Space and distance or a relationship of trade-offs
Featuring Thomas Gardiner
Website
Thomas Gardiner is slowing the time, reflecting on the fleeting moment to create meaningful relationships, appreciate the human being before his lens, and capture the essence. The image he creates is reminiscent of his experience living in metropolitan areas and prairies, where the sense of time is different. Thomas graduated from Yale with an MFA in Photography and The Cooper Union with a BFA in Photography. The decision to switch to a large format camera during his studies allowed Thomas to develop a unique approach to creating a feeling of a fleeting moment through a slow and methodological approach of shooting on 8x10.
The narrative Thomas creates is built on trust with the subject, which needs to be established proactively, and on the instantaneous decision to document the scene of interest in a way of recreating the moment. Thomas explains, “A large format almost always requires establishing a relationship with the subject. Once such a relationship is established, there may also be more time afforded to think about the image and try to flesh out the more interesting aspects that would not be possible if the image was arrived at in an instant.”
In this interview, we speak with Thomas about his decision to embark on studying photography that emerged from his trip to Ramones show in NYC. We discuss how living in different countries, being exposed to various cultures, and the trade-offs between large cities and small towns shape an artist's identity and values, widening their perspective and angles to interpret reality into an image. Thomas introduces the concept of a collaborative approach when working on an image with the subject involved, which enables to reach unexpected results. The approach to a narrative creation is overshadowed by focusing on making a good image to be remembered, “I feel if an image becomes too overshadowed by its conceptual content, I fear there comes a point when the visual aspect of the image becomes at risk of being irrelevant.”
Words by Nastasia Khmelnitski
‘I liked punk music, and a random opportunity came about to see the Ramones in New York City. In a very impulsive but decisive moment, I jumped at the chance.’
My Narrative
Hi Thomas, it’s nice to meet you! Let’s start with the college years and your studies toward a BA in Photography from the Cooper Union and later an MFA in Photography from the Yale School of Art. What led you to decide to study photography? What is the most beneficial in choosing classical studies for an emerging photographer (is it more about learning the technique and history of photography, distilling a personal style, networking, etc.)?
Thank you, Nastasia. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well! If I had to describe what led me to photography, it's a long story. It might be a challenge to give a meaningful response while keeping it short, but I'll do my best to be as economical with my words as possible. As a young child, I loved to draw. However, growing up in relatively isolated regions, one's perceived options in life can be somewhat limited by the opportunities available within that specific region. My parents moved around a lot, but we finally settled in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada, by the time I reached grade 2. When I went to high school, I had very little exposure to artists, art communities, or anything of that nature. However, I was also a pretty good athlete, so I decided to give up drawing to focus on athletics.
If I might just add a bit of perspective, this was also at a time well before the internet. I didn't even have an email address for maybe another decade from this point forward. Anyway, after graduating, when it had become clear that my athletic career wasn't going to progress much further, encouraged by my high school math teachers, I decided to go to Engineering school. So I enrolled in the local university but decided I didn't like it very much and dropped out after only a couple of years of study. My life was starting to feel a bit rudderless, yet at the same time, I was developing some kind of desire for adventure. I liked punk music, and a random opportunity came about to see the Ramones in New York City. In a very impulsive but decisive moment, I jumped at the chance. Despite all the places I lived in as a kid, I had never been in a big city before. New York City was almost overwhelming, and I think I experienced a kind of culture shock on my visit. It was probably the most stimulating experience of my life to this point, and I loved it!
While waiting to get tickets to see the Ramones in a very small venue in the East Village, I noticed something else that left me somewhat baffled. It turned out to be an art school! I had never seen anything quite like it before, and it impressed me. For some time after, I couldn't comprehend how it was even possible for anyone to live in New York City and attend a school like this.
Once I returned from my adventure, I was hell-bent to leave small-town life. Soon afterward, I moved to Montreal. It was a tough go there, and I only stayed for a year. However, when I was there, I made a friend who was studying film at Concordia Film School. I had always loved movies, and this became the basis of our friendship. Subsequently, my friend used to bring me to his film history screenings and the great repertory cinemas of Montreal. Of course, these were the kinds of films I had never seen or heard of before — what you might call art-house films — and I enjoyed them immensely. Frustratingly, however, I did find most of them hard to follow because I was more interested in how they looked visually; the subtitles almost seemed to be a distraction. At some point, I decided I wanted a camera, so I ended up buying a used Pentax K1000. Eventually, I moved back home with my parents in Saskatchewan and built a darkroom in the basement. This is how I began to get interested in photography.
