.September ‘26.
~ talking shit about a pretty sunset ~
Take this with a grain of salt—but I used to talk a lot of shit about anything that wasn’t street focussed photography. I know, very immature in terms of experience and foolish in foresight. I would walk through galleries and be unimpressed if it didn’t cost the photographer any sort of risk with interaction or confrontation. And also, who the fuck was I to even make these judgements? They certainly weren’t wise observations. My brass tacts take was that anyone could be there and anyone could take that photo—and this is true to some extent—but what I’ve come to learn, is how much further one can take the photograph when they imprint emotion into the image/scene/frame/etc. It is no easy task to photograph ordinary objects or landscapes in unique or provoking ways. On that note, this is where this months 35mm direction is headed.
I spent two weeks travelling to eastern Canada and looping back through the few New England states. I put street photography and it’s ethos on the back burner and focussed exclusively on documenting the trip, sidelined with landscapes and objects. Obligatory disclaimer: this isn't a portrait of the Maritimes or Northeastern States, nor an attempt to capture what defines them. These are the odd ends I found interesting enough to pull over for, or turn around and backtrack to find again. God forbid I had pulled over at every dilapidated building with a half-lean. I'd probably only be making my way into Maine today, two weeks after returning home.
What I can say is that I really was shooting blind. Being unable to reflect on the frames in real time was a hindrance. Whether I was composing carefully or shooting loose, I'd tell myself to allow the subject to speak for the space it existed within. Not too close, and sometimes from very far away. Only to discover, while scanning the pile, that I'd missed the shot for a handful of reasons, or that it just didn't translate well as an image. I also began to understand what medium format could capture in detail, and where that detail was lost in my 35mm frames of grandeur.
I did find that taking a break from the street was quite relieving. I also really enjoyed making the images of scene and space. It has sort of put me in a temporary paralysis now when I walk the streets. Something is changing, what I once found interesting may lack as much meaning as I once gave it, we’ll see what happens, growing pains again—hate’m or love’m—a necessary progression for an ever growing/evolving body of work. I've also recognized that I tend to circle back to street photography as a comparative lens, putting myself in a box. I realize how limiting that can be. Producing Seasonal Aperture Disorder had already shown me that I'd broken away from that, at least when I looked at the body of work as a whole. This is all just photography, and I am a photographer.
“Show that you have feeling, not that you know how to take photographs.”
— Koudelka
I continued to carry this quote with me every time I raised the camera to my eye. It was my first road trip, and I was trying to break out of my comfort zone by photographing unfamiliar spaces. Doing everything I could to avoid making images a general tourist may take or the cliches of a road trip. Yet, they’re cliches for a reason, and I have to make those images so I can move forward. As we know—there are no shortcuts. It’s funny how gravitated I was to decay and rust. I found myself making motifs along the way. Alongside of general documenting, I wanted to include roads wherever possible, showcasing that was what I was experiencing, pulling over or making u-turns. I also was curious about the presence of society within vast landscapes and natural environments, beyond houses and barns but more so, small electrical buildings or electric highways. I’m not entirely sure where this fits in the grand scheme of my work or if it conveys emotions. I’m sure some are captivating while others do the job of a beautiful vista. I’ve included frames I enjoy and take you through the full journey.
Kodacolor 100
Kodacolor 200
Gold 200
Ultramax 400
Vision 3 250D
Vision 3 200T
Tri-X 400
Kentmere 400
Fuji Superia 200
Zombie Lomo 400
Elektra 100
Street Savvy 400
Always be pushing….
We began on the usual path; up through Quebec City, following the St Lawrence then straddling the borderlines of Maine and New Brunswick toward the tides of Fundy. This is where I really started to question what was worth photographing or if its just a barn in a field. We veered off the highways taking as many scenic routes along the water ways as possible.
Another first of many… seeing the tides. It was quite interesting to see large fishing boats sitting on the rich brown mud well below the docks. As we headed to Hopewell Rocks, I was wrought with shooting a famous scene in ways that have not been done before. I did absolutely zero research on what had been captured and what I was even going to see. Always because I want a fresh experience not to be spoiled and keep expectations and low as possible for high rewards. The place was beautiful, I never thought I would find mud and rocks so fascinating; the way it went on un touched and smooth, barnacles littered on rocks, sweeping lush seaweed and crystallized greens from the salt. I played with light and shape, the way formations seemed to form into each other despite the space between them.
Departing the muddy tides of Alma, New Brunswick, we headed North toward P.E.I. for the next few days. After finally getting our hands on some lobster, a few abandoned buildings caught my eye. Reminding me of 70’s horror films and dirt roads I dare not travel down. Projecting the idea, allowign my mind to expect some ghastly figure to holler at me as I trespassed onto their property.
