Sunday 30 December 2007

I thought that I had ordered Sent a Letter by Dayanita Singh. I was expecting it 21 December when Amazon said it would arrive. It is a seven volume set of photographs that she made when travelling about India and made with specific people in mind.

In my usual detailed oriented state, I went to Addall and after minutes of frustration trying to find a hit for any of the words associated with the book. What arrived was Go Away Closer - a nice title in my penchant for Robert Frank titling.

The size of the envelop when it arrived had me heading back to the internet to see if I had got it right - one volume, thin, about 7x6 inches. It seems that Sent a Letter is yet to be published.

Couldn’t be more pleased with the book, as it gives some sort of validation for my working method. The book is one short of my prime numbered books - 33 - each image significant but in the way that it states something and is quite significant but is strengthened by their arrangement. Some work as diptych-like others lead work as links. They hover between the private and public.

Personally feel better for at the WGAS among exulted tenured, making photographs is rare, making enough photographs to sequence them into a book is unheard of - except for some misplaced E.U. member.

This book is accessible in it manner of production - well not the professionalism in the printing, Steidl is to Lulu is what real artists are to the world of the WGAS - but it wasn’t the mammoth size of Misrach’s The Beach where he seemed to attempted to make the snaps the same mural sized prints that were on the wall.

I did receive the Go Away Closer a bit late as this semester there was a surge of on demand book-making that took place in two classes that also seeped somewhat into the student population in general. It could have been useful in the Field Trip Class that favoured the i-books and mine where to my chagrin I thought Lulu wold be better.

This would was perfect in the idea of an essay which is similar to a writing essay, a complete - but not a closed - thought. The strategy for class - at least my class - for using a print on demand book was that one would have to have a series of photographs, a thought, and a idea of a body. It would mean that work could not so open-ended. The print on demand instead of a crafted “artist” book so that those who cannot work with glue and knives wouldn’t feel left out and the caché of a book that imitates those one spills their double lattès on at Boredoms.

Envy comes as once again it is all down to funds. Steidl make sure that the book is pristine so that one doesn’t trip over the printing on the way to the snaps. I take the blame for thinking and hoping that Lulu could be close when in fact while it is no worse than i-Books it is bad in a completely different way - problems with evenly printed solid colours. Was embarrassed after touting Lulu due tests done before school ended for the summer, hearing how much it sucked. My second attempt proved them right.

Now though there is a whole subset of people researching quality of specific print on demand publishers at the WGAS and I have placed my order for Sent a Letter.

Sunday 23 December 2007

Referencing the priveleging of my practice

Bravo Roberta Smith!
I was at an endless meeting reading horrible statements written by students in the hopes of getting shows the poverty of the statements is due to we the faculty of the WGAS making up for the paucity of shows with a dialect of English barely understood outside white walls.

After seeing ‘investigation’ pop up for the tenth time in eleven applications, I thought of having a call for words or phrases that should be banished from art English. Due to my procrastination - remember in this is a conceptual school, actual carrying through with the idea isn’t really paramount - Roberta Smith beat me to it in to-day’s New York Times.

Here's hoping that in the near future the only subgrouping of the human race that can freely butcher English will be sportcasters.
“On the bottom shelf of the library were twenty volumes of THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE, each one clothed in a navy blue cover and bearing a torch of gold. Inside on the frontispiece was a drawing of the globe resting on a bed of clouds and showing the lines of longitude and latitude… the first page of my favourite section, THE BOOK OF WONDER , showed children gazing up at the heavens…
She also wrote down poetry she had memorised and painted an illustration. Tom referred to these random accumulations as the Book of Wander.”
Joan Clark – LATITUDES OF MELT


It was a Pavlovian response, when being offered a show mid-January, I said yes. It is hard wired into us, even those of the conceptually based WGAS, we need them for the CV, for validation.

As soon as I had agreed I wondered why. I never like the outcome, it seems a waste of money. No one actually sees them and the busiest time in a gallery is when booze is being served and then people come to see who else shows up as the work is impossible to see.

Mind you they can be useful, in Pouch Cove I wanted to see if it was possible to make a large space intimate and what size prints would be needed so that one could still feel the personal relationship to the work as one would in a book - wouldn’t have to worry about the crowds. Also there I wanted to sell.

But, as I stated, outside of the creative community, except for a brave bayman’s family, no one from the village dare enter the space. As I have also stated that while I ‘m sure that Carol would prefer that I took up gambling as less money would be wasted and there would be a slight chance of some funds coming from the effort, the money spent putting up a show would keep me in mailings for a good six months.

I am continuing to use the space afforded me at the University of the South as an experiment. - the opposite of what I did in Pouch Cove which looked like I was a rational human being quite in control of what I do - which most people know couldn’t be further than the truth.

This time it is opposite of this summer, the images will be small, different sizes and placed all over as if I were some brown version of Yamamoto - definitely not Tillmans - I won’t distress the images the way that Yamamoto does but will mix format and styles. Based around the books of wander, but exploded, vomited over the walls in a form of loose exquisite corpses. This means, gelatine silver prints, and archival pigmented prints, black and white and colour. I am going against my evil twin’s suggestion of less is more.

Liking Allen’s hanging at the MCA where she used magnets, and not wanting to use neither frames nor have the hanging devices show, am going to try to do the same as I want the images to float out from the wall somewhat flat but not as if they were on fome core. Everything is a balance here as I don’t want them to overly curl as some fibre based paper does but don’t know how dry the room will be.

Not knowing the space but reckoning that it would have four walls, thought of using the major points on the compass as a basis for the hanging. Also panicked as I have to not only figure out what images I want to use but what will determine the size. Think of being contrary here by making what would seem to be important small and those images with little to see larger.

I had planned to start all of this - 18 December - yeah right - so that I could plan the days and not have a race at the end. There was a moment of maturity with the show last summer when I did start working on it in February and stuck more or less to the plan. I hold no hope for this sot of working method this time - holidays. I also thought/hope that this will keep my mind off the fact that I am not in Pouch Cove this winter. That I shall be so busy that January will pass without thinking of where I could have been. The snow and seeing how people handle it here doesn’t help at all.

Having seen the floor plans, I have been calmed a bit, a manageable amount of running space. Only two walls three spaces. Ok I can breathe.

That is until I wrote the Tanzanian of the South only to find out that I have both galleries.

Breathe. Breathe.

Ok so plans change as the space becomes grander, I’ll become more schizophrenic. The first room will still show my manic confusion but the second, going against what I had said this summer, will be six to eight large archival pigmented prints showing some control.

Now all I have to do is start.

Monday 17 December 2007


I found myself uploading Creative Suites 3 in its entirety one Saturday. I had planned on uploading it, then going on to make some post cards and catch up on the backlog of books.

It seems that spending the morning getting it on the laptop then cleaning it up and finally finding that it took up too much space became peeved.

Peeved because I wasted a morning. Peeved because I really didn’t need CS3. I am quite happy with CS2 but something in me said that I had to have the latest.

I also noticed recently that I have been spending more time upgrading than actually making work. it started with the death of the 2200 but also went through the seemingly never ending task of backing up what I have done. I have backed up so much it takes me more time to find the most recent version than it did to make it.

I find that the digital world has now supplanted the analogue one in yet another facet. This time those losers who would come into camera shops drooling over the Leitax Orgasmoflex 5EX knowing full well that with one their images will be better and a MacArthur Grant will surely follow are now looking down their noses at those with last quarter’s operating system or application.