Well, I may have failed in my attempt to be economical with my words, but I hope this helps answer the second half of your question. Upon returning to Saskatchewan, a film industry was beginning to start up in the province. A chance encounter with a childhood friend, now working in the industry, led to a job recommendation. So, I got a job as a grip, and by my second film, I was in the camera department. This led me to seek more film work opportunities in Vancouver. However, when I arrived in 2001, the industry suffered a major collapse due to an actor strike and the tragedy of September 11. I was now unemployed and living in Vancouver, but this setback turned out to be a blessing in disguise!
‘What initially seemed like an unlikely set of experiences leading me to these opportunities became the driving force for me to make the most of every moment.’
Through some friends, I discovered there was an art school in Vancouver. Reminded of my adventure to New York, I knew I had to apply. So I did, and I got accepted to Emily Carr. While I was starting my foundation year, I had a drawing teacher who was from New York City. One day after class I told her all about my trip to New York. She then proceeded to tell me about the exchange program at the school and recommended I look into it. I applied to the program and got accepted; however, the schools that I had applied to, all of which were in New York, could not accept me because they required one of their students to travel to Vancouver. I think the woman who headed the exchange program at Emily Carr must have felt sympathetic toward me because she told me that she knew an administrator at another school that wasn't on the list of schools to choose from. She said she would contact her and see what happens. So, I sent them my portfolio and was ecstatic to learn they would accept me. Yet, the internet was still relatively new, and my ability to both get access to a computer and my skill to gather info on the web was in its infancy. Consequently, I was not able to gather too much about the school that had accepted me. I was even unclear where it was despite my brief experience of the city’s geography. But I didn't care! I was just thrilled I had the chance to go to art school in New York City. Well, as it turned out, that school happened to be The Cooper Union. Even worse, when I eventually arrived on campus, I was just floored to realize that Cooper Union was the same school that caught my eye that day in the midst of culture shock, which I had stumbled upon in the East Village while waiting to get tickets to see the Ramones.
After my exchange, I ended up transferring to The Cooper Union, finishing my undergrad studies in New York City. While I was attending Cooper, I soon learned of the photography program at Yale and was blown away by the number of photographers I had admired who had all gone through that program. After I graduated from Cooper, the only thing I wanted to do was go to grad school at Yale. So I began to work towards that goal, and fortunately, it worked out.
I never truly grasped the distinctions in whether these schools were classified as classical education or not. In the case of Cooper Union, I didn't consciously choose to attend based on any specific criteria you might expect. I hadn't even heard of Cooper Union before entering the exchange program. My primary goal was simple: I wanted to experience the wonder I felt that day when I first encountered an art school. It was more a stroke of blind luck than anything. Throughout this decision-making process, my guidance was fueled by the sense of wonderment and enchantment from my initial experience in New York City. I can confidently say that I thoroughly enjoyed my education, and I couldn't imagine a better than both of these schools. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities, and what initially seemed like an unlikely set of experiences leading me to these opportunities became the driving force for me to make the most of every moment.
That being said, I can't honestly pinpoint the most beneficial aspects of choosing a school without delving into how I got there. Perhaps the most advantageous aspect, in this regard, is understanding one's unique journey when venturing into the decision-making process for choosing schools. For me, this was a prolonged process that involved a sincere self-assessment, facing failures, acknowledging good fortunes, and recognizing emerging patterns. It is through this introspection that any potential benefits one seeks from a desired school become clearer. Without this understanding, art school can be a costly experience, both in terms of time and money.
‘Moving from a more rural area to the vibrant metropolis of New York, where I pursued my education, had a profound impact on how I perceived the world.’
Western Canada
You lived most of your life in Canada, except for the time you dedicated to investing in studying and moving to the US. Places and people inhabiting the towns affect an individual on many levels and shape their identity, values, and culture. In what way your perspective on the land and people from the series might have changed due to your experience living in a different country?
