Borealis.

What is it about Ktown? There is something magical about harbor towns. Red Lake, in northern Ontario is also magnificent. I will make my way back someday, just for the milkshakes and grilled cheese at the Lakeview Diner.

I love Kenora, Ontario. I used to visit this small city few times per year as a young chicken. My friend Jen had a cabin on Lake of the Woods and it was always a big deal to be dumped off by her parents at Dairy Queen on the edge of town. Armed with a Blizzard and a time frame we would run wild and explore. As time wore on, trips to Kenora became fewer and far between. When I started planting trees with a company based in Dryden, Ontario, Kenora became an intergral part of each summer. Last year we planted in the middle of the bush north of Kenora and days off were spent lazing around town like hot dogs in heat. Laundromat, Haps, beers on the sidewalk, that tiny diner with the weird breakfast. After six days of straight planting, we would squeeze into a planting bus piled high with laundry and gear and head for town. I don't know why but I have always needed a fair amount of solitary time and last season was no exception. Breaking away from the group, I would head off, loading my camera as I went in search of portraits. 

One day in particular, I met a man in a beater jean jacket hanging out in the sun on the front step of a bar. He looked kind and when I smiled at him he stuck out his hand to shake. No words necessary. We shook and I gave him a cold Lucky from a six pack of beer in my bag.  He cracked it straight away and I asked if I could take his photo. He obliged with a twinkle. I will never forget his kindness and trust. Face wide open, he gave it, the cold beer in his hand just out of frame. It was mutual and the moment translated on film. I live for those moments, if anything. Wordless, simple, truthful, telling. No need to double check what was just shot, it is in there. I am continually learning to trust that it is in there, a moment intercepted. 

I shot him twice even though there was no need for the second shot. The first photo is one out of nineteen I submitted in my Swamphand collection for one of my portfolios. More to come. Enjoy.

I want to live right here. Shot outside of Kenora, Ontario; 2010.

Tops of town. Shot on a high bank on the outskirts of Ktown. Kenora, Ontario; 2010.

Toddler time.

I am thinking about Le Poulet and he is only ten feet away, fast asleep with his arms above his ears. I am filled with love, even through the hysterical screaming. Upon entering Toddlerzone this grey morning, his mother wished me 'bon chance' and one 'get ready'. For what? For a toddler. The chick is morphing before my eyes. After Virginie left for work, I was left with a hysterical Poulet. He screams when he does not get his way, when he is mad, frustrated, annoyed, hurt. It is so painfully obvious that he wants to talk (or rather, be understood in his efforts to speak); he has been talking for months. Anyway, I learned such an incredible lesson in nurturing this morning. Normally my day with Leo begins with breakfast (screamfest), and then I zip around and tidy up, play on the floor making play soup or reading books until it is time for nap numero uno. Today I knew there would be no long haul nap (even though it was clear he was in dire need of a good snooze) as dance class started at 9:30. Instead, I took that screamer into my arms and just rocked him and rocked him until he relaxed into me. I think he just needed to be reassured that words will come (soon), that he is understood and loved by so many including me. I sometimes forget to tell him how much I adore him, it just goes without saying. But anyway, the house lay in ruins, dishes piled to the heavens and ignored it all went; Leo and I rocked back and forth behind a closed door in the soft light of morning, just me and him. Singing "if you like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain, bah bum bah bum bum" over and over until his little boy frame relaxed into sleep. I sat for a long time this morning, looking at Leo no more a baby, thinking of the beginning of our time together.

I hate waking him from sleep, but dance class was in order. We really shook it this morning, rumba, salsa, tambourines, shakers, you name it. Leo is only 16 months but he is quite a gros bebe (big baby) and it is hysterical to watch him interact with the other babies (who are much smaller). He was smitten with a plump little seven month old named Lilianne (gorgeous saucers) and kept crouching down to her level on the floor to offer her instrument after instrument. I had never seen him do this before as he is normally baby indifferent. Oh Leo. After class I ran errands and we zipped all over town in search of a track nut for my bicycle. No such luck. He was a good boy in all four of the bike shops we visited this morning, making people laugh left and right. Enroute to the last shop I knew of, I caught our reflection in a store window and said to no one "I am so happy". I really am.

Today I couldn't resist that one kitchen store I have been eyeing up for months. Knowing the quality ($$$) of the stock, I tend to skip on by just feasting my eyes on the displays through the windows. But Leo was chill on this rain Monday so I decided to go in in search of a zester. Well. Whoa. I could have spent four months rent in under 15 minutes, easy. Instead I bought the zester I needed and hightailed it out of there before I could get my greedy paws on anything else. Kitchenware, THAT to me is a wise investment. Spatulas, hand beaters (my goodness), flour sifters, KNIVES to die for, sieves fit for royalty, enamel pots, stainless steel pans, french cookware has me by the balls. I love it. I am going to try to take photos next time I go. If I ever own a shop, that is the kind of feel I hope it has.

This post was strange. Toddlers and french cookware. Who am I becoming? Haha, a mom. Looking forward to it!

Les enfants.