I fell for it. Everything was running swimmingly but there is was. The newest upgrade and well.

This wouldn’t have happened in the analogue world. In the analogue world – at least the one that I inhabit – passé is de-rigueur. To have something up to date, the latest incarnation seems so…gauche as it is well known that those older tools add a cache – ok enough of the French.

I know that in my position teaching I will have to know and use the latest upgrade but that doesn’t mean that I have to slavishly do the same in my own work. Sitting in front of this for everything has become less and less fulfilling and worse I don’t find that I really have anymore control here than I do in the darkroom. I also find that this brave new digital world is bankrupting me and while there are places where keeping the image making process perfectly dry that can be done in a lit room, means being able to work in more places – been secretly subtly turning Martin and Gabrielle’s place into a imaging place and thought until the week-end of frustration, that the next time they were there it would be more or less complete with a new scanner.

Sunday, I went into the 12C basement to make gelatine silver prints. I turned off the lights, found the negs, made a few test strips – but less than what I make on the computer, and lived by that old work ethic of a faculty member at Columbia College – enter with a full box of paper, leave with an empty one.

It was cathartic. I had to focus on one thing. The time rocking the dish allowed me to think and actually edit as I went along. I was less frantic.

The laptop did come in handy though. With the screen black, I could catch up on all podcasts of Ideas and Outfront that had been piling up.

Sunday 16 December 2007

Saturday 8 December 2007

these pictures, it seems,
need more than a thousand words
WGAS crits

Saturday 1 December 2007

skidding unploughed roads
my elegy to winter
is hard to recall

Looking at all the faculty searches somehow leaves me cold – unintended but foreshadowing pun – I see position in New Mexico, Georgia, and Southern California and cannot see myself living in any of them.

At first I think that it has to do with the lack of sizeable bodies of water, Mountains are fine but deserts - even though I hear Albuquerque is nice. I cannot place myself there.

Then the day before Yanksgiving, there is the first panic of the year. The weatherman predicts measurable snow. Most panic. It is only going to be an inch but even here in the upper Midwest people are worrying about travel, accidents and the other anchors remark that they cannot wait until spring.

Strangely I cannot wait. Flying back from Charm City, I found it strange that the autumn colours had just started as I looked down form the plane. I catch Jacinta Wall when she reads the temperature

-Labrador City minus 6
-Happy Valley – Goose Bay mtininus10
-St. Anthony zero
-and here on the Avalon 6 degrees.

I check to see what would test my endurance. I welcome seasons. It seems that the people that I get along most with welcome them also. They are the ones out and about in winter and not hibernating waiting for March – or around here April. Maybe it is because the cold keeps the riffraff off the streets and I can wander not worrying about fair weather dilettantes.

Everyone is “freezing” now – although we have had only one day below 0C. It furthers my theory that most people don’t like to be outdoors and winter gives them a better excuse than summer.

Am at the WGAS in a talk where a photographer is showing his work. Large format from coast to coast to coast and one of the first things that I notice is snow.

Not National Geographic snow not the whiteness celebrated but snow common half melted, rutted snow remnant that one finds in most urban areas north of the Mason Dixon Line. That snow that stays until spring the way that weeds stay until autumn.

I found that remarkable as it not only meant that he was outside in winter but also didn’t let winter impinge on his work, He had taken the snow and thus winter for granted.

Which is not true I don’t take winter nor the cold for granted I am fully aware of it and prepare for it but don’t hide from it.

I had this discussion with a minor CBC presenter about here in below the 49th mythic space is the West, above it, it is the North. I drool at the idea of seeing Labrador – but even I am not sure of those temperatures, I keep applying to the KIAC so that I can make that drive north and seeing everything fall away. I am sort of envious of that same presenter as he plans to drive the ice roads this winter as soon as he finds a satellite radio.

This was the change. This was where I could distinguish the hibernators from the celebrators. On the train through the richer northern suburbs – backyard hockey rinks being flooded, Baseball diamonds turning into skating rinks.

I think of January and how I’d like to be at Martin and Gabrielle’s – even more so now that they have a stove again. To be around people who are out as much in winter. Henry heading down to Bruce’s for his coffee and Canadian, Russ and his morning walks this time across the ponds behind Pouch Cove, Jonathan always doing something but making sure it is outside. Mulley out in the shed, as is Ted.

There is pond hockey which I have been trying to photograph for the past eight years – blame global warming.

With the cold and the snow the lethary has lifted as it means either warmish mauzy days or cold clear days where shadows are as tangible as the objects that cast them. Cannot wait to get out.

Friday 23 November 2007

what no tofurky?

Since it is a never ending question, Yanksgiving dinner comprised of aubergine parmasan - made by Carol, real cranberry sauce - nothing that slides out of a tin 50's B movie style - sweet potato pie and pumpkin cake made by her mum, and curried butternut, apple soup and a somewhat misshapen B movie mutation ciabatta made by me.

There was no green been casserole.

Thursday 22 November 2007

compare and contrast

I had somewhat planned an extreme ding dong ditch when in The Cities. Since I had finally seen the end of the tunnel with the work while done on the residency in Gros Morne, and was well on my way to making books to hand out to people on the rock mainly as thanks, thought that I would experiment with one that after everything was over with at Kmack’s, I would leave the book hidden only to be found when Coach and I were back on I-94 dodging deer.

It was a last minute idea as I was still editing it and it had yet to be sown the night before, in a fit of hyperactivity I finished it and was ready.

Driving up I was pretty pleased with myself – I still don’t know why this method of delivering work interests me so much – except for the fact that it may the antithesis of the artist mentality. As a so-called artist I am supposed to put my work up and stand back and allow the admiring public to shower me with accolades. It seems to me that the imaging what will happen is more interesting than what actually does so. Ding dong ditch.

After the wine fest, and back in the North-East, seeing the things being offered for the auction, there is was NEW FOUND LAND. While I was planning my book drop there was hers made at the same time of the same period bombing up and down The Great Northern. It was the pic-nic table in the Parks Canada house all over.

Raced out to the machine so that I could show her the coincidence and giving up the extreme ding dong ditch, handed her the book.

Mine was overly precious, large format, black and white, looking like an artist book, hers was more like note taking, colour, made with a camera she took up at the last minute, but more professional it looked professionally published although hand-made and bound by her.

It was funny to recognise the same places at treated differently in the two tomes. Some quite similar Linda’s Place where she was a bit further back than I was. Some while recognisable completely different images.

The talks of officially sanctioning the other’s method of making images – me approaching objects straight on, she preferring the diagonal – we made apparent. Except for Linda’s Place my images were usually further away from the subject than hers were. She was much more willing to experiment – images stitched together. Mine seemed like a series of facts in which the total would make the experience while hers were more going for broke within the particular image. I saw images of hers that I had edited out of mine and she saw the same.