I would wholeheartedly agree with your description regarding the effects on an individual’s perspective that, in turn, take expression in ideas such as identity, values, and culture. I would even emphasize your point that these perspectives are, to a significant degree, downstream from a set of forces and constraints that are more fundamental. Among some of these fundamental constraints are the physical properties and capacities of space itself. Obviously, everyone understands these limitations when, for example, a friend calls up another and asks the other if they are interested in meeting up for a beer. This sounds like a great idea until you realize there are great barriers and limitations to the two friends meeting up when one friend lives in New York City and the other lives in Regina, Saskatchewan. Over time, technology has brought innovative means to overcome these obstacles, such as the invention of the telegraph, electrical grid, railway and highway systems, air travel, and now, the internet and the ongoing transition from analogue to digital.
Because of the physical limitations of space and the human requirement to distribute natural resources optimally for survival and prosperity, network effects play a crucial role in the relationship between cities and rural areas. This becomes especially apparent when considering the advantages of rural spaces, as their value lies in the large mass of space they occupy, which contains abundant natural resources. In contrast, cities have limited space and minimal natural resources. However, the advantage of cities lies in their network effects. Depending on their location and ease of access to other markets, cities act as communication nodes or hubs for the distribution of not only resources but also the transmission of information. In this context, cities may be viewed as having a symbiotic relationship with the countryside. While cities draw on rural resources, they also provide essential services and opportunities.
This interdependence leads to trade-offs between the virtues of both cities and rural areas. They are intrinsically linked, and neither can thrive without the other. Cities, being hubs of intellectual activity, become centralizing attractors for corporations, governments, and other institutions. Considering time within this dynamic, another trade-off becomes evident, for example, in the realm of fashion. By the time a style worn in a big city reaches a rural area, it likely has long since fallen out of fashion. These temporal dynamics further contribute to the intricate trade-offs and interdependencies shaping the perceptions of individuals. Whether residing in a city or a rural area, this dynamic introduces another broader trade-off relationship between centralization and decentralization dynamics.
I guess to answer your question, I would emphasize that my shift in perception wasn't solely influenced by living in another country but rather by the profound transformation in geographical surroundings. Moving from a more rural area to the vibrant metropolis of New York, where I pursued my education, had a profound impact on how I perceived the world. This shift became especially apparent when I returned home for summer breaks. The back-and-forth experience enriched my perspective on growing up on the prairies, providing a contrast that brought definition to aspects I had not previously perceived.
Additionally, I would say that returning home for summer break and seeing the place I grew up with new eyes was facilitated not only through the change of perception regarding space but also by the social layers within that relationship. When I first met my classmates at Cooper, they seemed curious to talk to me, firstly because I had an odd accent and second because they were amused by the name of my hometown. Eager to reciprocate their interest, I found a social motivation to engage with them by sharing insights about where I came from. It became an enjoyable challenge to vividly describe my origins, and I soon realized that the most effective means of painting this picture was through the lens of a photograph.
Once I started photographing back home, space became a significant element in the process of my work. This process involved a great deal of time driving alone in a car travelling from town to town. In essence, space constrained my photography process, mirroring and reinforcing my perceptions of the trade-offs between cities and rural areas mentioned earlier. When I went to Yale, I approached photography in the same way regarding space as I did in my Western Canada series. I continued to drive great distances, travelling from town to town to make images. I would have to say that the change in perspective from small industrial towns in the North East United States to New York City, at least for me, had similar patterns to those I described between rural Western Canada and New York City.
Overall, I would say my perspective changed by going through this process in a way that motivated me to look deeper into my past perceptions and experiences that had been formed while growing up on prairies. With a greater appreciation, it made me consider the beauty of things that maybe I took for granted while I lived there. Consequently, any identity or values I had formed previously to this change of perspective had to adapt to be integrated into alignment with all the perspectives I was experiencing while living in a new environment.
‘When I do decide to make a photograph, my initial attraction is always to the visual environment. There are instances when I spot someone within this setting and swiftly recognize a connection that I feel they share with it.’
Untitled USA
The series, Untitled USA, provides a fascinating view of the people, their everyday life, and their connection to the town they live in. There are several layers to the images: the 8x10 format, the connection with the subjects, and the emotions that emerge. The images create a sense of the fleeting moment caught almost spontaneously to provide a glimpse into the people's lives. How do you manage to connect the elements of establishing trust with the person in the image, the technical aspect of taking the photograph, and the narrative you decide to create?
