Five Hundred Photographs

The Streets Remember.

2007-06-03T20:09:00.000-04:00

I woke up from my nap on the bus just as it began to enter Peterborough. My ears stung as I re-adjusted the earbud headphones from my Walkman. The sun set high above the red brick houses - the deep green trees. Without a cloud in the sky it appeared almost as a glowing round haze in the late afternoon. The bus turned into the greyhound station and I walked off banging my Nike gym bag full of clothes along the rows of seats. I stepped onto Simcoe street and began to walk towards the main roads. The streets were fairly empty save a few people wandering aimlessly, sitting on benches, and waiting for crosswalks. I always get my senses overwhelmed by my surroundings whenever I visit Peterborough; A not-so-kind mixture of memories and what is physical in the present.

My reason for being here again is to attend my convocation ceremony at Trent University. Finishing work early – I decided to take the bus up for the evening so that I could call upon a few friends and have an enjoyable night before doing the ceremony in the morning. I waited on calling people until I dropped my stuff off at my friend's place where I plan to spend the night.

After a bit of walking I find his address and walk up to his new place. The building seemed really skinny in structure with old wooden steps adjacent to a juniper shrub that led to a door that was already a bit open. I knocked anyways, and each knock pushed the door more open. I had to pull the door shut again after each session of knocking. Finally someone answers the door and invites me in, and I head down to Kelly's room to drop off my bag. Classic Kelly, all he has in his room is a mattress on the floor with the same faded maroon bed sheets, the small wooden desk from Wal-Mart, and his computer playing a movie – with the speakers loud – and nobody watching it. After talking to his new roommate for a bit I head back out to get some food and to call up some old friends.

I'm wearing my new party jacket over my old blue and white stripped shirt, and I slung my Polaroid camera around my shoulder to take with me. I head towards downtown on Water Street and begin calling friends on my cell phone. “This number is no longer assigned” Is the voice recording I heard after nearly every number dialed. The one person I did get a hold of was way too tired to hang out. I flipped through my contacts a couple more times and realized it was no use. Everyone I knew in Peterborough has left.

Continuing my walk on the streets I decided that there was really one place in the city that would make me feel better: the Night Kitchen. I stopped in for a couple slices, including my favourite slice of feta cheese, spinach and leek onion – with a lemonade pop that I really have only seen available here. After I finished eating I walked around the downtown some more. The streets began to pick up in population, mostly younger kids from highschool. I paid no attention to anyone and looked around for a place to hang out in. I eventually came to a familiar sight on Simcoe Street.

It was the spot in while I took a picture with my cell phone for my other blog that I started back in the beginning of 2006. This time I took the Spectra SE Polaroid camera and set it up for dark pictures and turned the flash off and took a picture. I never know if anything will turn out when I take pictures this way because of the inability to change the shutter speeds to a custom level. The photograph did develop however to my surprise and I love how it looks like a dreamy haze of an urban setting. Every time I visited Peterborough during the last few months, I always tried to get a Polaroid picture to remember my stay to write about – but found that there was nothing that I could possibly take a picture of that could encumber the entire memory. I guess I was lucky this time.

I then came full circle and wound up at the same spot, but instead of going into Night Kitchen I went into my favourite pub in Peterborough: Gertis. It was empty inside save for three guys at the bar, two of which were a couple Mexicans who were getting kicked out because they were way too intoxicated. The barmaid asked where they needed to go for the taxi cab but none of us could understand what he was saying. When the taxi arrived they went in anyways and it drove off. I wonder where it took them.
“It is their first day in Canada,” said the third man.
“Oh ya?”
“Yep. Came all the way from Mexico.” He took another swig from his drink of beer and then laughed to himself. Probably remembering something the amigos said to him just prior to being kicked out. I ordered a pint of Murphys when the barmaid asked. I can't find that beer served anywhere but this bar, and I love it so much. I set my Polaroid camera down on the bar and picked up the local paper that sat on the very end of the bar and began to read it. Everything was silent while I read the paper - save for the occasional clang of glasses to disrupt it while the barmaid cleaned up the bar.

I finished the paper and put it back on top of the stack of similar ones and took savory drinks from my pint glass. When “The Sound of Silence” by Paul Simon came on, the third man let go what seemed like a mix of a sigh and a grunt. All of us listened to the song attentively.

“Fools said I, you do not know,
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.”

“You know, this song is like really soft and emotional, yet-” He paused. “Really rockin' at the same time.” The third man said with a laugh afterwards. I laughed in agreement. “This was the birth of emo music.” He joked.

I took out some Polaroids in my pocket and stared at them while drinking my pint of beer. The photos seemed so silent being just still photographs of a place in time. I put them back in, finished my beer, and said goodbye to the barmaid. I felt pretty bummed out that nobody was around in Peterborough anymore and reflected on all the good times I have had here, and all the people I spent a good chunk of my time here with. I thought to myself that I really shouldn't come back here anymore and to just move on.

When I walked up to the door at Kelly's house I noticed that the door was locked. I knocked lightly this time because I didn't really want to wake anybody up. No one came to the door so I sat on his stoop and waited for him to come back. I use to love watching Water Street at night when I lived right beside it. The roar of cars passing by seemed really soothing and relaxing to me for some reason. I could hear footsteps approaching on the sidewalk. I just sat there and watched as two men stood in front of the house. They talked for a couple seconds and said good-bye to one another. The taller of the two approached the stairs and when he came into light I recognized him right away.

“Andy Doobie?” I questioned.
“Yes.” He said at first not recognizing me.
“It's me, Matthew Hunter.”
“Oh, how are you doing? Wait- So you're Kelly's friend Matt?”
“Ha ha ha, yeah.”
“Wow really small world.” He said. Andy was my sensei for jui jitsu back in my first year of University. He led me into the house and told me to make myself at home. We had a quick chat and I went back down to Kelly's room to fall asleep until he got back.