Yesterday I had the incredible privilege of taking some baby portraits for a friend of Leo's mama. Twin babies, nearly three months old--Malek and Leila. Delicious creatures, newborns on the brink of filling out, chubby cheeks and tiny bums, skinny legs attached to soft bodies. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh baby, how I love babies. Newborns are the best! I felt very close to Auntie Marj, as I always do when taking photos of brand new creatures. The mum of the twins was lovely and relaxed, encouraging me to do my thang', undress her children at my leisure. I wanted to cart them off to a sun-filled room and strip them down.

Rob Vilar hand friction before alighting my nanny hands on the babies. Tiny onesies, so much cuteness I could puke. And TWO. How the HELL does she do it? I asked Baya (the maman) how on earth she manages to get out of the house with two (it is hard enough with one) and she laughed and said she just hopes no one will steal one baby from the sidewalk while she gets the other.

It was such a beautiful thing to do yesterday afternoon, the sun was still high for five o'clock, warmth resting over the city's shoulders. Two cameras, not enough film (WHY do I continue to do this to myself; there is never enough film for newborns), racing between a squalling boy and a chill girl, swapping the Russian for the F3, blasting through film. Yum. Never sure of the turn out, it was more the process that hooked me. Documentation of growth. Baby portraits, there is a place for it somewhere. I find it so incredibly thrilling. Leo was there too with his ma and pa, along with the chaos that comes with having a 16 month old on the loose who knows exactly where the pot and tupperware drawers are located in every house he visits. There was a crazy chat dying to be let in, pawing wildly, drowsy babies draped on shoulders, slumped into each other--sister and brother--on a rocking chair. Light pouring in, delicate skin of brand new stomachs exposed to Sister Spring. God I love photography.

So many babies (from L: Malek, Leila, Leo); April Montreal, 2011.

I shot the tiny Italian.

Destroyer. That seems to be a good place to pick up a thread of thought after a short hiatus.

Destroyer; I first heard Destroyer in Josh Ruth's kitchen years ago. He put it on in the living room while I manned the kettle corn on the stove. Bukowski split open at the spine on the table, forgotten cocktails at midnight. The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills (1969), a poetry book by Bukowski sums up the pace of my life these days.

Wild horses.

Destroyer for me is a once in a while listen, not a friend of the ages musician in my collection such as Joanna Newsom. But a great listen when the time is right. Led by frontman Dan Bejar, Destroyer rolled through Montreal last weekend. I went alone and the show was really something. I take great pleasure in that knowing feeling that comes when one is on the cusp of witnessing something really incredible. It came just before the horns dropped in loops and the bass led the way, full percussion filling the venue with that weird voice at the helm of it all; it was a great show. Friday night date with myself and one beer.

I walked back to my home on Clark still vibrating with music. Unable to wind down, I hauled Jess downstairs and zipped around the flat of the neighborhood, practicing. I forget how to skid, my body has started this hop stop thing on my bike which is not the best riding technique. Actually it is a habit that I am trying to break while biking. Spring is in, no need to look any further for it. HalleluJAH. Nothing beats cycling at night, clear streets, no turds on bikes in sight, soft light, no gloves, no weight, just Jess and I in the wind. Track standing is not something I can do yet. I have been trying for years, that simple balance between pedal, chain tension and a cocked front wheel just out of reach. While riding, I thought back to the days when Hum and I would practice night riding in parking lots off Young and Balmoral, learning to skid with the most insane handlebar set up. Somestimes he would offer up his Bianchi. Riding an expensive bike is like nothing else! The Surly, the Gitane, the Bianchi; too many hot babes to choose from. I would practice for hours, sleep the last thing on my mind in the summer of 2008.

Dark of night sliding into the light of day, a bike between my legs. Give it to me.

There has been a quiet shift and cycling has climbed to the top of my priority list once more. I tried in vain to keep away from the internet for the weekend and the first half of this week and instead spent hours degreasing my chain, head bent, STTB, Strange Boys loud in headphones, beer on the floor beside me, an upside down bicycle. I chipped and scraped and now she is so insanely shiny. OCD Margot, I can't help it. When I get in the tuning zone, there is no satiating my hunger for the clean.

So there has been plenty of cycling. There are a SHIT TONNE of show riders in my neighborhood specifically. Lots of serious cyclists as well. I love the range. I am for fixed and have been for years and it annoys me when people ride bikes that are made to look like track bikes but are indeed free wheel. For show. Sham, in a word; get out of here.