Thank you for your insightful description of spontaneity. This was something that I always thought about when I used my 8x10 camera, so I consider your description to be a sincere compliment! To delve into the layers you described, I think a good place to begin to address your question would be to explore the technical aspects of the 8x10 format and photography in general. Again, to continue to talk in terms of trade-offs, aside from the obvious relationship between film size and resolution, the 8x10's substantial size and deliberate slow operational pace, when compared with smaller formats, make achieving a quick snapshot very challenging. However, the compensatory gain lies in the remarkable level of detail unattainable by smaller cameras. The decision to digitize the negative brings forth another set of trade-offs, drawing parallels to the patterns previously discussed regarding the economy of trade-offs between cities and rural areas.
I make massive scans of my images, and in doing so, I am presented with issues regarding space. The bigger the image, the higher the resolution, the more storage space it requires. Additionally, if you begin to consider how people will get access to your image, the internet can be considered within the analogy involving the flow of resources from the country to the expansive markets of cities. In both cases, they will involve a similar level of abstraction or a refinement process to be able to flow optimally in a network environment. For instance, a preferred image size for viewing might exceed 2 gigabytes but has to be reduced to a JPEG format for easy web accessibility. For me, one of the joys of scanning 8x10 is delving into the extensive details of a large scan. However, this experience is often compromised when sharing images on the internet. The vast capabilities of a high-resolution scan are at odds with the need for a smaller JPEG to circulate rapidly in cyberspace.
Of course, once a photograph is on the internet, it exists in its native environment, where it is open to almost infinite mechanical reproduction. Yet the traditional monetary incentive structure surrounding photography remains in a paradigm that it is a scarce object against an ever-inflating currency. In this way, any monetary trade-offs relating to photography could be said to be artificially imposed in relation to another synthetic construct regarding its aura. This imposition makes it challenging to measure the true, intrinsic value of photography when the standard measurement for comparison is constantly moving and manipulated. Perhaps I’ve wildly strayed off topic here, but such trade-offs I’ve just mentioned accumulate when using 8x10. The artist is mindful of all the costs involved in a way that each image becomes valued with such a degree of caution that perhaps a unique level of care is also taken to be a factor in terms of gaining trust with his subject. With the risk costs being so high with 8x10, whether the image is worth it or not becomes a real concern to the artist.
But to relay more directly back to your question, perhaps the most significant trade-off related to 8x10 concerning trust, as mentioned earlier, may be in light of the 8x10 camera being so big, slow, and cumbersome. With small, lighter cameras, the flexibility of achieving the kind of spontaneity of a snapshot is instant and can be achieved without the subject not necessarily even knowing they are being photographed. To photograph someone with 8x10 in the same way is not so easy. In this way, a large format almost always requires establishing a relationship with the subject. Once such a relationship is established, there may also be more time afforded to think about the image and try to flesh out the more interesting aspects that would not be possible if the image was arrived at in an instant. Of course, the trade-off to this is that you begin to lose the spontaneity achieved by lighter cameras.
Within this context, curiosity often enters as another factor regarding trust. If I am in an environment and have my gigantic 8x10 camera out, people often approach me. They are very curious about the camera, usually because they have never seen something of its kind before. I always try to give those interested a bit of a demonstration, and at some point, I might ask if they are interested in having their photo taken. With the camera being a bit of a novelty and people being curious, they are often enthusiastic to participate. If that enthusiasm is lost, the photo doesn't have a chance.
As far as earning trust with regard to aspects of narrative are concerned, perhaps there is a relationship there as well. However, I would first have to say, I generally don’t make photographs with any narrative conceived in a propositional sense. Of course, one might argue that narrative is automatically inferred by the mere act of even making an aesthetic choice to begin with. However, if there is a narrative involved in the propositional sense, it always comes about after the fact or in a way that I was mostly unaware of at the time. Any narrative that is achieved is accomplished in the sense of a kind of pattern recognition, wherein all elements within an image are related to each other in proportion to a kind of visual telos. A telos that might even extend to what amounts to a series of images. Yet, despite the intricate process behind the ground glass, there comes a point where a linguistic component of my mind inevitably catches up, if only for a brief moment, forcing me under the hot lamp of interrogation, only in the end to ask myself, what the hell are you doing? However, I feel if an image becomes too overshadowed by its conceptual content, I fear there comes a point when the visual aspect of the image becomes at risk of being irrelevant. Perhaps, in the end, this only points to yet another trade-off relationship, but to the field of psychology, which toils with questions concerning how we perceive art. Ultimately, any narrative that comes to mind in a propositional sense, at least for me, is always constantly shifting. Furthermore, if I ever do construct images in this regard to narrative, I quickly become suspicious of myself and question if I am merely reinforcing a justification structure on top of the image rather than experiencing the joy of the creative process.
