Definition 047 | Wild, Wild Life

Definition 047 | Wild, Wild Life

If you’ve been reading my essays for a while now, you might know a bit about my family in Canada—the birders of Southern Ontario, that’s them.

One of my sisters sent me a photo of the decorations going on their tree this year over there, which naturally enough included a lot of bird-related ornaments, gathered over many years. My dad and my uncle used to have a boxing day tradition of shopping for new ornaments, so the collection was pretty expansive by the time we were kids—and we had to be a bit careful around all that Czechoslovakian blown glass, I can tell you. But I think we did okay; most of it survives and is still being used by them & their own (careful!) kids today.

Not having kids, a tree, or ornaments here in Sydney myself, I decided to do pretty much the opposite of what I usually do for one of these essays: I took my longest lens, and my largest camera, and went looking for actual birds I could capture, and send to my mum over in a wintry lockdown in Toronto, to give her a bit of colour and summer light to enjoy for a while…

DEFINITION 44 | THE 1200M MIND SPACE

By Patrick La Roque

We’d been raking the last leaves from our yard and had moved to pulling out the few dead remnants left in our garden (tomatoes mostly), when Heloise ran up to us with an iPad in her hands: “Joe Biden has won!”.

I didn’t react with any real joy or relief; just a sort of workmanlike acknowledgement: good, that’s done then. Like a checkmark on a long list of todos. It was only hours later that my senses finally caught up to the opposite reality of those words: he was out. We still had a chance at normalcy and kindness. 

Maybe.

Former Canadian Prime Minister Pierre-Elliot Trudeau (yes, our current PM’s dad) famously said, during a meeting with Nixon in 1969:

“Living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is affected by every twitch and grunt,".

Sleeping with an erratic and enraged animal has been mind numbing these past four years. Witnessing such a profound derangement of every norm we took for granted—on human and political scales—has maintained us in a constant, unrelenting state of unrest. It’s been economically and psychologically exhausting. And now, despite the outcome, we’re forced to witness just how close we are to a complete destruction of the world order, as authoritarian levers are, predictably, being pulled one by one: the claims of electoral fraud and vilifying of the press and media; the firing of top administration officials and military leaders, replaced by loyalists; the complicit cabal of talking heads spewing conspiracy theories night after night, feeding the fables and frenzy of the misinformed.

There is no courage, no humility, no decency. No sense of duty. Only the raging fear and cowardice of a beast facing its demise.

...

I did a quick calculation this week: it’s been 255 days since I set foot in Montreal. We mostly exist within a 1200m radius of our home, in the suburbs. Sure we drive further on occasion—Jacob works at the supermarket twice a week—but beyond this, the circle is rarely broken. The circle defines our mind space now. 

In this year of dwindling horizons, I’m desperate for a ruffling of wind in our sail.
For new and old shores to appear;
for sacred illuminated lands;
for hope,
injected in poisoned bloodstreams.

DEFINITION 42 | DARKNESS DESERVES BETTER

BY BERT STEPHANI

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I’ve always liked the night, dark clothes, dark images.
The association between “black” and “bad” doesn’t exist to me.
In the shadows I find simplicity, peace and elegance.
The darkness shuts out the noise and makes time irrelevant.
Darkness deserves a better rep ...

Definition 040 | Chasing A Phantom

Definition 040 | Chasing A Phantom

If you were to stop by my apartment, you might think I was mildly obsessed. And you’d be right—but it’s not quite what you’d think, at first glance.

There might be a Phantom of the Opera poster on the wall. You could find a Phantom action figure, lurking on my desk. And, sure, I do have six (SIX?!) copies of the film—many of which actually contain two versions of it.

But, I promise you—there will be no songs about him, no Broadway or London cast renditions of anything. This isn’t the Phantom you’re thinking of; well, probably not, anyway…

DEFINITION 39 | “They played colourful music LOUD!”

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Words and images by Jonas Dyhr Rask

Amidst the now normalised depressing news regarding the pandemic, the politics and the slow depressing spiral of apathy that follows suit, I read something that hit me a little harder than all of the above.

It started at around age 3, I think. My dad would put the record on and I would be completely mesmerised by the sounds that hit me.
That was to continue all through my childhood and by age 13 I had heard that particular album with 4 people bathed in bright multicoloured, yet shadowy mysterious, lights so many times that I knew it note for note.

