Ghosts of Albert Street

I took the above photo from the fire escape on the 3rd floor of the St. Charles Hotel on Albert Street.

I had to hoist myself up on a broken cinderblock wall, step over all the empty whiskey bottles and beer cans, tiptoe up the rickety metal stairs, and worry about whether they'd give out and send me falling to the ground below. The windows are filthy, covered in decades of dust and bird shit. It was glaringly bright out, but if I stood as close as I could to the window in my own shadow I could just sort of see into the abandoned hotel.

I felt a strange uneasiness, a spooky, haunting feeling while looking through the eyepiece of my camera and catching the "Royal Albert Hotel" signage in at edge of the frame. These two remnants of Winnipeg's history stand across from each other, between them the burned down and buried remnants of the Albert Street Business Block.

I'm told the majority of War on Music's old inventory is melted into the ground and paved over. Sitting beneath the surface, like a time capsule waiting to be discovered. What is essentially a parking lot is also a future archeological dig site. There's a whole history of punk rock, metal, and hardcore music buried between Cumberland and McDermot Avenue.

I hope that someday a society smarter and more sustainable than ourselves will dig up those melted records and cassette tapes. They could listen to Nuclear Assault and Sacrifice, and learn everything about our downfall, and could rock the fuck out.

Aug/Sept 2013 issue of Stylus Magazine

The latest issue of Stylus Magazine is out on newsstands and it's sporting some cover art by yours truly.

I was tasked with shooting something "abstract" preferably in colour. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do. I had a been shooting a lot of black & white and live music when I was asked to do the cover, breaking from that mindset was necessary.

The next day I got a call from Luke, a friend and fellow photographer. He asked if I wanted to go out shooting with him. He had some film loaded up and an idea he was eager to execute. I agreed knowing that it would be a good opportunity to brainstorm. My hope was that the walk would help clear my mind and give me and idea for the cover art.

About midway through our excursion we ended up around Higgins and Disraeli. We ventured down every back alley and side street gazing around for scenes of interested. I became totally enamoured with the train cars covered in graffiti; the overgrown prairie grass that had broken through the cracks in the pavement; the birds that were flying in formation overhead, swooping between the buildings and under Disraeli bridge; and all the junk that had been discarded behind the old warehouses. That's when we stumbled upon the forty five gallon drums seen in the above photo. Luckily I had a small speedlight, so I was able to capture the shot as seen here, otherwise it would have been a silhouette.

I have since learned these forty five gallon drums are used by the beekeeping industry. They are used to store honey until the internal lining or exterior is damaged and then sold off to scrappers. Somehow these drums ended up on a loading dock behind Graffiti Gallery with an assortment of other refuse.

When I got home that evening I had a stronger idea about what I wanted to do for the cover. I processed a few of the photos and sent them off to Stylus to see if we were on the same wavelength. Thankfully Sheldon Birnie (editor) and Andrew Mazurak (art director) both loved what I had sent them. I'm also quite happy with the results.

Here's full uncropped photo below.

Breanna Mulhall - Omand's Creek Train Bridge

I was recentry hired to take some environmental portraits of Breanna Mulhall for the Winnipeg Free Press. Breanna wrote about the train bridge over Omand's Creek for the Our Winnipeg section of the Sunday Extra and the Free Press needed a photo to go along with the article.

I met Breanna at Omand's Creek, we walked around and down under the bridge while I asked her about her interest in the location. I hadn't read her article and new little about why I was to shoot that particular location. As we descended into the ravine towards the creek we were greeted by a group of men drinking tall cans under the bridge. They seemed hospitable enough, only bothering us to ask the time and if I was there to take their photos. I had to frame them out of some shots and had to keep an eye on my gear bag that I had tossed on the ground while I was shooting, but they weren't a nuisance. If anything we were the interlopers in this particular sitnation.

As far as the photography goes I couldn't be happier. We were shooting by 5:30, right as the Sun was peaking out behind the afternoon clouds at exactly the right angle to hit the west side of the bridge. We were scheduled for an hour of shooting and took only 15 minutes to get the shots I needed.

The photo below is the one that the Free Press ended up using. I was originally published in the Winnipeg Free Press print edition July 28, 2013 A1 and can be seen online.

Winnipeg Folk Festival

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that this year was my first attending the the Winnipeg Folk Festival. For whatever reason (usually because I can never get the time off work) I've never been able to make the short trek up to Birds Hill. This year I managed to squeeze in the nights between work days.

I fell in love with the landscape of Birds Hill, its aspen oak parklands and prairie grass fields, the colourful sunsets, and the mystically dark forest paths.