I turned down his speakers to enjoy some silence as I laid awkwardly across the foot of his mattress.

music to accompany the blog: Silversun Pickups - Rusted Wheel.

Epoch Of Camera.

2007-04-13T01:06:00.000-04:00

An old photograph of an old house in Peterborough, Ontario, Canada. The cold winter chill created a unique look during the developing process. Polaroid Spectra SE with "image" instant film.

It was the hardest feeling to put my camera to rest. Upon receiving the news from retail photography stores around my area that Polaroid's 500 Instant film was being discontinued, I rushed to my cell phone and to the yellow pages to see if there was any store left in the greater Toronto area that had any packages left over. None. I was disheartened, and sat by my computer wondering what I could possibly do to continue this website. I could go digital, in fact everyone was telling me that it is the most reasonable solution. I thought about it some more, but knew that I could not achieve the same essence of a moment that I am able to capture with a Polaroid picture. I could just stop writing was the other option, but because of the wonderful stories (at least I think they are) I have written already that would seem like a waste.

The difference between digital photography and Polaroid photography, to me, is best summed up by professional photographer Matthew Modine. He said:
"There's a discipline. When you take someone's portrait, you don't have to take 50 photographs, just find that one so that when you release the shutter, that's the image that you took."

I wrote Polaroid corporation an e-mail asking them as to why they discontinued the particular film I used. Their response was honest and concise: Digital photography is more popular. They offered me film if I had a different camera and so I received a ten pack of their "image" film. My Polaroid Spectra SE camera can utilize this type of instant film.

In the end I decided to continue writing stories using my other Polaroid camera with "image" instant film with my Spectra SE. I opened my dresser drawer in my room and looked at my large Captiva SE camera one final time and placed in with the rest of the collection of old cameras. I removed the Spectra SE and closed the drawer. and played around with it in my hands, opening and closing the lens, adjusting the hand strap on the side.

So although the significance of the title of this website correlating with the type of film I was using is long gone - I will still continue on.

To Moss A Tree.

2006-10-18T20:33:00.000-04:00

The tree that we ran to in the middle of that farmer’s field was really out of place. I stood there in the grass and look around in all directions. I could see a couple old farms with silos and barns, a few old yellow tractors, and in the far east I could see lines and lines of trees. The wind rumbled some more in my ears. Jordan, Rebecca and I took some more photographs with a digital camera and then walked back to the car satisfied with visiting the tree.

Our adventure didn’t stop there however because as we got back in the car we decided to journey further down Elgin Mills Road to see what else we could find. To our surprise we found huge mansions one by one on both sides of the road. They were probably among the biggest houses I’ve seen in Ontario. Driving slow to admire the houses probably was frustrating the drivers behind us who are use to the scenery and think nothing special about it. After seeing huge stone gate pillars though, we decided to turn around and park on the side of the road for closer investigation and to take some photos.

Half of Jordan’s car was leaning into the ditch beside us on the right when he parked. There was no way to avoid it, so we had to carefully exit the car because of gravity, though it certainly would be funny if either Rebecca or I fell out.

They approached the gate with the digital camera and took some photographs. My eye caught something different though. Along the property line was a brown stained fence. Beyond it was a yard with seemingly well groomed grass and alignment of trees. However the perfect cut grass was covered with hundreds and hundreds of dried out fallen autumn leaves. A tree that stood just before the fence was covered with a yellow moss. I took my out my Polaroid camera and took a photograph. I wanted to focus on the beautiful moss along the trunk of the tree.

I put the camera back inside the car and walked up to look at the stone gates that were built with perfection. Jordan started to venture down further the driveway despite the warnings of dogs on guard and no trespassing. I remember doing lawn care for the rich in a secluded part of Toronto. The backyard had a sign of a dog claiming that the dog can run faster than me and will bite. We ran the doorbell to make sure the dog wasn’t in the backyard but the owner of the house was not home. “Go check to see if the dog is in the backyard.” My technician told me. “But, what if it is in the back yard?” I asked. “Run.” He said. If it was a trick to scare me it worked, but the anxiety was so envigourating that I had to do it. I opened the gate and crept slowly in the backyard ever cautious. I tried calling out to the dog while the gate was fully open. Silence. Even though I confirmed the dog wasn’t there I still quickly fertilized the lawn and got out of there fast. Sort of disappointed I didn’t have to run for my life.

Jordan was satisfied with his photos and we moved on. We stopped at a couple more houses to take some photographs, and then headed home.

Saturate.

2006-10-17T02:32:00.000-04:00

My cell phone alarm started to ring very early in the morning and I kept hitting the volume controls to snooze it for another ten minutes. I then re-adjusted in my bed so that I was laying on my back, then afterwards I soon closed my eyes to drift off to sleep again. The phone rang suddenly and my body slightly convulsed from the surprise of the ring. It was Jordan calling to see if I still wanted to go to some flea markets this morning. I agreed and was given a grace period of ten minutes to get ready. I got changed, took my backpack with my camera, put on my leather jacket and I went out the door. Jordan rolled up in his car at the end of my driveway and I opened the door, sat down, and we were off.

I love to get out of the house these days and will take any opportunity to do so. After graduating from University I had to return back to my parent’s house. No more living independently. And it doesn’t help that our lifestyles clash as well.