Likewise, I spotted an old Grist Mill compelled to pull over and investigate/photograph. Kayla and I wandered over, two men and a few dogs down the laneway. I lifted both cameras with an “afternoon, how are ya’” as the sheepdogs bolted toward us. The Gentleman, who I came to know as Dwight yielded the dogs; Blue & Brown [respective to the colour of one’s eyes and the other’s coat]. Had been living here with his family for many years entertained some conversation leading with “photography eh? oh yeah there was a guy here a few years back. Already took the best photo of the place that coulda been taken. Yup, he won an award to, published in the New York Times. Mist was comin off the pond and ice hanging from the bridge.” What a great way to discourage ones self when trying to capture something new on a bright and sunny day, I thought.
Anyways, I was getting snappy, all was friendly, he even volunteered to grab one of us with the Mill in the background only to then suggest and strongly impose we come up the his scrap yard. “Hoh yeah! you can get a view over the entire Island! he exclaimed. You like horses do ya? I got one up there too! he’s famous ya know?! come check’er out", he continued.
We headed back to the car and were then approached by the Bakery owner who inquired then jested about his neighbour “oh that famous horse eh? Yeah, Dwight’s famous for tellin’ that story about that horse” we chuckled and then Dwight skirted over the gravel lot with his hand waving us on. We headed up the dirt road and got a front row seat to the famous horse—Some Money Some Day—cause that’s what this horse is gonna bring me! The story goes, this young colts father was bought off Dwight and made some BIG money in the pony races down in Kentucky, so he’s prepping Some Money Some Day for the next time some buyers come to the island. We said our goodbyes and shared gratitude for giving us a great little local experience and we were on our way…
After our second day filled with more surprises and interactions with a group of local buddhists nuns along the Avonlea North Shore of P.E.I. we packed up the following morning from Charlottetown and headed to the Ferry to continue our journey upward and around the Norther coast of the Cabot Trail.
As the frames will demonstrate. The Cabot Trail is nothing short of amazing. It is absolutely gorgeous. Standing, what feels like on the edge of Canada. An endless stream of vistas overlooking waves, winding roads, bobbing seals, and wind wrought flora.
As we arrived in Ingonish we were greeted by a handful of rainbows. Truly something we were floored and amazed by. Super positive omens to be greeted with. Damn near perfection of a rainbow landing on a point then bow-breaching the entire sky. Our motel look over an inlet, stunning and relaxing. The following morning we would make the trip around the North side, passing through Meat Cove and over to Cheticamp after the simple yet slightly frightening cliff-sides of the Skyline trail. It set the bar high for the remainder of the roadie.
We’d reached the midway point of the trip, Halifax was, underwhelming. Perhaps it was coming of the backend of forever of the Cabot Trail and some exhaust kicking in or that it felt lack luster and we’re spoiled by the size of Toronto. Maybe I was expecting to get some street shots. Nothing stuck out to me. I wasn’t going to force it, and I surely wasn’t interested in snapping tourists being tourist, it felt hollow/meaningless.
An old graveyard was pretty cool. General Robert Ross lay there, responsible to leading the charge and desecration of burning down the White House in 1814. Visitors leave lighters and a note detailing him to feel free to revisit the White House while a certain President is currently in office.
We toured the South-East coast through Mahone Bay and Lunenburg after Peggy’s Cove. Of which I was doing everything I could again to photograph a place that has been famously photographed endlessly in a different way. Heck, I was sitting and sprawled on the wet docks and roads trying to get an angle with no tourists and ropes and boats all crossing the frame. Upon review I feel pretty good about them, but time will tell and maybe I need to compare to the general collective of what has already been captured.
The final stretch of the trip brought us into the last bit of Acadia in Maine, staying in historic Bar Harbor for a few days. Which I came to learn was the first vacation desitination for the American aristocracy during the 1800’s. The Village Green, now a park, was once an infamous hotel with a lobby known as the fish pond. Young cottaging Americans, the cultured Philadelphia Girls and the immature Boston Boys of the Gilded Age would flirt with promiscuity in the lobby. The town suffered a fire and since then has continued to be a vacation destination located in The Acadian National Park.
After enjoying the quaint tidings of Bar Harbor and a quick jaunt up the Bee Hive Trail in the park we made our way through the winding Appalachians into New Hampshire and exiting eventually through Vermont back to our home soil.
I was personally smitten with the grandeur of the Appalachians in New Hampshire. The autumn colours were ripe and turning, the sunsets were on fire and neon pink with deep purples, and it seemingly just went on forever. I can see myself returning to camp and explore.
Acadia, I didn’t touch on enough, between Canada and stretch into Maine, it’s beautiful and friendly. Absolutely would recommend. The trip overall was a success, etching a new chapter and more curiousities into my life and photographic works. Much more interested in landscapes and places in constrast to the regular city streets. All is grand and has it’s place. I will leave you here, and hope you enjoyed the frames. Always feel comfortable to share what you enjoyed or fell flat, I love feedback and discussing the work.
