He who means the most to me
My backyard, with a mood on
6:18:27 PM
twentyseven seconds
Time stamp: 6:17:34 PM
Time stamp: 6:18:01 PM
Whistler Backcountry: A Tale of Two Photography Formats
I’ve been planning the coming year. If things come together as I envision, my adventures in 2012 will be less about organized events and races and more about self-guided expeditions (admittedly of a relatively small scale). In this context, always desirous of documenting these outings, I’ve been considering how best to do so. My big professional photo rig weighs a ton and, composed as it is of delicate electronics, doesn’t lend itself to being hammered in unpredictable conditions. Chatting with a couple of the local photo intelligentsia the other day, I was bandying about the idea of getting something like the new Fuji x100 - no less delicate than my Nikon, but in a smaller package both lighter and easier to stow out of reach of the elements. The guys asked me why I didn’t instead take a small film camera with me, given their relative robustness. I didn’t have a good answer, apart from the fact the idea simply hadn’t crossed my mind and that the last time I’d shot film was six years ago. Like most of us, I’ve been spellbound by the speed, clarity and instant gratification of shooting digital images.
Spurred by this idea, when last weekend rolled around and with it the season’s first ski outing into the back-country, I figured I’d test it out. Though I don’t have a minimalist film camera of the sort the photo geeks were suggesting, I do have the granddaddy of iconic manual film cameras: a 30-year-old Pentax K1000. Pulling it from the back of my photo equipment shelf and dusting it off I realized that (1) I only had a couple of long-expired rolls of film, (2) the battery that runs the light meter was dead, (3) an amoeboid blob had taken up residence in the viewfinder, which I couldn’t get out but - crossed fingers - figured wouldn’t show up in photos, and (4) I had no time before leaving to address any of these issues.
So, armed with film that may not work and a camera housing a foreign object and that would require me to guess at aperture and shutter speed while shooting on the fly, I headed out with a crew of guys into the snow fields beyond the tops of Whistler and Blackcomb mountains. I ran out of film halfway through the second day so started photodocumenting instead with my iPhone. The photos from both cameras are below, the more familiar iPhoneography first. Apart from a crop or two, I’ve left all images, both digital and film, untouched - no colour correction, levels tweaks, etc. I find the sensory experience of the two sets of images completely different. Neither is right/wrong or better/worse, but I will freely say that I feel a warmth and approachability - a sense of homecoming - emanating from the film images; something I find missing in the precision of the digitals. Perhaps I’m suffering from grassisgreeneritis and will be over it soon, but for now I’m incredibly motivated to shoot more film.
iPhone
Film
An Expressed Thought for the Soul | Urbanite, Art Gallery of Greater Victoria
As a mad proponent of the arts, it was my pleasure recently to lend my camera to the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria’s latest Urbanite, a quarterly evening for gathering, music, mingling and a shared appreciation for the gallery’s latest installations - currently including Collected Resonance and a collection of the work of La Grande Dame of west coast art, Emily Carr.
Music | Magic | Chris Velan
I was the host last night, so it was my job to be attentive, make sure people were happy, comfortable, had what they needed. Part of the job description is wandering around, taking things in from different angles, scanning the room, looking for cues of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. Looking around last night, two images struck me, two stories written on faces. One story was common: shining eyes, lips turned upwards at their corners, focus extended completely towards the man at the front of the room, with the guitar slung from his shoulder. I try not to get my cheques issued by Hallmark, but the best word I have for what I saw on those faces is love. On another face, one in particular, I witnessed something else, something inward-focused: eyes closed, head slightly up-turned, rocking slightly to the music, a giving away to the music. Abandon. Bliss. And yes, likely, though differently expressed, love.
I can’t explain my deep love for music, the place it holds in my life. Heredity certainly provides no explanation. My parents, god love them, didn’t set me on this path. My musical recollections of my mother are of her walking around the house with a Walkman on, singing along to Rita McNeil or Cher, no music for the rest of us to hear, just mum’s vocals, volume set to 10. She may well be tone deaf. And then, of my dad, I have no musical memories at all - given the alternative perhaps it’s better than way. To my parents’ enduring credit, mind you, they did make a point of ensuring both my brother and I received as many music lessons as we wanted, though that number regularly exceeded the number my instructors were willing to give to their hellion musical charges.
But perhaps I’m missing the point, perhaps we don’t need to rationalize or find expression to explain our musical passions.
After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
~ Aldous Huxley
Perhaps it’s better just to close our eyes and open our ears to the music washing over us.
Notwithstanding the hosting duties last night, I found moments for that last night, letting Chris Velan’s talent and passion come slowly barreling over me from the front of the my living room. And even when on-task (or unable to help myself and taking a few photographs), Chris’ music is the kind that no matter your degree of focus it somehow has the osmotic ability to permeate your skin and keep you itching to pay better attention. My senses was constantly being drawn forward, into his lyrics.
The night raced on in that way, forty friends who almost uniformly had never before heard Chris play, sitting enraptured by the beauty belting from the small fuzzy package with his back to the Sooke Hills outside the window. It was a privilege to bring these two things together - talent and appreciation - to play some small role in the promotion of a deserving artist’s craft. And just desserts in the hugs and handshakes at the end of the night, the heartfelt thank-yous through lips and still-sparkling eyes.
Not thank you for things given by me and the friend who helped me put this night on. Thank you for things shared. For passion. For art. For a little magic. For Chris.
Yes, thank you, Chris.
More photos on Flickr. And, though it goes without saying at this point, if you have a chance to see Chris Velan in concert, take it.
Final Moments | Autumn Light | Backyard