We pull into the Pickering flea market parking lot. It just opened. Looming over the chip painted parking spots are large electrical towers. I gaze up to the blue October sky to look at the metallic giants, but get interrupted when Jordan asks to make sure the passenger car door is locked. I look back down and confirm it, and so we enter the building. Along the glass windowed walls were lines of furniture, mostly wooden, and mostly stools, and on top of which were more simple household items like big telephones, cooking and dinner sets, vases, and other gimmicky stuff that was probably bought after seen on an infomercial. Jordan knows where he is going, a vendor that deals with coins. I observe him as he methodically looks through his booklets of coins and rummaging through the dangling coins on hooks, protected in their cardboard cases. He double and triple checks the years and the quality of the coins. I look around the vendor’s shop, which is really more like an opened up cubicle, and try to take interest in the items. Nothing appeals to me though. “Hey I’m going to check out other stuff.” I mentioned. He acknowledges and quickly goes back to work. I wander around and consciously devise a system of which direction I will go so to ensure I don’t miss anything.

I look at some old furniture in some abandoned cubicle shops. They piled them on top of each other. Probably haven’t bothered to set it up properly. One vendor had old radios lined up on shelves, overpriced for what they were; I don’t know anyone who would want to collect that stuff. I finally see some things of interest: old wooden bar stuff. Chalkboard signs, beer bottles, liquor bottles, more stools, and some wooden plaque that has the Molson Canadian logo on it with a protruding bottle cap opener. Cool. I move on though and see vinyl records on the floor in front of a vendor. I can not resist, and flip through them. I see one by Billy Idol, a small EP, but with some good songs like “Mony Mony” on it. I’ve been looking for a vinyl with that song. Jordan returns from his coin expedition and I tell him about my find. “How much is it?” He asks. I tell him that it is three dollars and he whispers for me to try and get it for two and walks away discreetly. I pick up the record and go up to the man who appeared to own it. “Hey, how much is this?” I ask even though I know the answer. “Three dollars.” He says softly. “What do you say, two dollars?” I then interject. “No.” He said simply. He had me, and I agreed to the original price. He must have known I really wanted it.

I move along and put the vinyl in my backpack and catch up with Jordan at the end of another hall. As I sift through another box of vinyl records Jordan calls to my attention. I look up and he holds up this big black box by its strap. It reads: Polaroid. “What is that?” I ask ignoring the vinyl records. We opened it up and this monstrous camera is sitting inside. It is all black and has no see through hole, and a dial on the front with numbers imprinted on it like a protractor. It has “Self-Timer” written on the top right. We struggle to open it up and play around with it. The vendor cautiously looks over us as if we were kids playing around with something that is “not a toy.” I put it back in the box because I figure it was meant to just set up for self-portraits. “It has to open up man.” Jordan says. We move on though, and even though I collect Polaroid cameras, I wasn’t at all interested in buying that.

So we got back into the car and decided to go pick up our friend Rebecca who just lives in the next city over. She needs sometime to get ready so we went to grab some lunch. Jordan recommends going to the cafeteria at his old campus because it has an A&W. It sounds good to me. He drives down Military Trail and looks to see if the parking on campus is free because it is Sunday. After reading the sign and finding out we had to pay, we decide to park it on a side street and walk back. As we are walking towards campus along Military Trail, Jordan tells me a little bit of the story about this street while all the cars zooming past us. The legend tells that the British army used this road as an alternate route to battle because the former way of travel was too close to the lakes and the threat of the American ships. I begin to wonder about those soldiers, what were they thinking - knowing that they are going into battle. I wonder if they thought of what the future would be like and whether the idea of my friend and I walking this road was part of it. The vision before my eyes of the urban street and cars fades to a dirt road with forestry lined along the sides. I wonder.

Jordan walks quickly through the building. I take my time and observe my surroundings. The red tiled floor, the concrete walls, students wandering about, and posters along the wall. I feel so much like a stranger in this building. Mentioning this to Jordan gets a laugh because he was thinking about how comfortable he feels because of the familiarity and nostalgia. I suppose it would the opposite if I was leading him through the halls of my old University. We look at the composite graduation photos in one of the hallways which has one of our friends on it. Further down and up some stairs and around we get to the cafeteria. We sit at the tables waiting for the store to open but it doesn’t appear to be opening anytime soon. Instead we decide to just forget it and pick up Rebecca.

After we get her and get on the 401 to head back towards Oshawa we try and decide what flea market to go to next. We have the choice is driving about an hour into a rural town which has a big country market, or to just drive back home and check out some around town. The adventurer in us decides to do the first choice, to drive to a small town called Stouffville which is North-West of our location. After getting directions via cell phone from my father we start the journey. We pass by a lot farms along the semi-busy highway. The sun, which was out when we were in Pickering, was now hidden behind the clouds. Once hot, now we are starting to get cold. When we get to Stouffville we drive along the main drag admiring the houses on the side and their old style of design. Ivy running up the sides of the brick, medium sized pebble stones in concrete, and wooden framed windows. We didn’t know what turn to take to get to the flea market so we ended up at the end of the main drag of town. A sign that tells us to turn left or right, as there is nothing but fields behind a guard rail. We turn left but only to turn around and head back for the main drag. This time we noticed a sign that says Country Market and we head that way and find a parking spot.

The parking lot was filled with wooden tables of stuff. Some people make their living here selling stuff from behind a table. I see old rusty bicycles from days old, decanters – which my father would have loved to see, and various other stuff that I would consider junk. I look out for video games mostly. I love to collect them in mint condition, especially games that I use to play when I was a child. I have them all sorted and stacked in a dresser by my bed. Organized according to the system they are designed for. I am always reminded when looking for things to add to my collections of an essay written by Walter Benjamin which is about his obsession with collecting old books. He writes:

“Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector’s passion borders on the chaos of memories. More than that: the chance, the fate, that suffuse the past before my eyes are conspicuously present in the accustomed confusion of these books. For what else is this collection but a disorder to which habit has accommodated itself to such an extent that it can appear as order?”

