Pizza teens.

I went out walking and came upon these two eating lunch on a ledge. I asked if I could take their picture, they obliged kindly. Shot with Porta 800 f 60/ 5.6

Arnoulde hides a big slice. "It is okay, the pizza makes the shot". "Oh, okay".

Young teens on Fairmount. Montreal, October 2011.

Thanks.

My parents came to visit in Montreal! Thanks. Guys.

Giving. Thanksgiving light cast on a long table surrounded by bodies. I was intoxicated while shooting these photos. Party! Enjoy, incorrect exposure et al.

Candle lit cracker station. Montreal, October 2011.

Ode to Bourdain. Em kitchen family on Thanksgiving Sunday. Montreal. October 2011.

Vanessa's cake.

Alex and Reneau, her handsome admirer.

Benoit et Christiane.

Favorite shot of the night. This sums up my life well. Chanel at rest.

Alone in the work room with a tripod. Print by Raymond Biesinger.

Un Conte de Fées.

Full moon lunacy. As I hauled in the laundry last night, the line heavy with sheets and towels glowed under the full lady's light even though the view wasn't direct. Bright moonlight is magical to me. After folding under the moon, I moved around catching up on the state of the house. Basically doing everything save for my paper. Discipline totally escapes me in these moments. Terrible. I don't know how to change this about myself. I understand it is in my mind and something that is imperative to learn, but I continue to fight it. Studenthood, I forgot what it meant. Difficult and laughably easy in the same breath.

Strange dichotomy, new territory.

Yesterday was a very inspiring day at school. I walked into my ARTH History of Photography class and sat down across from Alfred Stieglitz, a hero of mine. So, 1840 onwards. Lately I have been turning the effect technology has had on photography since the medium's debut in 1839 (partially out of research and partially out of interest) over and over in thought. My history class is wonderful--my favorite--which is so surprising. The images Prof. Murray selects are mostly new to me and it is incredibly inspiring to watch the progression of photography waltz across a screen. Large format. Obviously, quality is lost with this method. Museums are important, this I am learning.

What progression in a relatively short period of time! The book Great Photographers it is very dear to me. I was first introduced to Alfred Stieglitz in said book last February while reading from Laura's collection in the reading chair of our new home. Wonderful. Yesterday was exciting simply for the feeling of piecing together past information with new. Understanding.

Photography took off in 1839 with the introduction of the daguerreotype (a cumbersome and delicate print process on metal and glass plates). Reproductions were impossible until the Calotype took over (paper process, less finicky, reproducible but still not accessible to the public).  Photography took hold of the public with the release of the Kodak camera (round frame initially) in 1888, 49 years after the daguerreotype's debut. People could mail order Kodak cameras loaded with 100 exposures for ten dollars. Hefty price. Fill it up, mail it back, wait a week, keep shooting. Genius. I especially love the photos from this time period. People starting to smile with the introduction of capturable spontaneity. People laughing in a pond, modest bathing suits. Families around new babies born in an exciting time! Life was being documented in a way that had never been possible before!

These images inspire me.

Source. Louis Kaplan

Seated Woman with Bird. c. 1855. Source. Hugh Welch Diamond

As far as Alfred Stieglitz was concerned, photography was it's own art form. He spent his entire life proving this point. In the early years of the new century, people by now long used to the idea of photography were beginning to realize the purpose of such technology was much more complex than understood. What could it become? More than a research tool, more than a platform for science. Stieglitz brought his European education back to his home in America and set up art shop, opened photography salons and galleries, as well as editing photography publications such as Camera Work.

Here is a slice from my drawing book, hand copied verbatim from the 1971 Time Inc. publication of Great Photographers.

August 2011, Montreal.

Who knows what will come of school. Most of the time I feel too damn practical for the type of learning that is expected. Mentorship alternatives. Independent production. I understand that proper technique is imperative to any operation, but can this not be learned elsewhere? Hmm. I am constantly struggling with the validity of school in my personal journey. Can I do this on my own? Definitely. Would I have the same access that I am paying for now? No. Not necessarily. I find Montreal very difficult to network within. Winnipeg is incredible in that sense. If you have the drive to make something happen, there is always space to be had and people to call. Growing up is a funny thing. I can't help feeling that I am making some sort of mistake. Then again, I fear the things I do not know. Plow through, try something else? Will I know when it is time to go? So many questions these days. 

Emptiness and hesitation. Or is that just practicality and good sense? Je sais pas.

I heard Francois Dompierre's piano rendition of "Un Conte de Fées" from his Flash-back album on Radio Classique this morning and it filled me right up. Goodness I love the sound of the piano. Can't seem to find the song online, sorry. Here is another image, to close.

Bow River, Blackfoot. c. 1926. Edward Sheriff Curtis.

Block print.

I was able to print for the entire day today. It was glorious. The morning was spent unfolding long bolts of paint stained work muslin across the longest work table you can imagine. Pinning, mixing clear base and pigments decked head to toe in protective gear (one is expected to print with rubber gloves), rolling ink, doing dishes, ripping fabric, printing. Ahhhhhhh, it felt so good. I had the table to myself which is always a pleasure. Quiet thoughtful printing in the afternoon sun. Strange red. Anyway, I thought of Willa as I stamped my fabric.

Love you.

Flying Horse. Block Print motif. Ink on cotton. Montreal, 2011.

Woodshop.

Hallo. Heute stand ich in einem sonnigen Holz, das Geschäft. Es war herrlich. 

Hello. Today I stood in a sunlit wood working shop. It was glorious.