Just to hold that thought for a moment, any aspect of trust is something I can only speculate about. I would say I've always been more of an introverted person and would tend rarely to approach someone in public. When I do decide to make a photograph, my initial attraction is always to the visual environment. There are instances when I spot someone within this setting and swiftly recognize a connection that I feel they share with it. In such a situation, I become aware of the beauty of the moment, but with a large format camera, that moment is fleeting fast. This is when I go into sheer panic mode because this is when you must immediately decide that the effort, and also the costs involved, are all worth it. In addition, knowing the time constraints of a large format camera, you have no other choice but to put aside any fears or social anxiety you might have and go over to that person and introduce yourself before they disappear around a corner. I'm sure if I were to ever witness myself approaching someone, I might even become embarrassed by how awkwardly it might all seem to unfold. I've always wondered if most of the people I've photographed have recognized this and were either repelled or disarmed. Nonetheless, if this person that I may potentially photograph shows interest, I begin to show them the image on the ground glass. I then start to show them what I like about the image, which might even go so far as to associate aspects of the image with notable memories and experiences of my own life.
I then try to get them to engage in the creative process if possible. If they have any ideas about the image of their own, they are usually good ones, and the photographic process becomes a bit of collaboration. When this goes well, it is one of my favorite parts about the process. It amazes me because something unexpected usually happens, which always breaks the frame of my expectations and assumptions. If there is a narrative that seems to be evident in the final image, it seems to emerge out of this process. Moreover, should any trust arise from a narrative perceived by the subject, my speculation is that it could be ascribed to a sense that they felt they were, in a way, integral to its construction.
Every time a photo works out in this way, I usually cannot believe it and walk away thinking some kind of miracle has taken place. To be truthful, I never lose the apprehension of approaching people in such situations; however, I always find the whole experience of meeting people in this way to be greatly rewarding. It is a relationship, if however brief, that might otherwise have never happened without the object of the camera acting as its catalyst, and I leave the experience hoping it was as enjoyable for the people involved as it was for me. Despite all the costs that seem to accumulate within the trade-offs involved in using 8x10, it has always been worth the price of the whole experience. If the photograph turns out, it is even better because a referent to the memory and any other imaginal thoughts associated with that experience now exist. It adds another layer of meaning, at least from my perspective, even if this significance eludes anyone viewing an image without access to this process. Nevertheless, I hope that the image possesses enough strength to captivate the viewer's gaze, allowing them to bring their own distinctive associations to the image, perhaps in a manner beyond the intended scope of even the artist's.
Ultimately, the need for trust is a cost related to the currency of communication within a relationship. While trust can be established between the photographer and subject through the quality and flow of this communication, the need for trust can also be mitigated by the technologies involved. This is true of banks, governments, corporations, and even photographers. In this regard, a bi-furcated flow of information takes shape in the way a river is defined by both the flow of its water and the constraints of the physical contours underlying its river bed. If the risks associated with trust can be minimized in this process, then that should be the goal of all entities that are involved in any form of communication. But in all reality, deep down, the people I've photographed probably just thought, "Hey, this guy's a harmless Jack-ass," and decided to play along anyway. Can't blame them for that!
The Theme
Other themes explored in the projects you create are socio-ecological components and culture, the way the given conditions affect people and their lives, and the development of the more distant areas. What did you learn from your encounters and conversations with strangers about the state of society in rural areas?