What was elucidating was that both spoke of the underlying humanity of the place and both books seemed optimistic but they came from opposite approaches. I used to think that my snaps had the ambiguity of the sense of people – had they just left or is there an anticipation of their arrival. In comparison with hers though mine were decidedly more about things left. Hers were more first person – her hand in the images – more playful, the seemingly nekkid Hemingway of the Rock on the beach – and there were actual people - George at the Seabreeze. Hers were definitely more surreal in the quotidian. Mine were more ceremonial when dealing with the same. While my thesis was - and is - that while Gros Morne in particular and Newfoundland in general is incredibly beautiful, people live here, comparing the works hers is more "lives" while mine seems to be more past tense. Ironically the titles were just the opposite. Mine was simply JUST BECAUSE.
So here were the results of the month long supper chats and motoring rants. The theoretical made tangible and finally the proof that while having of more or less the same philosophy of life – experiencing it and seeing what happens - and being confronted with the same experiences, still something as mechanical and soulless as photographs still reflect the subtleties of those holding the camera.

colour images are kmack's and copyrighted ©2005-2007

Sunday 11 November 2007

irony

i thought art school would be great as it would be not only an extension but a celebration of these ideals.

Saturday 10 November 2007

hey it's the north-east

I had visions of staying somewhere along University Avenue between Minneapolis and St. Paul as I seemed to have remembered some motels there and it would mean a good wander before heading over to meet the lads (and lass).

Seeing the way that Minneapolis had changed and fearing I would waste time searching and finding nothing, headed to the Interstate off ramps for a place. Even though it was the end of daylight savings time I kept waking up too early but when the sun did finally arrive and I could look out over the endless car-parks that this motel shared with three others and a bowling alley, I wished that I had more time and also wanted to race to the North-east – well after stocking up at the free breakfast.

I didn’t know that I was such a trend setter as I found out that my modus operandi for dropping off snaps and leaving is called ding dong ditch actually did exactly that to a former Beloiter who lives in Northern Minneapolis – it was quite easy am now quite cold blooded and calm about it as no-one seems to ever look out windows.

A great day clear sky most of the warming coming from the sun. but being mid autumn the sun was low enough to have soft shadows. Spied in Kmack’s place and seeing no movement I went for a marl, being drawn to the confusion of shadows and creeping plants on buildings.

Then there were the alleys, alleys with things in them. it seems that the good people of Minneapolis throw out a lot of furniture, I can think of one transplanted Texan now in Colorado who would have had her entire flat decked out. it was a day with the Diana due to the light and a day of things due to – well – things.

I had planned to make ever larger circles centred on Kmack but found that when I got to a place where I should be heading back I saw something just ahead that looked interesting. I was heading north and I didn’t want to cross Broadway.

I ran across a tavern that wasn’t open quite yet – it was 9:50 – but had some ikonic feel to it. Was photographing the façade trying to incorporate the Grain Belt sign when a person turned the corner.

A chat in which I mentioned my fascination for local no taverns – I have also decided to drink locally now – no Smithwicks when I can get a beer brewed within 100 km. He told me that the place opens early for drinks and they have Sliders to eat before the football games in the afternoon. I am told of the taverns that have bit the dust how the North-East is becoming condo-ed and that he doesn’t go to Viking Games.

More photographs, the bar keep comes out but am too slow to photograph her.

-what’s he doing?
Buddy explains
-oh.
Passing I see a sign ____ doesn’t allow firearms in the bar.

More alleys but what I now seem focused on are the corner taverns. Two more while heading back. One more conversation with someone who is waiting for his to open. He also gives me tips on others in the neighbourhood.

He also laments the change in the North-East saying that there is more crime now.

-there was a group of people breaking car windows, Saw them and I hate to say it but three of them were African Americans and onoe wanted to be one.

Again while walking back to her place, wondered why I could make photographs here without straining or even making a effort to head out to photograph when in Peasants Pissoir it is an effort just to head out.

While awaiting the others to get ready, Walker and Coach had walked to the Mississippi, I did a couple of short wanders. Every excuse they gave me led to another short stroll.

Leaving for Lake of the Isles, I saw a living room suite up free in the alley and wanted to head back immediately.

Lunch – brunch was a pheasant salad shot by Kmack’s father – beware of buckshot – be still my vegetarian heart. But the truth is I wanted to get out, the day perfect for making snaps and I wanted to head back to the North-East to get the living room suite.

Kept saying that I was heading back, but waited as the rest of the boys had to tart up for the fundraiser – I was beyond hope travelling lightly – meaning needing space for the cameras and film I tend to bring the minimum in clothing.

While they were changing I was exploring. I zig-zagged north and east passing a bar with the bartender out back staring nervously at the cable guy. Asked if he’d mind if I took some snaps, I was in paranoic Chicago mode where people live frightened, forgetting that away from the land of the f.i.b.s there is humanity and a basic trust.

-be my guest.

Buddy was watching the cable guy because the signal went down during the Vikings Game and there was a near riot.

I was more interested in having some tavern formalism but did photograph him. Did wander far but was thorough without meaning to be. Was now in a area of homeless camps and thinking that they would add to the discarded furniture, wandered around them.

About the time I was thinking about heading back. Buddy sees me photograph and talks about the weather, his house what he does, make a photograph of him then ask if I can photograph his clothes line.

-of course.
-well I don’t like traipsing on people’s property without asking.
-hey this is the North-East.

Mentioned that I was the third photographer this week who had been here and wondered what was going on. Mention my like of real neighbourhoods and visiting friends here as my reason.

He bids me well for the rest of the week-end and I do the same.

The fundraiser was excruciating. It was still light out, I don’t do small talk, and didn’t want to be in the room when people were bidding on the work. of course due to this I had to talk about the work during the live auction.
-what type of boat is it?
-I forgot
-how big is it
-about three metres high
-what do they fish….
I fled back outside.

Of course people bidding got a steal, everyone looks for bargains. Should have just donated cash it would have been cheaper for me and more profitable for her.

The fundraiser over, Coach and I race back as I have to be in a faculty meeting the next day where one of the professional part-time full time faculty couldn’t be bothered to make it.

Mentioned to Walker that with my strange memory, I was sure that when I got back, I would know that I was in Minneapolis but wouldn’t remember any of it and it was true. I was back in the eternal present of the WGAS.

Wednesday 7 November 2007

Actually I went to see the Mary Tyler Moore house

The wait for Coach was a problem. It gave me time to think and rethink my decisions for making snaps this week-end. We were heading up to the cities for Kmack’s fundraiser – a quicky outing as both iof us had to be back Monday. The longer I waited the more I saw problems with the camera choices. The evening it was to be only a leiquinha – travel light as the trip was to be a replication of Kerouac and Cassidy but with people of colour.

Then I thought of the rare potential of a landscape or building on the way and thought ditch the leiquinha and take Zequinho – opting for reliability. I went through every camera options – even thinking of the digital point and shoot for this entry – but ended up completely irrationally taking the two of the dodgiest cameras that I have - Joãozão and the diana along with a leiquinha to one up Coach and Walker with their digital leicas and lumixes

It was a good choice.

One day there will be a trip north along U.S. 12 but we had to make time. Stopped in Janesville, stopped again at a Scenic lookout that had a plaque to the passenger pigeon and a policemen’s memorial. One last stop at the frontier town feel of Hudson before crossing over into Minnesota. One last gasp at what makes Wisconsinites the heaviest people in the nation as we spot a table laden with boxes of doughnuts.

Out of the emptiness of north-western Wisconsin and the twenty odd deer carcasses spaced along I-94 and into outlet mall land of eastern Minnesota.

Had wandered through Kmack’s North-east Kingdom the last time I was here and trapped out in Wayzata not knowing it was where she was now living.

Pull up in front of the house only to find no-one home and me wanting to use what is left of the light – hardly anything – to make a few snaps.

Minneapolis had changed, the mill district the last time I was here was still pretty derelict now, it was thriving – people either heading to the Golden Gophers game in the Humphrey Dome or to the Guthrie.