I look through the video games for specific titles, ignoring all the rest, hoping for a chance to find one of my favourites. Instead all I see are sun-faded games that no one wants.

We look around some more and decide to head home. We finally stopped to get something to eat, and then started the drive back to Rebecca’s place. While on the road again I mention that we should go down one of these roads and see if we can find something to photograph. At random Jordan turns down Elgin Mills Road E. It dips and bends and just after the top of the hill we can see a tree in the brilliant rays through the clouds. It still has some of its leaves on the branches, and more noticeably, it has a perfect round shape to it. We pull along the side of the road and get out of the car. Jordan and Rebecca halt at the beginning of the field to admire the tree. I let a car drive past and walk on the road. It’s very windy at the spot and I squint my eyes to protect my vision. The car disappears as it drives down the bend. I stand in the middle of the road and take out my Polaroid camera to take a photograph. I wanted to capture the feeling of isolation and adventure that an open road presents to you.

When I lower the camera I look to my right to where Jordan and Rebecca are. To my surprise they are running through the field towards the big tree. The wind picks up and rumbles in my ear as I watch them run in the waving grass. I start to run too towards them and as I approach closer, Jordan takes out a camera and sets up to take a photograph of me running. I outstretch my arms and pretend that I am flying.

music to accompany the blog: City And Colour – Sam Molone.

The Impossible Fire.

2006-09-20T01:36:00.000-04:00

After I took the picture of the birdhouse in Jordan’s garden I wanted to make a pre-arranged photograph. Even though it’s not something I usually like to do. However I found myself arranging the objects on the table in some manner and then I took a photograph while slouching in my chair. I put the objects back that I took off the table and messed it up again. The sun was behind the clouds and the photo sort of turned out dark but the photograph was still good. I helped Jordan look for things around his yard to put into the chemo for tonight after we finished talking. As I got up the sun came out. I knew I would never have another chance to take the photograph. I switched the camera to the light setting to turn off the flash and took the photograph. The result was a brighter photograph of the same thing. Only this time the objects weren’t pre-arranged like I wanted them. I looked at both and couldn’t decide on which one to put on this website. So I finally decided on the brighter one and gave the other to Jordan.

I guess I couldn’t get my arranged photograph. I love to look at Polaroid photographs on some photo websites. When I look at them I think “Wow! That is a classic, run of the mill Polaroid photograph.” It is hard to explain, but when you see what other people take photos of with a Polaroid, it’s like, a piece of furniture, or people huddling together, or something abstract. I love it. I only wish that if people see my Polaroid photographs that they think the same way.

After dinner that same day I asked my dad if any of the neighbours had any wood that I could use to burn in his chemo. Ends up my neighbour Kenny had a whole bunch of pine that he wanted to get rid of. During the dusk in the evening we systematically got the saw and started to cut it all into small pieces of wood to burn. I was in my zip up sweater with work gloves on and cutting some wood and smelling the pine was great. It’s these small insignificant moments when you just feel manly. My dad came in to help with transporting the cut wood on a tarp to put into Jordan’s car when he came to pick me up.

When Jordan arrived he backed up and opened the trunk. We picked up the tarp of wood, which was surprisingly light, and dumped it in the back. I grabbed some beers and we drove over to his house, stopping at the McDonalds along the way for a couple of burgers. When we got to his house, Nelson and Pete arrived at the same time. We all went over to the gazebo and started to light up the candles and I opened a beer and started eating. Pete started up the fire like he usually does. It started to go for a bit but then died down.

“Too much wood!” We were yelling at him.
“You told me to keep adding more!” He argued. He was right.
“Don’t listen to us man.” I said and took a swig of my beer, and a bite of my burger.

The pine must have been too wet from the rain yesterday because no matter how much we tried and how much of a fire we thought we had. It just wouldn’t keep burning constant. The pine smoked a lot too and one of Jordan’s neighbours came over to make sure everything was ok. So much for that wood. I think it will be ok for when we all go camping near the middle of October though.

Nelson wanted to leave because he was feeling ill. So I jumped in the car with him and that was the end of the night. Kind of a downer of a night, but we still had some fun. Maybe when the pine dries up, it will burn better.

music to accompany the blog: Travis - Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

For The Birds.

2006-09-19T22:34:00.000-04:00

The wind is getting chillier by the day. Today I realized that I don’t have anymore Polaroid 500 film left in my camera. There is only one place in Oshawa that I know carries the stuff, so I decided to take my bike at around one o’ clock in the afternoon to go get some. I was offered a drive there, but if I really wanted to a drive down, I probably would have just taken the car myself. The location is really difficult to get to because it is on a one-way street with loads of traffic. Most so the reason for taking my bike is simply I love to go cycling and prefer riding a bicycle over driving. During the hot months in Peterborough I loved riding around the city because it is so flat. Oshawa is a different story, it’s great to bike from my location elsewhere, but getting back is trouble because the far east end of the city is on a huge hill overlooking the rest of the city. I live on that top of the hill.

I get to the part of the city that just begins to the descent down on Grandview Street. I look out down below and see Lake Ontario in the distance. Not quite the ocean as I saw back in Cape Cod, but still a marvel none the less. The cloud formations were magnificent. In a sense I wish I had the film in my camera at this moment to take a picture. It’s funny when you get caught in those moments and you find yourself saying the cliché “I wish I had my camera.”

One such moment happened in my first year in University around this time in September. I actually remember the exact date. It was the 26th day of the month. I left my residence room in Champlain College to go somewhere late in the evening. I usually brought my camera everywhere on campus as I was quite the shutter bug. As I climbed the stairs leading to the University library I looked up and saw the most beautiful sky. It was a deep blue but still very much bright outside, and the moon was full and looming over the other residence houses on the hill. I wanted to run back to my room to get my camera and run back to take the photograph. I had to go somewhere and figured by the time I get my camera and run back to the same location it would be too late. The sky would probably change. Instead I remembered the moment and just stood there on the concrete stationary gazing out into the distance to remember what I saw forever. I wonder what people thought if they saw me that day, standing still looking at a moon for minutes.