Life these days is breezy. Leo is bon, baaaaaaaad and happy all wrapped into one laughing chicken; we adventure on the regular. I take him along while striking away at long To Dos, he laughs and continues to twinkle and old ladies double over to pinch his cheeks and smack their lips at him. I laugh at them. Le Poulet and I went record shopping yesterday at Phonopolis. Picked up oldie goldie Newsom to round out my Joanna collection, a record for Grant, and some Abner for me. Leo and I have been listening to a lot of Strange Boys and Kurt Vile lately. Leo and I have been ending each day together outside, chasing his frog ball (or "baaaah" silent L) along Waverly. Never in my life have I spent so much time on a single sidewalk. Our perch is the best for babe watching (while watching my own babe and his bah), I am trying with no success to teach the art of hand holding to Leo. Not interested. Tantrums and screaming fits are big these days, there are innumerable spontaneous 'lie downs' (as I like to call them) on the sidewalk when Le Poulet is fed up, tired, annoyed, laughing. He lies down, camps out. Passersby laugh at his weird little saucer-eyed creature screaming at top volume, sea creature legs stiff with dispute. What is there to do but lie down too? Arms behind my head, extended on the concrete. It is a great way to see the first signs of spring. Irises, tulips are well on their way. People must think we are nuts. Oh Leo, how I love you.

How will I leave you in September? I will think of you in the darkroom, dragging your wide eyes through trays of fixer, exposing your character in black and white.

Black and white photography saved my sanity this winter! Color was not cutting it and focusing on contrast seemed to help nip my winter woes in the bud. Hallelujah for Spring. I took the portrait of my life yesterday. What a sentence, sincere as the day I was born. THAT is why I shoot, for sentences like these. I did. I shot the tiny Italian. And for the first time out of four stoop visits, I began to understand him! He has a weird face, but passionate and full of stories. I was walking up Clark, away from my stoop and yelled Ciao while passing his. He was leaning on the rail and said "come here". He went off about war and fucking women and ITALIA and how life is SHORT (that much I know) and how he appreciated my happy demeanor. I know he was trying to convey some sort of life lesson to me, this young woman carrying the five pound camera, but between the Italian, French and English, it was lost upon me. At one point in his monologue, he had worked himself up so much that he stood silent for ten seconds and I raised my Kiev wordlessly and he nodded and broke into this bright smile. Viva Italia.

I carried on after four Caio's and three Bella's and made my merry way back to Phonopolis to shoot the new store's interior. Along the way, a slicked Spaniard made a romantic comment while I was mid stride and I shot him in the face, wide open. He gave it to me, sex slithering out nearly fogging the lens of my Russian. Whoa, what a day for portraits, HUMP DAY. There was something in the air!!! Spring, no less.

Printemps.

What great teeth! Montreal, 2011.

Psyched on Lisa; Montreal, 2011.

I am Syd Reimer's granddaughter; Montreal, 2011. Photo. Lisa King.

Barking at dogs with Auntie Lisa; Montreal, 2011.

Loving life and each other; Montreal, 2011. Photo. Lisa King.

This is us in a nutshell; Montreal, 2011. Photo. Lisa King.

Camping out at Parc Outremont; Montreal, 2011. Photo. Lisa King.

Stenciltown in my bedroom; Montreal, 2011.

Margot Pollo Presents; Montreal, 2011.

Swiss Family Meganson.

Before hauling my bicycle down the stairs to ride into the night, I cruised through some old photos of 2008. I really got into nannying that year and went as far as Europe to give it a shot. It was a family deal, not an au pair situation and I knew the kids going in. Thank the good Lord for that. 

Three years ago at the turn of Spring, I hightailed it for Switzerland leaving behind a mess of a life I had created. Forever running, this woman. Tristan and Madi kept it real, it was quite the learning experience. High speed trains were so scary, I was in constant fear of becoming lost. As the weeks wore on, I became obsessed with running in my spare time. Jill Sawatzky and I had been training for an upcoming half marathon and it only made sense to go it alone. Waking early to make lunches, clean up, make breakfast, pack the kids and then walk a mile to the station in Bassersdorf (a small town, 25 minutes from Zurich by train), ride to one school, walk to another, stop in at Zara, try on party, back on the train, home, RUN. It was an incredible experience to explore the countryside on foot. Tristan was four and insane, Madi was seven at the time and had to do all my wheelin' and dealin' over butcher, grocery and bakery counters as I knew not a lick of Swiss-German. 

It was quite the experience; I had nearly forgotten about it. Going to start running again; sweet retrospect.

Day off in Zurich, Switzerland; 2008.

Town of Bassersdorf, Switzerland; 2008.

Don't be fooled by those lashes; Switzerland, 2008.

Perched atop of a mountain in Thun; Switzerland, 2008.

First glimpse of Zurich outside the Hopbahnhof; 2008.

Zurich is striking; 2008.

Fight night; Switzerland, 2008.

Pulling into the Hopbahnhof in Zurich; Switzerland, 2008.

Madi at the playground; 2008.

Day off in Zurich; Switzerland, 2008.

Step in time.

This is the scope of my artwork these days. Horses on sticks.

I need to get out more.

Last night, bored as hell/ antsy and frustrated, Jess and I went riding. My white pony and I. We went to a show late at night on a whim, the streets were empty and it was exciting to ride around. The show was not worth the admission, but the bike ride was. There are few better things than bombing down underpasses in the dead of night. It is wonderful riding weather here, dry dry dry pavement, warm winds, bare hands.

I am going to have to cycle like hell to keep up with the boys (what boys?) on their geared bikes this summer. Training time for this old horse. 

The future is now.