When I used to live in Saskatchewan, I always had a desire to move to a big city like New York. Unfortunately, when I graduated from Yale, I was not able to stay in the US. I ended up moving to Vancouver in 2014 and have been here ever since. Even before I moved back to Canada, I began to notice a bit of a strange trend developing. There seemed to be a growing tension between those living in major cities and those living in 'flyover territory.' I would say national party politics are more and more a reflection of this divide. This trend seems to be very true, in my experience, since returning to Canada as well. However, this recent development also seems to reflect a historical pattern of tension in Canada between East and West. Or, more accurately, a deeper tension between the central power consensus of Canada, represented by two provinces — English-speaking and French-speaking — sharing access to the St. Lawrence River and the resource-rich regions of Western Canada. At its core, these tensions stem from the challenges arising from the trade-offs between centralization and decentralization, and I would include Vancouver in this dynamic, given its properties as a central hub on the West Coast to its surrounding resource regions. The early 20th century saw the rise of co-op movements as a reaction against the consolidation of central monopoly power in Canada. Yet, despite these tensions, Canada has always seemed to find ways to compromise along the way. However, it appears that these traditional divisions in Canada have resurfaced once again. Revisiting the theme of trust, there seems to be a widespread acknowledgment across all perspectives that trust in our institutions has significantly eroded, seemingly reaching a point of crisis. From my perspective, this sentiment has intensified, and I speculate that such tensions often escalate following significant technological advancements as the structural networks continue to operate on infrastructure that was established during the previous technological cycle.
To take it further, the dynamics within these trade-offs extend to psychology as they closely mirror the intricate feedback structure of the brain's hemispheres. In this analogy, each hemisphere, with its distinct capacities, constructs a unique perception of reality that often competes with the other. This interplay results in a level of intelligibility that is crucial to an organism's relationship with its environment. The trade-offs between the hemispheres could be said to manifest as a differentiation of perception between generalization and specification.
Extending this pattern of perception to the digital realm, we observe a similar trade-off between low-resolution and high-resolution information. This encompasses considerations of space, volume, and flow within the digital landscape, as described earlier regarding the distribution of information on the internet between a JPEG and an 8x10 scan. In this way, the distribution of information can have psychological effects on society as a whole. Without optimal integration, there's a perilous trend toward hyperpolarization and the resurgence of ancient patterns, such as scapegoat thinking. This manifests as an interpolation process from high-resolution information to low-resolution, encapsulating societal ills in streamlined symbols or unexamined platitudes. The promise of a utopia often accompanies these simplifications, contingent on adhering to the sacrifices dictated by societal high priests. If unchecked by better information, the integrity of the whole social structure becomes a risk. Over time, the errors inherent in viral information undergo correction through the nuanced introduction of more complex information. Simultaneously, the complexity of information refines to achieve broader distribution until a level of homeostasis is reached. This intricate process reflects a delicate balance between simplicity and complexity, a rhythm that shapes our evolving relationship with information in an emerging digital age.
Considering all the trade-offs, if I’ve learned anything from my encounters with strangers in rural areas, it is that people are much more complex than what we are led to believe, and a much higher resolution scan is always required. Reflecting on the individuals I've met on the prairies or in industrial towns in the US whose heyday has long passed, what stands out most is a generosity and sense of community that is hard to find in the city. I remember driving through the prairies and perceiving the things that stood out to me as unique, the kind of things that you would never see in a mega city like New York and yet were vital to life on the prairies.
‘A vital curiosity, now without a doubt to me, was that which was afforded by the slowing of time so often found on the prairies. Incidentally, it was the same slowing of time that was afforded by the large format machine I was using.’
I would drive into farmyards after being struck by the most unexpected collection of machinery on some properties. Often, I'd feel compelled to go up to the house and knock on the door. The encounters, particularly with the men of these properties, were both unexpected and rewarding. The frequency of such meetings left a lasting impression, subtly forming a kind of archetype in my imagination. The men of these properties were often autodidacts with diverse interests, ranging from old ham radios and trains to large format cameras and other quirky technological gadgets they loved to tinker with. Their knowledge of mechanics, coupled with curiosity, seemed to explain the open-air laboratories of unfinished projects scattered around their yards. These men typically belonged to an older generation, perhaps from the silent generation that has all but passed since the time I met them. Much like most people in farming communities, their friendly greetings were often followed by observations about the weather. Their circadian rhythms were regulated by the change of seasons and the cycles of nature, which have all but been flattened in city life.