I thought I could return to this spot one year later and actually remembered the date, counted down the days until I could. However, when the day actually arrived the University began construction on the new college, so a giant crane was in the way. After the college was built, the photo could never exist physically because the new college blocked the view of the houses from that spot.

Robert Frank once said: “My photographs are not planned or composed in advance, and I do not anticipate that the onlooker will share my viewpoint. However, I feel that if my photograph leaves an image on his mind, something has been accomplished.”

Sitting on my bicycle seat looking at the sky from up high reminded me of that moment in my life. I guess this whole experience of using Polaroids and taking my camera everywhere is a return to that lifestyle I use to experience.

I rode my bike further west towards the photography store. It was smooth ride from here and I avoided as many of the main streets as I could. Gangs of kids on bikes and skateboards were all around in these small neighbourhoods. After crossing a big distance on my bike I finally arrived at Bernie’s Foto Source. I met Dan at the counter, whom I spoke to earlier on the phone.

“Hi, I called earlier about the Polaroid 500 film.”
“Sure, here it is; the last pack.”
“Are you going to be getting any more?”
“Oh why? Do you want to buy a whole bunch?”
“Well, if you keep getting them, I’ll keep buying them.”
“One sec, lemme ask.”

He asked someone in the back and confirmed that they are going to be getting more stock. Perfect I thought, and then hopped on my bike for the quest back home. Before I did I called up Jordan on my cell to see if he was around, because he is pretty close in this area. He was home and had some time to spare so I went to visit him.

His backyard has been a sort of nice hang out spot in the summer time. We love sitting in chairs around this old wooden table to light up candles, a fire in an old chemo, and to have drinks and laughs. As I sat there on the chair chatting with him and making plans to hang out tonight with the rest of the crew, my eyes caught the attention of a birdhouse in his garden. Among the tomato plants and vines on the chain link fence stood a wooden birdhouse of sky blue. Like a robin’s egg. I crept up to it as if I was stalking my prey and opened my camera.

I tried to position my view so that I didn’t capture anything in the background other than the vines, and wanted to make sure that no tomato plant leaves got in the way to destroy the focus. I took the picture. I think it turned out pretty well. His garden is pretty amazing from a photographer’s point of view. The objects really stand out and are complimented really well by the array of colours available through the various plants and flowers that surround them. Plus most of the objects are things of an old age way past my time of existence, and it’s fun to see what they have become after all these years.

Jordan had to get ready for class though, so I went on my way back home. Did not like that hill coming back, but all and all, it was nice to be back home. And, it was nice to remember something that meant a lot to me in the past. I’ll never forget that picture that never was.

music to accompany the blog: Saosin - Collapse.

Just.

2006-09-17T22:35:00.000-04:00

When you look at a single word by itself without a sentence it seems alien to you. I took a photograph of the setting sun at my cottage. It was probably one of the last days I was there, and during the week I didn’t really get up to much other than to relax on the island. I know when I return I have to start looking for a job and start the rest of my life. Something I look forward to, and something I am scared of at the same time because nothing is absolute. I take the Polaroid out of the camera and hold it up blocking the sun from my eyes. It flaps in the wind a bit and slowly and surely it develops from a faded look to full colour. There is nothing inspirational about this photograph to me. I have taken so many sunsets at this location because it is right outside on my front yard. To me it is just another sunset. Over the progression of my life I have had many cameras, I think I started from those disposable cameras, to a Nikon 35mm camera, to a digital camera, and then to Polaroid.

The beauty of the Polaroid is in the developing, because there are so many ways to manipulate the outcome. I like to leave it as is though, to see how the camera wants it to be developed. In this case everything looks like a silhouette to the sunset. A bit of the purple sky shows up too in the corner. Wonderful. I place it back into the camera for holding.

I use to love this tree growing up. I remember moments in my life where I would just sit up top the branch up high and look out to the river in the distance. I would sit up there for hours thinking to myself. I wonder what I was thinking about back then; such a tame moment in our lives when we were young.

I walked back in my cottage and I lay in bed listening to my MD Walkman and started to think about my life growing up. My experiences and how they have shaped me over the years. I also think back to a time when I was taking a Cultural Studies course in the summertime, and we actually had a “Show And Tell” as one of our final assignments. I brought in a photo album of my pictures from my 35mm camera. I remember what my professor, Jonathon Bordo, said about it as he gazed upon the four-squared pages with photos in it.

“You know, I wish we were able to do the Photograph section of this course, because it is amazing how this to you and me may seem like just a sunset, but to be a part of the moment is something indescribable.”

The sun finally started to disappear and in the waning light through my window I caught a glimpse of the bluish hue sky before it settled to darkness.

music to accompany the blog: John Mayer – The Heart Of Life.

Spider Rock.

2006-09-15T00:51:00.000-04:00

I returned home in Ontario from a long trip to Cape Cod. My father picked me up when we crossed over the border on the 1000 Islands Bridge and took me back to the cottage on Tar Island. The crew and I were so relieved to be back home in Ontario, if we could I bet we would all pile out of the car and have a big group hug and dance and scream. Tired and wary though, Jordan was driving and taking a simple photograph of the Ontario sign with his camera, the other Jordan was playing on his laptop, and Leanne was quietly thinking to herself. My dad was kind of glad to see me when he was driving me back and we spent the rest of the night in my godfathers garage drinking.