We were eating in one of those places that smack of New York City.
Walker – who had been ringing Coach every half hour to chart our progress – was already there, with the family who were darting off to the Guthrie afterwards. Kmack’s father hops up to great Coach –mistaking him for me – and saying how great it was that we finally meet. The scene looks like a 21st century version of the rat pack, as it seems that I didn’t get the memo about the black sports coat.

It also seems that we got some disdainful looks when the rest of the family left and it was only the four of us and the brat pack turned into an episode of Seinfeld.

Wine wine, wine, doesn’t anyone drink beer? Back at Kmack’s me planning a strategy for the next morning photographing, wine – and red wine - was being poured before there was a chance of the glass being empty. I could feel the headache forming.

Left the lads to their devices and headed to a hotel out in Brooklyn Centre looking forward to being alone and getting a decent night’s sleep. Of course was over optimistic brought two New Yorkers and three week’s worth of the Sunday New York Times Book Review, but spent most of the time at the Baymont Inn trying to get a signal to upload the Blog.

Simply went to sleep.

Sunday 4 November 2007

The equipment malfunction this summer while disheartening, should have been expected. I feel that every time I press the shutter I then hope that nothing has gone wrong with one of he “boys”.

Ubaldo sometimes wants to freeze up on a long shutter speed – had it fixed supposedly when I turned in the lens that froze up at “Aimée and Steven’s” wedding.

IT wasn’t.

Ziquinho seems fine after the repair after the drop at Noelle’s and Tim’s nuptials. It was strange having to give an extra yank on the lens each time I made a snap.

Joãozão with the taped up bellows and having to refocus every time I wind on and now refusing to work in winter has me squimish when I even think about an exposure. It is still my favourite camera, it fits my mentality of annotating perfectly and thus I think is tantamount to me seeing so well on Wednesday.

It goes on but in this period of lethargy on my part, while I haven’t been able to produce, I have at least, fixed the most glaring problems. Bought light baffles for the magazine for Ubirajara, relegated Ubaldo to a back up role and making sure that I develop my film every six rolls so that if there is a mishap it won’t be major.

Contradicting a bit my last entry I do like the fact that I use cameras that predate the digital, that I am not forced to upgrade every two years and that when they do have equipment malfunctions, they are worth fixing – well maybe not Joãozão – and some I can fix myself.

Saturday 3 November 2007

Slow photography movement…sort of

It is finished, well almost there is still a bit of sewing to do. I have finally come to terms with the official snaps that I made toting the Deardorff and the Hobo around Bonne Bay in 2005. The first of the books is made 51 images – 3 haikus. I have two more already going but what six months ago was work that seemed endless – I was having problems editing the mass of negs, printing them to the point I never had the chance to sequence them - now is not only manageable but quite straight forward.

It is all due to giving up my 19th century ways.

When I was on the residency, it was great coming back to the house every evening developing the film and then printing them having rushes sent over to the Discovery Centre and for a time back down here it worked also, it was slow going but I was making progress to the point that I made three trial books of excerpts and while the task looked daunting, I was pleased with the progress. Slow photography movement.

Then something went awry, I couldn’t make a decent platinotype, the skies on the paper were splotchy, but only on the paper I had chosen, switched papers and it wouldn’t lie flat enough to give me a straight edge. Even though I knew that it would lead to failure I tried over and over again wasting materials and money.

Scanning for the show at James Baird >Pouch Cove and seeing the quality of the images that were made, had me twig that if I can get 100x90cm images, I could scan and have excellent 35x17cm ones.

Also because I had to come up with a variation on black and white printing for class in a lab that wasn’t up, I discovered, a rip programme – that I found out later real photography departments already know about – in which I could subtly change the tones of my pigmented archival prints.

Two days scanning a week tweaking another printing and am done – well almost.

This is not to make it sound easy and to fall into that digital cure all trap, the reason the time is so truncated is due to the fact that I could work on them longer during the day and print non stop.

I can – and have heard the howls of derision when I mentioned that while they are not – and I repeat not – platinotypes they work well with my initial idea.

I can hear sharp intakes of breath as people reconcile this with my perceived luddite status.

My initial idea was not to make platinotypes not even to make images where a darkroom wouldn’t be needed but to make a book of the work done while with Parks Canada. I still have the choice of paper that I wanted, I can control the tones better and more subtly and if I did this initially I wouldn’t have had to “spot” the negs in Photoshop to clean up the stains from what was still damp coated paper.

I’d still be in the first phase.

Am I giving up on platinotypes and their ilk? No, I still like the craft and when exact tonal replication from print to print in a series isn’t necessary like the variations.

Do I regret giving up my slow photographer status? Not sure that I have as it takes as long for a print to be churned out the Epson as it does to be exposed, freeing me for other things, and I don’t check my e-mail when printing. The cost of an archival pigmented print is about the same as a platinotype – inkjet paper is expensive.

How would I equip the house on the rock? the way I always said I would. Film for making the negs but scanners and printers for making the snaps.

Cannot wait to tackle book two after Yanksgiving.

Thursday 1 November 2007

Tuesday...

One of those days that are becoming more common with global warming – sunny, mid 20C, clear sky - I know that I should be using this day as even with the trend of the tropics racing to the Arctic Circle a day like this may be rare until spring.

AS the day gets warmer I start to panic. I try to sift through the outings I want to pursue
– The motels along Sheridan Road in Somers – too far and will have to drive.
– Old Skokie Boulevard in Park City where the car dealerships used to be before they moved into Gurnee – same.
– Urban formalism along Roosevelt Road in Kenosha. I keep saying that I should explore the city in fact it isn’t rational why I don’t as it seems to have a lot of what I am looking for with the exception of interesting walks.
– A county park to walk unfocused - which one?
– Head out to the Rock River Valley – if Somers just five miles up the road is too far…

Then I cannot even decide which one of the “boys” to take,

In the end I go to the post office and off to Hobby Lobby to buy book board and console myself by leaving the back door open.

Wednesday
Have to be at Aron Packer Gallery as he has graciously agreed to talk to the class and answer whatever questions they have. I reckon that I’ll give myself an hour for the 20 minute walk. Curse that the back is still too heavy even though I leave the laptop and magazines in my locker – I think this is reason that my knees are in constant pain – dread what would happen if I couldn’t wander.

Joãozão is in the bag although I had been using one of the leiquinhas when in the city and have nothing planned. It has worked made a few snaps this way but am impatient to see what I have made.

A roll taken on the way over and another on the way back via a great diversion to Paper Source for book cloth- which they don’t have – they don’t have much now that they are more of a wedding shop than a paper shop - but Pearl did.

One near miss as I am about to photograph some clothing left ono a construction site. As I am extending Joãzão the person comes and gathers them.

Walk the alleys back to school making more snaps with ease along the way.

Once again I proved to myself that it really doesn’t matter what I have I simply have to get out.

I am equally sure that I will forget this completely on the commute back to Peasants Pissoir and will have to relearn it the next time I head out.

Friday 12 October 2007

Tuesday,

I never know how to gauge time when I have to fly out. It doesn’t really matter what time of day, it seems that I am wasting time until the flight leaves. Worse I am working backward from when I think that I have to be at the airport.

I guess that early morning flights are the best but to me early morning usually means getting up before the crack of dawn and heading into St. John’s.