Crisp cold of morning whipping over bare hands on Alba's carefully wrapped bartape. It feels so good to zoom down the hill into the downtown hustle like a fish in traffic. Salmoning upstream to school--trying not to be a jackass on a bicycle--to my parking spot beside the Engineering/ Visual Arts building. I had Fibre art this morning and was completely unprepared but made do. Thankfully it was a studio work period and there was plenty of time and space to relax into a work rhythm. We are working on Block Printing this week so I whipped up a drawing of a horse in motion on linoleum and managed to finish the carving in time for the Supervised studio. After class I went down one floor to the woodshop for some help in creating a wooden base for my horse stamp.

Block printing is essentially motif stamping. I am not really a traditional motif kind of woman in the sense of sprawling patterns of paisley or floral or whatever. A horse can be a motif, right? Unfortunately, my POSITIVE brain could not compute with what was being asked and instead of carving away the negative space (in order for the positive surface to lie higher as a flat ink bed), I carved the lines of the drawing itself (which is backwards). Oh well. Instead of starting over I cut around my image and left a slim border. A visual would be helpful here, but alas I have none. Tomorrow I am set to apply ink with a brayer on the horse, so we will see how it turns out. Check back for a scan tomorrow if interested. Color mixing in the dye lab is incredibly precise (read: garish colors), and I appreciate the freedom I had at one time to mix color at will at Martha Street Studio now more than ever. Technique, technique! Learn it, Madge.

The woodshop was the best part of my day. Bob the carpenter helped me with a certain kindness and calmness that I appreciate in a teacher. 


- Can you handle this?
- Definitely.
- Good.

I could see myself working there, the afternoon sun pouring in across rolling wood carts topped with heavy butcher blocks and machinery. Heady wood smell, smelled like QB, smelled like my dad, smelled like home. In other news, I received a new pair of hoops in the mail from Alex, a talented Winnipeg jeweller after losing my original pair. Hallelujah. I feel like a new woman.

Must study now. Good day.


Margot

Time changes us.

We change with time. This photo is very dear to me. Thanks Richard. I have thought about this moment with Chanel off and on since the day you steadied and shot your Polaroid Land camera. While I continue to be unfamiliar with the camera's print process, this very photo has always had mystery attached to the memory of my mind's eye. Today marked the first time I had seen it since you developed it at your kitchen table in the Village in October of 2009.

One day Chanel and I will look back at this photo and howl. Young ladies, to date.

Chanel et moi by Richard Bars. Montreal, Quebec.  October 2009. Polaroid Land camera.

Train talk.

I spent the evening riding around in artificial light, watching people, watching the rain streak the bus windows, la plume blowing delicately on my neck from the wind of the metro. As much as a pain the rain can be at times when dry clothes are of the essence, I love it dearly. Keeping in mind that school is what I make of it, I packed my camera equipment and one knight's helmet with the green plume and hit the road. Destination East. Whenever I feel lost, I head East. There is no real explanation for this, it just feels right when considering the options of direction.

On the bus ride to the nearest metro (Place-des-Arts) downtown, I met a young woman named Hana who reminded me so much of Lisa Varga. Slice of home in the simple familiarity of dress and speech. Hana kindly obliged to my camera and gave her face, knights helmet and all. The woman sitting beside me as I shot was also curious about my motive. Welllllllllllllllll. My motive is to explore the intimacy of portraiture through the aid of a prop. This knight's helmet embodies the nerve it takes to approach and be approached. The goal of my artwork is to produce approachable and truthful imagery. Nothing is more pleasing than to witness true character unfold like a flower through my lens, even for a moment. Trust. Is. Imperative. I love exploring this, pushing the boundaries of solitary comfort. The look of surprise and bewilderment on the faces of strangers when asked for their portrait are the mental photographs I tuck away in my mind's eye. Too bad the camera isn't capable of such quick looks.

People watching.

Eastward I went, eight, ten, twelve, fifteen stops. Every five stops or so I got off to walk around underground, open to connection of any sort, camera in hand, feather bobbing alongside like a willing pup. I met one man, no name taken as I forgot to ask. We conversed on a darkened bench in French to begin; my words tumbling out in broken particles like a child and he obliged my humble effort by answering my questions with a deliberate slowness and clarity. Merci, mon ami. I should have asked his name. When I asked for his photo, he retreated backwards on the bench with sudden velocity as if suddenly aware of his work clothes. Little did he know how I love work clothes, how I am drawn to workers. Wished I could have explained this to him in french. Maybe the helmet intimidated him, je sais pas. We shook hands when my train arrived and he carried on collecting crumpled metro journals for recycling. One wave, goodbye. Such kindness in those eyes and a strong handshake.

While waiting for the train at Place-des-Arts, two young men caught my eye. Jeans and leather jackets, big black boots. One man was incredibly tall, his friend short by comparison. I approached them after considering them for ten minutes, knowing that I would lose the image in mind if I waited another second. They were very kind and receptive. Laughter dancing around inside eyes, such a sight upon recognition and incredibly hard to capture. They were from Holland, their accents sweet like dessert. The train came before I could take their names. Shoot. It is very important to me record names and addresses when possible. I found it difficult to meter light underground but shot around anyway, who cares.

Last shot was of a cute french boy who laughed at my crappy french and then gave his face out of pity or mirth, I couldn't tell and shot anyway. He wore the helmet with confidence despite the train full of people. Square shoulders, dancing feather, fluorescent lights streaking the perpetual dark of the underground.