His garage is pretty cool and has the classic country feel to it. He does wood working as a hobby, so there are model ducks everywhere, and tools everywhere to do it. In the center of the garage is a metal shop table with some sort of fabric draped over it. We gather stools from all over the garage and gather around the table and start drinking. My dad loves it here. But when it started to get dark we went across the river to my cottage. I didn’t stay up late cause the long trip back really tired me out seeing that I had to get up early.

The next morning my dad returned back to Oshawa, but I decided to stay behind with my mother and puppy for an extra week. It may not have been the best of decisions because it started to pour rain when I was taking my dad across the river. I was prepared for it though with my long yellow rain coat on the heavy rain did not affect me too much except to cause me to squint and get my hair soaked. My dads’ old boat of 30 years was leaking so badly that I was scared it would sink. He bought a new boat this summer by continues to use the old one even though it is full of water every morning. I watch him and shake my head when he goes down there to bail it out for twenty minutes. The rain continued until noon that day.

I spent most of the rest of the day in my room looking at all the photographs I took from the trip to Cape Cod and organizing the pieces of paper that I wrote on. Looking out my window I can barely make out the stream of rain drops falling from the sky. Hundreds at a time, my eyes dart side to side looking at them, and I turned back to my photographs.

I got up and decided to take a new photograph seeing that the rain had stopped. Seeing that it could pour at any second I took my backpack with me and stuffed the camera inside. I made my way to this big rocky area on the island called Blueberry Hill. For some reason since I was a kid I have always known it to be called Spider Rock because of a time when someone saw a gigantic spider on one of them. At least, that was what I was told. It is amazing some of the myths and legends that we get told as kids that stick with us until adulthood.

I stood there in front of one of the rocks, the multi-coloured moss at its feet. Red moss means it is dried out dead I think, lush green is healthy. What does one think about when standing in the middle of the wilderness in front of a big rock? People. I thought about people. I thought about the first girl I kissed on that very rock, thought about my friends, my ex-girlfriend, one of my sweethearts from college… Sarah. I remember when she came to visit me at my cottage we wandered around the island. She then a week later sent me a letter with a photograph of a sunset and a piece of paper that read in simple pencil:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. – Robert Frost

I haven’t spoken to her in years. I haven’t spoken to a lot of people in years. Reaching in my backpack I took out my Polaroid camera and I took the photograph of the rock with my camera. I wanted to capture the feeling of isolation that the rock must have.

Being stuck in the middle of a path that nobody takes.

music to accompany the blog: Joshua Radin - The Fear You Won't Fall.

Finding My Lighthouse.

2006-09-14T00:47:00.000-04:00

Doing some research on Cape Cod and by looking at the cheaply made tourist maps available at any of the food joints, I was intrigued to find some info on lighthouses located all over and thought it would be a great photograph to take. Of course the rest of the crew wanted to check out the northern point as well so it was a win-win situation. We all got into the car early and drove north along the spit to do some sightseeing.

Our first stop was the Cape Cod Light which ended up being a hokey tourist trap, like most things found around here, so we moved on. We drove further north to Province Town, which was an interesting experience. Most of the day was spent there walking around downtown in awe at some of the sites along Commercial Street, and then stopping in for lunch at a place outside. Sadly all the lighthouses were too far away and after all the walking only Leanne and I were voices against returning back to the resort.

We drove towards Race Point where there was a lighthouse and a beach. The crew went down to the beach while I went to ask directions to the lighthouse. Two miles walking by sand was the answer I got from one of the local rangers. I was devastated. I went back to the beach to sit beside my friends in the sand. “You missed a seal.” They started telling me, one that came up the shore for a little bit. That would have been cool to see. The beach looked like every other beach around here; the only difference was the people around here, probably all from Province Town.

Herring Cove was the next destination and my eyes lit up with excitement when I saw a barrier of rocks with a walkway towards a lighthouse. The sun was starting to set as well, and the water around the barrier of rocks looked like glass at this time. We didn’t stop. No convenient parking spots. Devastated again. I thought there was no hope at this point as the car got on a major highway to go back to the resort. I sat in the back seat of the car quietly sulking to myself. I was thinking of that tourist trap and wondering if I should have taken a photo anyways. I confided in myself knowing that it would not have the story I wanted if I did take the picture anyways. So perhaps I was better off without a picture of a lighthouse.

While Jordan drove back I looked at one of the maps I picked up at the tourist information booth. It showed a road that went along the coast. Under closer study I noticed in the legend of the map that a few lighthouses were there too. I brought up the suggestion which actually was agreed upon after a down in the dumps day.

The road was called Nauset Drive because quite obviously it leads to Nauset Beach and Nauset Light. When we arrived we parked at the beach parking and then piled out of the car. We all split up to find a place to play cards. I went over near Nauset Light to find a good photo to take. I went around a bendy road and was face to face with it, towering over me. It was still functional with a bright white and red light periodically flashing in all directions slowly and methodically. The clouds were darkening and engulfing the setting sun, which had its rays shining brilliantly. I found a good position and held my camera up and took the picture. I wanted to capture the lighthouse with the rays shinning behind it in the photo, and also to give that towering effect.

Though probably not a perfect picture due to the lighting, I love it anyways, because truly the lighthouse was waiting all day for me to take its picture.

music to accompany the blog: Lighthouse - Everything.

Surfers.

2006-09-13T00:11:00.002-04:00

I watched them intensely from a top the cliff. They paddled outwards against the waves. Then they would just float on the ocean, bobbing up and down, until that perfect wave manifested at the last second for their boards to catch. Towards the beach they would go and then falling into the water just before hitting the edge of the sand.