Living in such remote areas inevitably demands a preference for solitude. I often wondered if there was an optimal amount of this solitude that granted these men the necessary time and space, free from distractions, enabling their minds to flow unrestricted. Just the right allowance to afford a form of introspection that would involve the mechanical constraints of their beloved gadgets and machines. A developed introspection that seemed to create a delicate balance in the way they perceived the world around them. At the end of the day, even if some of these encounters didn’t result in a photograph, I would leave their yards pondering whether the world had overlooked their curiosity and even genius. As they were deeply buried in the hinterlands and cut off from the centers, which offered a gateway to the rest of the world. Would they depart from this world, leaving behind a forgotten Xanadus of scattered machinery? To vanish without a trace, without the symbolic signal of a 'Rosebud,' prompting an inquiry into the remnants of their most curious and active imaginations?
A vital curiosity, now without a doubt to me, was that which was afforded by the slowing of time so often found on the prairies. Incidentally, it was the same slowing of time that was afforded by the large format machine I was using, which, in my mind, all seemed to conjure up a complete contrast to the New York minute that I experienced the very first time I visited New York.
If my enthusiasm for cities seems to have waned in the years since I have been living in cities, perhaps another perspective has been gained. Living in Vancouver and observing at least two generations of young people completely priced out of the housing market seems to indicate a signal that a possible point of peak urbanization has been reached, and now, a correction may be underway. Perhaps we are due for another update to an infrastructure grid that will accommodate the new digital world exemplified by the recent technology that has enabled young people to work remotely during COVID-19. This new infrastructure will only be properly built on a well-functioning feedback system that properly integrates both centralizing and decentralizing aspects of our society. If we truly are approaching a crisis point, I hope we have the sense and sophistication to avoid the horrors of the crises of the past, particularly the world wars of the early 20th century. The ever-changing landscape of technology is always something that affects photographers and artists directly. In this way, the artist has a key role in shaping how society will perceive and integrate these changes into a new paradigm as novel challenges make way for greater levels of intelligibility.
Any hope I have reminds me of a miracle I recently read about during this era. It occurred on the 24th of December 1914 when enemy soldiers sitting across no man’s land from each other crossed their perspective lines in a truce to share a beer and exchange goodwill and hope on the eve of Christmas. The German and English soldiers had always enjoyed each other’s company previous to the war. This was the aristocrat’s war, after all. It was a conflict that was enabled by the unprecedented monetization of power they had gained in the period, which eventually led to the Great War. I hope that people from cities and people in rural areas can learn a lesson from these soldiers and remember that we remain in a relationship of interdependence and that the relationship, regarding space and distance, is that of a relationship of trade-offs. Hopefully, then, will it be possible once again for two friends divided by great distance to optimally minimize the space between them so that they can once again meet together and share a beer.
Alright, it seems I've unintentionally turned this into a drinking game. That must be about the 3rd or 4th ‘beer’ mentioned, by my last count. I think I might even be a little drunk. Cheers!
Upcoming Projects
What theme or narrative are you researching, and what can we expect from you in the upcoming months?
Since my return to Vancouver, I've reentered the film industry, starting as a grip, then progressing to a dolly grip, and now working with Technocranes. The nature of the industry demands long hours, typically averaging around 60 to 65 hours per week. Fortunately, I've been able to pay back my student loan from Yale, but the demanding schedule has left me with limited time for my artistic endeavours, particularly in shooting 8x10. Furthermore, the costs associated with large-format photography have proven to be somewhat of a deterrent for me to continue in that medium.
However, the forced lockdowns during COVID have afforded me the time to once again resurrect my creative pursuits, and as a result, I have been working on a massive video project ever since. Of course, 2023 saw another complete shutdown of the film industry due to both a writer’s and actors’ strike, which incidentally has allowed me to nearly finish my project. If indeed history does have any sort of cyclical dimension to it, I hope that this strike will again lead me towards an adventure that was as meaningful to me as was a result of the strike and events of 2001.
In terms of research, my focus in recent years has shifted towards an interest in economics, delving into inquiries regarding our current monetary system. I find myself enjoying candlestick charts, observing price action, and everything involved, such as drawing trend lines, channels, Fibonacci levels, and so forth. Whether we acknowledge it or not, our societal values are encapsulated in the abstraction of currency. The art world and artists, too, are not immune to the influences of this system. However, despite all the uncertainties, I am optimistic about the future regarding the massive technological changes we’ve been seeing over the past few decades. I have no idea how these ideas will find their way into my future artistic expression, if any, but I am very excited to go through the process.
