Since the beginning of the semester, I have been printing the murals for the show up at James Baird > Pouch Cove in July. I have been staring at snaps made on the rock for big chunks of the day, places that are familiar and almost intimate.At the same time, when the sun has finally decided to become a constant, I have been running out into the gardens – depending on the time of day – making platinotypes of the time in Gros Morne to make three artists books, stop survey the snaps and make constant edits.
With my philosophy of why do one thing well when I can spread my thin and do a lot with mediocrity, made two books more rock based books.
My screensaver is of the now closed Seabreeze.
Despite constantly being surrounded with snaps of the North Atlantic and no matter how much I want the images to bring back not only memories but the experience, they don’t.
I am driving down Route 50 between Paddock Lake and Wheatland between some chore, driving almost automatically, I remember an e-mail from a macadamia-nutted-Swiss-cheese-headed transplant about a dead seal in the cove and I am there. I see the town, Henry coffee in hand, preparing to head back with his Canadians, Hap looking over the ocean, the kids getting ready to take over the park as Percy, and Sam head home.
(for those nitpickers the snap is of grate's cove)