I always wondered how big our world must be compared to an ant. Is my backyard their North America? I feel like an ant sometimes because an Ant will not venture too far I figure, how could she? They are so tiny and to them our backyard is so vast that when we think about the comparison to scale. Like an Ant, I too stay in a general area around home, and never truly experiencing what is beyond my usual familiar surroundings.

Looking out from that cliff I could see nearly the whole shape of the Earth. Unlike seeing out on a lake or river that I am use to, I know that beyond that horizon more ocean waters exist, that can not be comprehended through simple thought. It is what makes up most of the earth more than a million backyards multiplied by each other.

I took a photograph of the surfers. I wanted to make sure the ocean horizon was in the photo, and that it would come out straight across and level. I wanted to capture the ant-like surfers in the water from my perspective; tiny dots in the big bluish water.

Later we all went down to the beach and found a flat rock where we started playing cards. A young boy came up to us and asked if he could play. “Sure!” I said, and invited him to sit in the sand with us. The sun was setting and dusk was creeping in, there was a small breeze that surprisingly did not disturb the card playing at all.

Hand after hand was dealt and we all had some good laughs.

When his mother called we decided it was time for us to head back as well.

music to accompany the blog: Jack Johnson - Holes To Heaven.

Friendship.

2006-09-12T22:48:00.000-04:00

Jordan’s parents were staying at Cape Cod as well as us, so the next morning we all grudgingly got up and they were so kind as to invite us to come over to the Sandpiper Inn to go visit them. We had to make sure they had a beach though because before the invite we were all thinking of heading to a beach so we can all go for a swim in the ocean. We arrived at their resort and they greeted us in the parking lot and then lead us to their room, which had its own private beach.

We took off our shoes and sandals and walked down to the ocean. The two Jordans and Leanne stood in the water just above the ankles. I wanted to take a picture of the three of them looking out into the oceans candidly. However, too many people were in the way.

The sand was really fine, passing through the toes with ease. One had to tread carefully though because scattered all around like shrapnel were broken sea shells once inhabited by some sort of sea creature. Some even jagged around the edges. I picked up a couple of shells that looked like ocean clams. They were bleached white from the sun I guessed. I fit them in the pockets of my shorts and headed down to the waters edge.

I looked to my right and took a Polaroid picture of the beach. I wanted to make sure no one was in the photo. It turned out to be an alright photograph with the waves rippling, and the little bit of the ocean creeping on the soft and smooth sand. I still look at the photo and think about the concept of friendship; even though it wasn’t the photo I wanted of my three buds looking out in the ocean.

We then walked back to get changed into swimwear, tossing the frisbee back and forth to one another the entire way. “Just jump in!” Jordan yelled to me while he was in the water up to his chest, “It gets warmer.” I jumped into a big wave that was coming towards me and went under. I got a bit of my wind knocked out of me, and when I surfaced all I could taste was an overwhelming salty liquid on my lips. I didn’t mind it that much and it was funny that as soon as I opened my eyes I didn’t feel any burning at all. Usually swimming in fresh water I have to keep rubbing until it goes away.

So we had our fun and as the sun would creep slowly down the horizon, the wind would pick up and make the air ever so much cooler. We all stayed around the hammocks by the room and lay down in the sand underneath our towels to get ever last bit of the sun as we can. Blue clouds surrounded it and even though the sun struggled to break free, it really had no chance against the looming evening sky.

I loved the ocean, it was amazing. I’ll never forget the feeling for the rest of my life.

music to accompany the blog: Dashboard Confessional - Dusk And Summer.

Ocean At Night.

2006-09-08T10:27:00.000-04:00

It is our second day here in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. After a long trip by car into some of the small towns during the day, we spent the rest of the night winding down in our hotel room. I was enjoying a bottle of [yellowtail] red wine to myself, Jordan was mixing Southern Comfort with ginger ale or cranberry juice, and Leanne had her vanilla rum with coke. The room was everything you would expect from a sea side town. Very light paint on the walls with blue and yellow tones, pictures of sailboats, a hideaway bed, plaid furniture, and even framed arrow signs pointing to the direction of the boats and beach – each with big letters of the word printed on respectively.

The two Jordans suddenly were tired from all the shopping that took place that day. Leanne and I, wanting to take full advantage of our drunken state, decided to walk around the town at night. We first ended up at a mini-putt golf course with a pirate theme to it. The outside lights were still on so we walked around the course taking photographs of each other standing by the cheaply made statues of pirates. Then further down the course we walked a plank onto a mock pirate ship where we laughed as we photographed ourselves pretending to steer it. If only we had some putters with us, we could have actually played the course for free until the lights would go out.

We laughed and joked as we walked down the main street, and seeing a sign that read “Seaview” on it, we decided to continue our walk down that way. The road was very quiet and dark. The street lamps were much distanced apart from one another leaving some parts of the road in complete darkness. Trees were in numbers along the sides of the road, just past a small ditch that ran along with the road, they provided the dancing shadows on the road before us.

Our conversations switched to be mostly about our memories of going to high school together and how weird it is that we use to have lunch together everyday for one semester because of mutual friends. But we never knew nor really talked to one another. Even though we are better friends now we still don’t essentially know one another through and through. When you think about that, you start to run down and think of the list of people you talk to, and wonder how many of them really understand who and what you are inside and out.

Heading back to the hotel crossed our minds at this point because the road felt endless. Once we heard the sounds of the oceans waves crashing, however, we knew that we had to press forward. Up until this point in my life at 24 years old, I have never seen the ocean before. It was the sort of driving factor for me to come on this road trip other than to enjoy some time and have fun with some close friends.

Wooden steps lead down to the beach which was slightly lit from the porch lights of houses near by. We took off our shoes and sandals and walked to the water edge. Rushes of cold ocean salt water rinsed through my ankles and the webbing between my toes. In the darkness one could only make out the small white cap of the wave before it hit the beach, and then the movement of clear liquid residing back into the giant pool from where it came.