The best last day in a city was Rio when the flight didn’t leave until 10PM. Left my luggage with the concierge and raced all over town getting one last look and surprising myself in the “risks” that I was taking – heading out to Maracanã, taking the metrô, walking back from the Sambadrómo through the Pça da República and downtown before finally taking a bus back to the hotel and a coach to Galeão/Tom Jobim. A full day.

Leaving Balamer, I am carrying too much stuff to actually stop and make snaps – although I do stop and place packages on friend’s cars are parked in the light rail commuter lots.

The flight back to the Midwest left at noon. The airport was 15 minutes away. It was he worse possible scenario - too late to start anything in Burlington to early to simply head out.

I did two last wanders in the neighbourhoods once more with a clear blue morning sky with a nice bright piercing sun. Walked away from downtown not expecting much and thus just stuffed my pocket with a couple of rolls and Joãozão. A mistake well half a mistake as I was in a fuzzy image frame of mind and kept seeing potential Diana snaps also. The main reason was finding more things left than I expected but there was a great deal of New England formalism.

After the first round I was going to chalk it up to “next time” but with more time to spare, I went on a sprinting snapping spree.

A snap of a 50’s like motel having the rental car courtesy bus wait for us while I made it.

Proud of a morning well spent.

The eternal “slow zone” on the CTA in from O’Hare set the tone for being back in the Midwest.

Thursday 11 October 2007

Monday,


By now I realised that with the just rising sun both sun and shade a close together in temperature so I don’t have to bring a change of clothes.

Up early to head back to the park with the homeless possessions, making sure that once again I take advantage of the light. A lot of the snaps are made of the front porches – which border on the formal but with some real human activity. Since unlike the south the porches are on the street almost, there isn’t that distance so I create some with a pole here and there. Being a college town I find that there is more than enough things to photograph which works with the possessions that are my main goal as it brings into question who their really belong to.

Another newish route downtown – which even though it is a Monday is still early enough that no one is about. Pass though the park of the farmers market to find to-day a homeless coffee klatsch.

I am more interested in spaces, property. Because of the camera malfunctions in Newfoundland I find myself taking the same image on different rolls to make sure. I had one fat roll my first day but it was due to my inattentive loading and my cheap Czech film.

Headed back for breakfast – while the food there was great and I emptied them of their orange juice I wanted to head to a coffee shop with real people – bed and breakfast people aren’t real people.

To-day we were being taken out to lunch by the people of Lake Champlain Chocolates as Carol is the main designer for their packages. This was at noon so more time for wandering before then another – different – way downtown. She to shop, me to snap before heading down to Lake Champlain.

Something I miss in Peasants Pissoir are decent places to eat, and here we were in a city half the size with restaurants galore – this time it was new Asian cuisine, but I was already planning for the evening when we would go down market and have a pizza – but whether it would be a Three Tomatoes or an American Flatbread pizza was still in the air.

The afternoon could have been one of those afternoons simply wasted – a trip to a wildflower farm and now what – if not for me and my boundary fetish.

A ferry to New York – making the crossing – a wander around Essex and then the ferry back would be the outing. I could pretend that in the distance I could see Port- aux-Basques, I could set my watch to be a half hour off. Although it was a car ferry we left the machine in Vermont and walked aboard.

The trip was somewhere in between Marine Atlantic and canoe-ing on Red Indian Lake. I could help but to compare it with the commutes between Niterói and Rio to the point that I went to stand on the prow.And of course there was a Newfoundlander – proudly showing his Memorial sweatshirt there with me at the water’s edge.

Essex had closed down, there were only about six shops in town and all but one was closed. The only reason it was open was due to the owner living above it. Wandered about trying to deal with the dated look of the place and the water. Wondered if I could live in a place that closed so completely after Labour Day.

Went into the post office to find a person running across the street to get her other cat, another trading barbs with the postal worker and a tray of brownies out. my kind of post office.

The woman came back with the other cat – to prove that the two completely different cats were from the same litter. Chatted a bit about the place, wondering what it was like living there and how friendly it seemed - found out later that most people were private and backstabbing – made her snap with Felix and wandered a bit more awaiting the next ferry.

Early evening sun, a puppy stole the scene from the lake.

Readily embracing localism, I had two pints from the closest microbreweries at American Flatbread.

Wednesday 10 October 2007

Sunday,


but a Sirius Satellite 137 Sunday so instead of Michael Enright I get Tapestry, I hate Sirius 137 it is the CBC in Bizarro World.

It was an early Sunday meaning that the shops would be shut downtown, and I could head back and photograph without any trouble. I had gathered my thoughts remembered places where I wanted to make snaps – mainly of things left in parks – and was ready to head out.

It was early enough on Sunday that the heat was only on the sunny side of the street. Walking in the shade required more layers of clothing. This early autumn morning had a light that was god for tangible shadows.

A nice wander- the usual zig zag making sure that I used the side of the street that held the most potential but trying not to repeat streets that I had been down unless there was an snap that I remembered- before things opened some snaps made, the pedestrian mall was what I had expected as there were some tables out but no people.

This was a day that we wee going to flirt with Canada. Everyone was talking about this causeway that we should walk and we reckoned that it was the one to the islands in the middle of Lake Champlain just north of Burlington.

Parked the rental PT Cruiser on the east bank walked over the causeway me straining, thinking, hoping that I could see Québec got to the other side where there were city sized caravan resorts and walked back.

Me being in control of the car – it would cost an extra $25/day for a second driver – headed non-chalantly north snaking back and forth through this chain of islands hoping to happen upon the border – where I would make a run for…. –

I realise that with a rental I probably wouldn’t be able to cross, and gave up. My isolationist self wanted to live on the islands, Carol finding it a bit too remote.

Another wander in the afternoon but a faster one where again if I stopped to make a snap I would be out of breath trying to catch up. Found a park where the homeless kept their stuff but it would take to long to document so a note for the following day. I was getting into a work habit and it looked like I could keep it up as I am always up early and if one has to be a townie the best time to be one in just after sunrise.

Feeling ansty and realising that we hadn’t contributed enough to global warming, we headed to some tourist spots – an excuse – the real destination of the road trip was a hastily planned Richard Olson commemorative kamikaze run to an ex-yinser/mormon/maple syrup babe.

A walk around Stowe which was too New England for me. Then off to the State Capital and to do what I have done from coast to coast to coast north and south of the 49th.

By the way like Montpelier better than Burlington. Was shocked at how small it was, thought that I would see the state capital from the interstate, barely saw it after I entered town.

The street in question was easy to find, seeing the car parked out in front made me a bit nervous, as the subject had the front flat. Determinedly, steadily I walked up to the car,

Made a snap.

Walked up to her house

Made a snap of me in front of it – this was a last minute operation as if I had planned it before leaving the Midwest I would have left something in the mail box.

Drove off.

Dinner was at the Daily Planet more locally grown food another great salad, and I think that got their vegetarian shepherd pie down, before heading back for more of the Hitchcock Festival on cable after I e-mail her the snaps.

Tuesday 9 October 2007

when i last wrote...

everything is being delayed.
I could see the lake from the dormer, I could have seen it better if the skylight weren’t there. I noticed it when I hit my head against the screen. This was going to be the subplot for the next few days – my head meeting various low corners of the attic room.

Lake Champlain looked like a river – thought that New York State would be more distant.

This is where in some past life I was supposed to be if I hadn’t been a slacker in upper school. Middlebury, Williams, Bennington, Godard, were among names the councillor would rattle off. It was as if the college experience for the mid-Atlantic students entailed freezing in long New England winters.

