't think it was any great shakes. It's just a quickie shot taken on an enjoyable summer's outing -- some nice blue-green bokeh and two sharp little ladybugs getting intimate.

(At least, I think they're getting intimate -- I know so little about insects that one of them might actually be devouring the other. Which is also an intimacy, I suppose.)

All that aside, I've been surprised to see the response this shot has generated on Flickr. In no time at all, it has made it into Explore and become one of my most "interesting" images. Now, I know that Flickr's "interestingness" has been talked to death and that gallons of pixels have been spilled on the Colonel's secret recipe of views, comments and speed of response that lie behind the index. The whole mess is sometimes dismissed as a perverse kind of popularity contest that rewards some types of images (puppies, kitties, babies, boobies) and ignores others entirely.

I know it frustrates many people on Flickr when they believe that their best work -- or sometimes all of their work -- is passed over by Explore. I understand that completely. So, when a shot of two amorous (or carnivorous) red dots gets the nod, I have to admit... it kinda bugs me.