“Oh wow,” I said out loud, totally enjoying the moment. I see Leanne wading in further along the beach. I open my Polaroid camera and flipped the switch to the dark setting and captured the shot. It probably wasn’t the best of conditions to take a photo because of the lack of light, but it seemed like a good idea after drinking a bottle of wine. I wanted to get a picture of her in the water because she looked out of place like an apparition in the waves.

It was her white clothing that saved the photo from becoming just a black void. I ended up liking it even though most would call it a bogus photo; to me it has a sort of mystery to it.

After picking up some sea shells on the beach and washing them in the ocean water, we walked back to the hotel with sand in our shoes.

music to accompany the blog: Jack Johnson - Pirate Look At 40.

Big Dreams, Little Falls.

2006-09-07T22:46:00.000-04:00

After hours on the interstate highways we realized a desperate need for gas and food. My friends and I are on our way to Cape Cod, MA and right now we are right in the heart of New York State. We turned off the next exit which leads us in a downward spiral of roads with huge mounds of dark dirt and stone surrounding us. It eventually came to a small valley town called Little Falls. We entered the town by crossing a lone stone bridge; it seemed secluded from the outside world because all around the whole town as far as the eye could see were gigantic hills lined with forestry. It was majestic to look at in awe upwards and around. It is the sort of town that you just feel out of place when you arrive.

We stopped at the local Subway to get some food, probably the only familiar sights we would see. Jordan and I had a small serving so while the other Jordan and Leanne continued eating, we ventured around to find an open gas station.

It was still humid outside this late in the summer season, the sun was strong as ever being the only thing that is able to peek above the surrounding hillsides. We admired some of the old churches along the streets, proudly displaying their founding date chiseled into the concrete foundation. One such church had 1875 on it, with vines creeping up the front of the building, and the un-maintained roof had faded shingles from age, falling off in places to reveal the bare rotting wood it was meant to protect.

Up the street further we noticed a large clock sticking upright on a steel poll, but it was all one single whole object. We approached it to take some photographs. I took a Polaroid picture to capture the old architecture of the town, to capture the meaning of time that this town must have had and to exclude anything modern. Doing so I believe made the photograph more than what it was, more of a representation of that time.

After the Polaroid developed I inspected the picture of the clock in the photograph. The minute and the hour hands pointed just past some numbers on the face. Unmoving, and unchanging time essentially stood still. As would that moment forever.

Our visit to Little Falls, New York was short because soon after finding an open Sunoco we continued on our journey.

music to accompany the blog: Tom Waits – Time.

The Forest.

2006-08-17T01:10:00.000-04:00

I looked at the entrance to the forest for a brief moment thinking that it has all grown over with bushel. Maybe things have truly changed around here, because many years ago I would come to this very same forest with neighbours, friends, and my brother. To do what kids do, play, explore, climb, and even engage in game after game of "manhunt". I rode my bike a little further and found a small narrow path leading into the forest. I jumped off and held onto the handle bars and walked down the dirt path. It was hardened from the millions of feet that have trampled before me, roots from trees would jut out from within the earth to create pseudo-steps for people to walk on, and small lifeless rocks hung out in no particular shape or fashion; they were simply just there.

I leaned my bike against the tree and slide my hat in the backwards position and took the picture. I wanted to capture the light in this particular photograph. How it would sparkle off a leaf on the tree. In the background I heard the laugh of a child. A girl child. I think playing with her father. I couldn't see anyone around me because of the trees, but the sound was so clear and crisp that it was the only sound I could hear in that moment. I wonder if I used to make that sound when I came here, I thought to myself. I must have.

Continuing down the path was taxing because of all the trees knocked over. They were probably dead and easy targets for young kids to push over. Of course on the ground are the usual beer bottles and condom wrappers. They slowly become part of the setting instead of some foreign object. I passed through the catwalk to the Grandview school and continued my journey. I was bored at home and wanted to give my buddy Jordan a surprise visit... plus I needed to get out of the house and get a work out.

I made my way through unknown streets in a general direction towards his house, passing through parks connected by wooden bridges over creeks. I thought about taking a picture of one of the creeks but to my surprise stood a man about my age. He looked like he was in a Zen moment looking at the creek that I didn't want to disturb it with the rumbling of my Polaroid camera. I never really experimented with taking pictures of people. They always seem to end up to be pictures of friends having a good time. I really enjoy looking at those Polaroid pictures afterwards, to see the smiles and the hugging. I remember when Jordan presented me with the question as to why pictures are so esthetically pleasing to look at. I guess the simple answer is that they remind us of being in a state of happiness. Who knows though right?

I got to Jordan’s house and he was of course surprised to see me because he just sent me a message over MSN. He invited me in for a bit so we walk upstairs where he is playing poker online. "Nelson is actually on his way over." He said.
"Oh really?" I said and looked downward to the desk. I picked up a small parchment of paper that read:

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. -Anatole France

Instinctively I looked on the back of the paper expecting more. I put it back down. Nelson walked up the stairs with a big smile on his face. He got a kick out of my oversized Polaroid Captiva SLR SE camera. At first he didn't want his picture taken but after seeing how monstrous it was he started to laugh and I took his photograph. I told them that I wanted head back to drop off my bike but to pop over later.

The sun was slowly setting in the distance and after my long bike ride home I turned onto my street. My neighbours’ kid was doing some tricks on his bike and so I pulled up right beside him as he did a jump off the lip of the curb at the edge of a driveway. I pulled my handlebars with all my strength and did a wheelie.

I think we both got a smile out of that one.

music to accompany the blog: Belle And Sebastian - Storytelling.