An early stroll downtown before the shops open on a drizzly day, I keep looking for the lake, which is there somewhere but really doesn’t seem to have much to do with the city itself. I keep thinking State Street in Madison but there while you cannot see the lakes one seems to feel their presence more. Could do without the pedestrian mall but it was nice to see people – the sane ones – having coffee in the dozen or so coffee shops that weren’t Starbucks and that the pathetic indoor mall was not being used.

I knew that I could move here when I found the camera shop Lezot that sold film and cameras – new and used that use it. I went up the stairs and was confronted by a mound of Holgas while a person behind the counter was aiming an ancient Leica digital. In the back room there were enlargers, they had a good selection of papers. I was sold.

What closed the deal were the two used bookshops further along.

Still wanted to find the lake and walking to it I didn’t feel as if I were any closer to it. It wasn’t being used the way that Lakes Mendota and Monona are. There were tasteful amounts of people biking and jogging but it seemed so separate from the city that it seemed like an excursion in and of itself.

Afternoon wanders north of town and through a less college centred part of Burlington – me photographing the homeless encampments along the river Carol anxiously wanting to move on – and once in walking mode a stroll south to the arts area in south pine street past a gallery that has Connie Imboden’s work in it.

A discussion ensues on the value and drawbacks of print on demand books, as there is an I-photo book in the gallery.

I was wondering if I had brought the wrong camera, Joãozão is great for my gawking type of wander - I have to withdraw the bellows – roughly – focus and refocus as the infinity lock doesn’t catch at times, this is due to the black photographic tape, meter and make sure there is enough light for the meter to function – it doesn’t like dimly lit areas or when it is duckish. I forgot that Carol has these walks of death. If I dare slow down thinking that something may have registered she is blocks away. I should have brought the leiquinhas as they require less preparation. I found that I was passing things that I thought was interesting but by the time I was ready to make a snap I forgot what it was. I was still overburdened by cameras – along with Joãozão there was the digital – that Carol was supposed to use but I was taking more for extreme close-up – and the Diana which became the camera of wander once again.

Evening down to Starry Night – a restaurant that supposedly had good food Carol had only been as far as the car-park as the last time she was there she was retching with regularity from food poisoning.

- Wow the way you are dressed you must be from out of town. Our hostess greeted us. I had a shirt with a collar but didn’t differ too much from the regulars.

It turned out that we were being served by two people who had suffered art school – Pratt – one was a sculptor the other a hateful photographer. There was tag team conversation as one or the other would stop to chat between other duties.

Being artists we were surprised when our bill was a good $80 more than it should be – unless local beers are $20 a pint. We were given the wrong bill.

Back at the Bed and Breakfast we carried as many bikkies as tastefully possible up to the room.

Sunday 16 September 2007

It didn’t bode well when I tried to check in on line for our flight to
Burlington, it seems that it would allow Carol to check in without problems but when I tried – and I tried three different ways – I kept getting please check in with a United agent.

Great now some Al Qaïda member has taken pretty common names.

I’ll skip the oxymoron of Chicago Rapid Transit as the machines on the gridlocked Kennedy were speeding by.

It is the airport experience where one can see why one would spit on airline employees. After trying again to check in at a kiosk, I gave up and entered the queue a queue that didn’t move as since there were now kiosk check-ins the counter had only two attendants. An hour later I was told that no I am not on a no fly list but it was a simple random check by United.

On to the security queue where United definitely believes in a cast system, the first business class queue and the steerage one. Of course being United, this changed with the changing minute. When one thought one was in an orderly queue and nearing the part where everything is taken off or emptied out, they would concoct another bend.

90 minutes later we were at the gate. I admit I am spoiled, in Milwaukee where rich and poor queue up alike one gets through security in minutes, even when I was nearly stripped searched in St. John’s I was still through security in 15 minutes. I dreaded Midway seeing the queues but again five minutes later one is wondering what overpriced food will clog the arteries before the flight.

Here people were waiting to get into Chili’s (?!)

Of course the plane left late. Well the plane that we were supposed to be on didn’t leave at all. When they realised that the plane wouldn’t make it from Grand Rapids in time to get us to Burlington before the airport closed. They went to the warehouse and got another.

We were flying Ted – the low cost cousin of United. That instilled confidence, thought Tango and Jazz of Air Canada were bad enough but Ted? Next there would be Floyd or Earl.


We were heading to Burlington as Carol had been there twice before and talked about it the way that I rave over the Rock. she said it was like Madison what with Lake Champlain and the colleges it was easy going and quite liberal.

I saw that it was 30 miles from the Canadian border and only a couple of hours to Montréal and sanity.

Of course I could tell none of this arriving at 11PM ringing for the rental shuttle to pick us up to get the car – for some reason they thought that we would like being in a PT Cruiser. Noticed the gigantic dent in the machine in the light of the next morning. Did like the chance to hear the CBC on satellite radio – but probably could have picked it up on regular radio.

So far I was impressed with Vermont but not for the same reasons as Carol. I don’t think she cared much about the diner across from the Thrifty Car Rental, or the HO HUM MOTEL. We both weren’t all that excited about the Hooters along route 7 into town.

Even though I am used to them, from being on the rock, I find Bed and Breakfasts somewhat spooky. Luckily this one called itself an inn and had private toilets.

We had a suite, which was nice, a room where one could move about without knocking into all that quaint stuff. Most of the time these places while having tables, have so much stuff on them that it is impossible to write.

Past midnight but as usual with new places I was wide awake from the anticipation, felt a bit of sanity returning to the world as the key was left in the mail box with a sign telling us so.

Thursday 9 August 2007

signing off











After all this site is YYT and while in the past there has been a broad expansion from the original idea – first things that happened on the Avalon, then the Rock, then anything associated with being in Newfoundland – Baltimore is the colony that took remember, then travel in general. Finally the “in general” took over.


I want to be less virtual and more actual.

Although this isn’t GIG, this started when returning to Rio and Niterói , I found terrible postcards. Ignorant of weblogs - in fact ignorant of just about everything, blind carbon copies, cutting and pasting text …- at the end of the day I would head over to the internet café and write the same thing six times to people. A particularly memorable moment was tripping on the power cord and erasing the entry as I was finishing.

The lack of post cards was the final straw added to me trying to get my handwriting under control. Things were no better on the Rock. There were attempts to make snaps without a lab so that I could continue what I try to do below the 49th – even took my mum’s hand me down Toshiba laptop and portable Canon printer that served her well on the world cruises – but the quality was lacking.

Hence YYT.

But I am not there now. Without the constraints of the post card, the entries were mutating to a length that would have made Dickens blush and more time and, while after this stay the finances will take time to recover, I want to reintroduce myself to the USPS and actually make things.

So I am regressing for the next semester at least, more “note taking” so back to the leiquinhas – to break this idea of pretension with larger formats - less digital, and more post cards to restrict the actual verbiage. Only nine people looked in at last check anyway.

I missed talking to Mary at the post office in Pouch Cove and while being a townie I liked the chats when I did post some books and left notes on the backs of envelops.
I found myself taking overly long at the post office in Swift Current and photographing the buildings.

So until I can upload at the Duke with a pint of 1892 – am becoming more nationalistic in my imbibing – this ends.


Well that is the intention.