It was the sole reason why my only wish for my confirmation at age 14 was a red electric guitar with a Peavey amplifier.
All I wanted to play the colourful, yet heavy sounds of that album. As danish guitar virtuoso Søren Andersen so delicately put it yesterday - “They played colourful music LOUD!”

It shaped my youth.

It shaped my life.

HE shaped my life.

May you forever R.I.P
Mr. Eddie Van Halen.

And just like their music, I now do my photography bathed in bright multicoloured, yet shadowy mysterious, lights. Just like the cover of that epic 1978 album “VH”

All shots on X100V and X-Pro3 | XF35mm f/1.4

Definition 37 | St. Vincent

By Vincent Baldensperger

Je ne parlerai ni de cépages, ni de terroirs, ni même encore de domaines ou de châteaux. Ce 11 septembre 2020, je goutte à la mélodie des vendanges, à l’harmonie de ce petit orchestre de vendangeuses et vendangeurs. Il y a de la vie entre les rangs, du soleil et du cœur, des confidences, des rires et des chansons, petites touches précieuses qui dessinent un peu plus l’âme d’un vin. Ce 11 septembre 2020, j’ai rendez-vous avec St. Vincent…

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Definition 36 | Libertas Restrictus

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PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY DEREK CLARK

Anyone who has seen the movie Braveheart will remember the character of William Wallace, played by actor/director Mel Gibson, cry out the word FREEDOM. Although a bit overused since the movie done the rounds, freedom is not something I've taken for granted. The ability to go wherever you like, whenever you like is not something all people in all countries are able to do. So I find the obsession in the 21st-century to obtain fame bizarre and self-destructive. Fame might bring the financial ability to afford to go wherever you like, but the freedom to walk down a busy street unnoticed is true freedom. To go where you like in total anonymity is bliss!

Coronavirus has removed or restricted freedom in 2020 and possibly into 2021. In the beginning, it looked as though lockdown was just a way to get people to stay at home so that the government could change the batteries in all the birds, but there was a shortage of toilet roll, not batteries, so I guess that wasn't true :o)

Freedom for me is to take a train somewhere and to wander for miles with a camera in my hand. Most of my pictures include people. But as a street photographer, I had no one to shoot on the streets, as a music photographer, I had no bands or musicians to photograph. As a musician, I had no audience to play to. Life really did come to a standstill.

But even now, I feel the rust taking hold of my photography and creativity in general. I don't have the time to shoot long enough to allow the brake pads to separate from the disks. There is a feeling of being trapped, fenced-in, and on the outside of where I want or need to be. Parts of the country, including where I live, are seeing increased numbers and more restrictions being re-introduced. So even now, as we move toward October and the long dark winter, there is as much uncertainty as ever. But I’m not ready to paint my face blue and shout FREEDOM. Not just yet.

Definition 35 | Typecast

By Patrick La Roque

I really did completely lose track of this assignment. I never do that. It's funny how so many plans just fizzle out these days, diluted in the permeating haze. Btw can I mention just how sick I am of always adding these days to everything I write? It's almost like an apology. I need to stop doing this. 

The goal of the Definitions project was to take a deep dive into who we are, as individuals and photographers. Of course, we never imagined so much would change. Our private conversations, as a group, have slowed considerably. Mainly because I think we're all tired of constantly repeating ourselves (“all good here, kinda...not much to add...same old, same old...”), or too busy focusing on survival, on the future, our families and our sanity.
Sigh…

I hated airplanes.
I miss airplanes.
I miss the knowledge of possible encounters. I miss hanging out with my buddies halfway across the globe too. Our planet was tiny and it got big again. Sprawling, desert-like and unattainable.

Most people define themselves through the work they do—I am a lawyer, I am a programmer, I am an electrician—but there remains a form of compartmentalization. When the day ends, the persona usually gets left behind. I don't want to pretend we're in any way special, but I believe it IS different for creative types. Because the engine for that work, the persona's roots, spring from within ourselves. It becomes difficult to separate this from the whole. The walls are thinner here.

So, what's left to define then, when our activity stops? Who are we left with? I feel like a TV actor whose show has ended. Typecast and suddenly without a script to learn and remember.

...

These are pictures of objects that surround me.
Some have meaning, some are merely clues to other spaces;
all are portals,
into the past or future.