Monday 6 August 2007

if only

I’d stop the machine, what I wanted to photograph wasn’t going anywhere so I’d take out ‘Bira, take an exposure reading and then make the exposure. This would happen any time that I was around the bay, I’d leave Zequinho in the machine and head out to photograph the cabins, roadside monuments etc with ‘Bira as there was no reason to rush.

I could have made them with Zequinho but it is more art like to make them with a camera that yells consideration.

If only. I started to develop the film to-day – 280 rolls - and found that Ubirajara has a light leak. Not everything is ruined it depends on how long I wandered with it and how long between exposures but the snaps that would have been categorised under
“…(dot dot dot)” for their isolation doesn’t look good. There is a fog over half of the negative I am guessing coming from the place where the dark slide is inserted in the magazine – halfway through the stay I wondered about this but since I had taken and ‘Bira in the winter and saw no problems and frankly I had other worries – general film abuse, exposure, security…- the rolls that went through Zequinho are fine.

I chalk this up to being “homeless” this time. In 2005 in Woody Point and this winter in Sullivan’s Loop when I had a place of my own, this wouldn’t have happened. As soon as I developed the film there, the camera would have been put away. I knew that I missed a place of my own – meaning where I feel like it is my own and for this I thank Martin and Gabrielle – for quiet time but I didn’t think about this.

If only.

I did bring developer in case there was a chance.

If only I didn’t try to act like an artist and stuck to Zequinho which suits what I do 99% of the time. In the images where ‘Bira was used where the edges fell wasn’t all that critical – in the barrens a couple of centimetres of extra empty space isn’t all that important.

In St. John’s I used Zequinho and thus the townie pictures should be fine.

The great irony is that it isn’t – or wouldn’t be a big deal – what I photographed wasn’t going anywhere, while it would be a hassle – bad pun – it could always go back and do them over.

Except now when I am thousands of kilometres away.

Now I worry, the trip down the Burin, the outing up Bonavista Bay, what did I used.

Again without this confession no one would know I made enough with Zequinho to have the time be useful. I do fear, however, that the tenuousness of habitation on the land was made with ‘Bira.

Developed a tenth of what I made, I am bracing myself for what is to come and think/hope that I can rectify the problem next time…

Saturday 4 August 2007

It was a day to finish off. To find a place to work I headed over to the school to cut and put together some books so that I could post something from here – didn’t know that Canada Post Pouch Cove was a cash only enterprise so no Pouch Cove cancellations. Said good-bye and happy retirement once again to Mary. That done one more time to Hava Java. The rains had ended so I could sit outside – the only one. I parked in Pleasant Street and walked down testing fate as Water Street was flooded.

Over to M. Francis Kelly to buy more cover stock – said good bye to Holly - back to the school to finish up and over to the Water Street Post Office.

For some reason, I thought at I would finally go and see Tors Cove – no real reason really. With Zequinho in tow I headed down Route 10 and with a dogged determination that I haven’t had, turned off to the cove.

It was a perfectly ordinary outing, spoke to buddy from Lancashire who said that he draws instead of photographs – this is what he was doing from his S.U.V. We chatted a bit and I went out looking – not for anything in particular.

What I found was some juxtapositions, boats with basketball hoops, abandoned bikes, very rich houses overpowering tolts. Made most of the snaps in the harbour and then again with the digital point and shoot on a beach. Remarked on the sheep – I hear brought down from the Goulds – on the island in the cove.

Some images of graffiti of someone declaring their love of the rock then a drive back through Petty Harbour – stopping in the Goulds at Bidgoods as I heard it was a place that I should see – it was closing.

Remembered that I wanted to photograph a section of Petty Harbour and made a note to do it the next day, as well as say good-bye to Peter.

It didn’t happen. This was the last outing. My last day was taken up hawking my work and having me leave on an optimistic note that the work may actually be seen by more than the dozen at the gallery.

Wednesday 1 August 2007

i'm r. clarke-davis and this is ideas...

Was up early hoping that to get to the Mary March Lounge before the cleaners would arrive. It didn’t matter there was a pick-up in front of it and I had to deal with. People in radio really don’t car but we visual types…


I had to be back by nine as that was when we were to meet Albert who was taking us out in the canoe to four points along Red Indian Lake, but Buchan’s Junction warranted a reconnoitre. Well not really – I have to stop this as I dissed Buchan’s yesterday as it was quite a shock and truthfully looked like a company town that the company gave up on. To-day I felt that I should go back and actually hang out long enough to find out why people are there and what they do. I found a disused ballpark and the river but spent most of the time making digital panoramas.


In fact this day Ziquinho got a rest as I didn’t want to see him hit the drink with my canoeing prowess.

The shock of the day came when the person at the bed and breakfast came back to say that we had a problem – the place doesn’t take master card.

I turn penniless as my last funds go to pay the bill.

Millertown – 150 people - is small enough that I see Bert load the canoe so we head across the street laden with the newest technologies – which seem to be more vulnerable to water, salt or sweet, than the older ones. I take the digital point and shoot, Paul takes a digital Walkman.

The plan is Bert and I play native paddling while Paul sits in the middle being John Peyton Jr. His spin was that he wanted to hold the microphone to Bert while we were on the lake.

Why I like Newfoundland – yet again – go to your atlas of choice, find Red Indian Lake, look at the size roughly 70km in length - and we were the only people on it. All of a sudden I was wondering why the sea is so special. Once in the middle of it – again a reason I love the smiling land again the licence to experience every and anything – scale changed.

My canoeing prowess came was manifest immediately when I didn’t know what the prow was. More doubts as I said that I couldn’t swim. I was the one in the life jacket up front.

We were to visit sites that are based on Mary March/Demasduwsit – where the Marines were killed, where she was captured and where her body was left. Bert was more intent to prove that the Beothuks were in the area by showing us potential sites – the last one quite convincing – of mamateeks and long houses.

Paul was interviewing him for Ideas, I was along to see Central Newfoundland but became more interested in a more recent history of the area – the growth and bust of industry in the area.

When the mike went off I would ask how he felt about the bias of the province toward the ocean, about the resettlement/abandonment of Millertown Junction. He seemed only a bit less eager to talk about this. the railway that went through, the steam engine that is in ruins on the shore – supposedly one of the biggest in the world made to power the mills, that Millertown was once a place of 500 souls and all the houses had picket fences.

Wondered if I could broker more time here – could I press my luck.

I also liked the paddling - I could barely hear the conversation as Paul was facing away from me and Bert was even farther – it became a lake meeting.

I was also made aware of my age not due to any pain but liking this and realising that I cannot put off things that require parts of the body as they are at the time when they tend to deteriorate due to lack of use. I felt a bit better than Bert was a decade older but he did this all the time.

I was also reminded of these people who are doing things that I don’t even dream of. Kennedy canoeing the MacKenzie as a lad, wanting now to do a series on rivers – similar to the oceans series of quite a few years ago where he will drive the ice roads and my big thrill is out on the Red Indian Lake with a life jacket.

The day was perfect warm enough to row, minimal black fly which I prefer over mosquitoes, at the first landing two loons in the distance.

While the canoe was used to get to the sites, I preferred being on the canoe than on land. It could have to do the with novelty of being mere centimetres above the water, it could be the fact that I could actually paddle, or it could be that it opened a new mode of transportation that was slow enough that one can think, on bodies empty enough that one can daydream.

In truth it became worse when there was a goal as it didn’t seem to get any closer after a sizeable amount of rowing.

Didn’t miss Ziquinho.

While Paul was finishing up the interview on land, I headed out along the shore to the wheel of the steam engine and the mill.

Everything was there, in ruins and all over the place but there. while some would be picking up shells and rocks I wanted to pick up the railway rails, spikes, gears etc.


Didn’t make many snaps but they seemed pretty good, I think that they dealt with the remnants of industry here in Newfoundland – the whole colonial aspect even when this is no longer a colony – Abitibi owns the lake and the water in it.

The return walk was in town but only seemed to make the normal – laundry lines, sheds and lawn ornamentation.

We headed out on the lake just before nine, we got off the lake at four. We hadn’t eaten or drunk but also the equipment was intact.

Stopped at the convenience in town for liquids – I went for fruit juice and Gatorade – which we inhaled. A stop to photograph a house with lawn ornaments out of control – which probably won’t be used – and then again in Badger for dinner at Kellies – which I knew from the man boots up in his coffee cup.

Another Chinese/Canadian Food establishment although we didn’t know it until we were already seated. This time a salad, and a fried egg sandwich.

Except for the mauze that once again enveloped the isthmus, the conversation was of things one wants to do what one has done – I was sorely deficient in this category – although by almost hitting it in Terra Nova Park Paul saw his first moose on the Rock - and general outlook on the world – i.e. as close to total engagement as possible.

After this experience, CBC presenter is out. After the work ethic instilled in me by the WGAS, it is way too much work.

Tuesday 31 July 2007

Desperately Seeking Shanawdithit

I reckon that the only way that I can get Kennedy out of Martin and Gabrielle’s is through scandal. I tried stink bombs that that popular US technique, loud soft rock music but to no avail.

So I offered to drive him out to the interior of Newfoundland then send photographs of him being driven by a person of colour to the CBC.

Always wanted to see Buchans and when Paul said that he was heading out to Red Indian Lake to interview someone how is an authority on Shanawdithit, I offered to drive out.

Why Buchans, because it as a far inland as one can get easily, because Michael Crummey is from there and it is the end of the road in the middle of the island. Every time I did the TCH passing through Badger I wanted to do the diversion, once I actually turned off but I had to be in St. John’s and not far down the Buchan’s Highway turned back.

The plan was to drive out with him – me driving – I also thought off calling this entry Driving a Kennedy – but not a real one. There would be a stop along the way in Grand Falls/Windsor at the Mary March Museum to talk to a curator there – and for me to get her name in the hopes of the work that went moulding at Pouch would be shown again on the island.

Then to Millertown to find this person who was to take us out in a canoe on Red Indian Lake to the sites of the last living Beothuk.

It seems that Paul was going to use his radio documentary card as he wanted to only hold a microphone to Albert’s face so that he could talk, I would be rowing.

He also needed photographs – ah yes RC-D photographer for radio.

There was no rush so a civilised start, was over on the front deck checking e-mail and talking to Ted about his boat being in the sea finally. He was taking the kids out to-day but there weren’t up yet.

- if I were in bed this long people would be calling 911.

Made it to Tim Horton’s in Stavenger Drive before we switched off – I think that he didn’t want to be seen not driving in Pouch Cove. Had a coffee – I heard that Tim’s put MSG in their coffee and was told to tell them to hold it.

No problem on the TCH – the usual weather nice fog through the isthmus a stop in Goobies for gasoline, and uneventful ride through Terra Nova as we both stare at the landscape, fog at Joey’s Lookout.

I forget how far it is between Gander and Grand Falls/Windsor which now seems like it is called Pinsenttown. We get lost as the Mary March museum is so small that I pass it and am heading out of town again before I do that most unmanly act and ask directions. – I also needed to pee.

Find it but decide it is time to eat and head to Tai Sun restaurant specialising in Chinese and Canadian Cuisine – neither really well.
I have the mushroom foo yung and the vegetable – read cabbage – chop suey with noodle – six crispy noodles.

Kennedy asks for the beer list.
-tell me what you want it will be faster the server says.
As he is mentioning Tsing Tao, she rattles off Cohrs Light, Canadian, Canadian Light, Blue and Budweiser.

After the leisurely lunch we head back to the museum to see if the curator is in.

Nope.

Will she be in to-morrow?

Nope

We leave with time to spare. I head over to the ball park to photograph it while Paul has other business to attend to.

I leave the film in the machine so have to head back to pick some up when the heavens open and really open. The streets become rivers, I pick up Paul head over to the Museum to pick up a to find Millertown – which spookily is already marked on the map – and in doing so become a contestant in the GFW wet t-shirt contest.

There are people standing on the steps waiting for the downpour to stop and one speaks to me – damn her.

Race to the machine pick up the camera, go back and photograph the people waiting.

Leave, saying that no one should be a slave to the weather, and stroll back to the car where we wait out the rain.

When it finally stops we head over to the ball park complex which is nothing but soggy ground and deep puddles but doesn’t stop some footballers from practicing.

Buddy comes out and tells us that he hasn’t seen rain like that before and in fact states it many times.

While he is talking to Kennedy I am heading off to the lake that was once a ball park.

Nice park not so much for what it is but where it is, dangerous stands, it is below the TCH with all these steps that lead to nowhere.

At first I thought that the Grand Stand was the ball park even when I knew it wasn’t made sure that I made some snaps of it.

My new found inefficiency was still present as I had to keep going back to the car for something or other – don’t know what I don’t carry the bag. To-day with the low sky was not a day to dally.

Wondered why there was a beach volleyball court in GFW.
-bikinis.
-ah.

Seeing the ocean has one forget how great rivers can be. Lake Gander was impressive but the Exploits…

We had nothing to do and time to kill so to Buchans 50 km off the TCH not even on Red Indian Lake, I wasn’t sure what to expect Buchans was definitely below anything that I could think of. We should have had a clue when at Buchan’s Junction there was the Mary March Lounge and Beothuk Street.

Buchans was dismal, a mining town – all around it the beauty of lakes and in the distance the Long Range Mountains. There houses that look like they could be moved when the mine closed. Instead of a greenbelt around the city there was a brown belt.



It is the type of place that I would want to spend more time in. If there were a Newfoundland version of Deadwood this is were it would be filmed.


As I was going to get out to photograph another downpour – we now realised that we both cannot get out of the machine at the same time I would have to exit, Paul would count to ten then leave the car. As every time we opened the door at the same time a drenching rain would happen.

Photographed around the old mine – just off downtown, a forlorn ballpark – where the RCMP passed but I reckoned that even they know that there is nothing in Buchans.

Headed over the hockey arena where we walked out of town again gob smacked it seemed that the mines had this scorched earth policy for the town.

Seen enough we head over to Millertown and the Bed and Breakfast passing the Mary March Lounge again this time with cars in front killing any sort of aesthetic snap that I could get.

Nevertheless after supper we have to try it out.

We guess what the place will be like. Paul is hoping for Mary March Lounge souvenirs – swizzle sticks, beer mats etc – poor deluded Upper Canadian.

I drew on my experience at the Seabreeze and with the exception of people in the bar and things that I forgot but were pretty obvious I was closer to the interior – No draughts beer – LaBatt’s and Molson Products only we would be drinking something other than Cohr’s light, pool table darts. I forgot the video gaming, TV and said that there would be eight people in the bar. There were four.

Two beers – me Jockey Club, he Black Horse - later we call it a night. The three people are still at the video gaming machines.