The people are numerous and eccentric. High on a combination of intoxicants and/or enthusiasm they spend five days tramping about the campgrounds and fields, dancing to music of their own and others creation.

Parents, kids, teenagers, 20 somethings, it has a broader appeal to all ages than most music festivals I've ever attended.

I had a great time walking around with my camera, looking for meaningful moments in the madness that occurred around me.

Volleyball in Central Park

While walking through Winnipeg’s Central Park with my camera a tall soft spoken man called out in my direction. At first I wasn’t sure he was talking to me, there were plenty of people around, and I thought it was much more likely that he was calling to a friend. But he pointed straight at me and motioned for me to come talk to him, to which I obliged.

As I approached him he stuck out his hand.

“Hello, what is your name?”

I shook his hand and introduced myself.

“Are you a journalist?” A question I’ve started hearing more frequently, even when I’m carrying a relatively spartan camera kit. I told him I was a photographer, not a journalist, the distinction didn’t seem to matter much to him.

“You’ll be interested in our volleyball team.” He motioned towards the turf on the far side of the park where some men were drawing a rectangle on the ground with tape and erecting a volleyball net. “In a few days we will be ready. We will be out in our uniforms and ready to play?”

He explained that in his home country he was well known for his achievements in competitive volleyball.

“Where is home?” I asked

He took a moment to reflect before replying to my query. “I am from the largest country in Africa. Do you know where that is?”

“The Democratic Republic of Congo?” I answered hesitantly while trying to visualize a map of Africa.

“No, No, No. I am from Sudan.”

I felt somewhat ashamed that I hadn’t guess correctly, though a later google search would vindicate my answer as prior to June 2011, Sudan was the largest country in Africa, however the separation of South Sudan has left it behind Algeria and the Democratic Republic of Congo as the largest country by landmass. But all that is really besides the point.

He proceeded to explain Sudan’s independence from the United Kingdom, and listed the dates of independence of many of the other countries in the surrounding region. He asked several questions about Canadian history, such as the date that each province joined the Dominion, but quickly answered his own question before I could even open my mouth.

I asked what brought him to Winnipeg. He paused.

“That is a very good question.” He then explained how in 2003 he was forced to leave Sudan due to the war in Darfur. He, and 400 other Sudanese came to Winnipeg as refugees. He had no real choice as to where he landed. The Federal government set him and his peers up in an apartment building on Carlton Street that borders Central Park. They quickly outgrew the building, a second apartment building on Qu’appelle, was used as well. Now that many of original 400 received permanent resident status and have moved west to Vancouver or east to Toronto, but that the buildings bordering Central Park are still mostly populated by Sudanese.

“Do you know who owns the majority of the oil in Sudan?”

Although I try to stay current and well read on world affairs, I had to admit my knowledge of the Sudanese oil industry is lacking.

“I imagine it is probably the United States, or the UK.”

“No! It is Canada.”

I felt ashamed, knowing that Canada is heavily involved in the exploitation of resources across Africa.

“I don’t imagine many Sudanese see much of that money.” I replied.

“No, you are correct, not many of us profit from it.”

At that moment a friend of his sat down on the bench next to where we were standing. I was introduced with a handshake.

“Greg is here to watch us play volleyball.” He urged his friend to join the others on the far end of the field who were just starting to toss the ball around.

I commented on how every time I wander through Central Park I see people like himself out having fun, interacting with their neighbours, and playing with their kids.

“Yes, when there is no war we just want to be in peace. You live your life and I live mine. We don’t like when people start violence here. When you are here with your kids or walking with your wife you don’t want trouble, we respect the rule of law. This place was not always like this though. When I came here in 2003 it was rough.”

“But then they built this.” He pointed down at the sidewalk, referring more to the overhaul of the entire park, not just the concrete below our feet.

“OK Greg. Go. Talk to my friend down there. You will come back when we have our uniforms and take our pictures.”

“I will. Would it be OK to take your picture now as well?”

“No, not today. I want to look nice. You can see I am not dressed very nice right now.” He looked down at his brown hoodie, frayed grey track pants, and torn shoes. “Come back when I am wearing my uniform and nice shoes.”

I respected his desire not to be photographed. I shook his hand and thanked him for the truly interesting conversation. I then walked over to the volleyball court, nodded to his friends who seemed to approve of my presence, and started taking their pictures. I hung out in the park, watching them practice volleyball for an hour or so. Running to get the ball whenever it was knocked out of play, and smiling along with them when something amusing occurred.

I never got a chance to talk to the team captain who had been pointed out to me, it was starting to rain and I had to make it home, but I hope to return again to watch them play volleyball and hopefully talk to my Sudanese friend, and take his picture.

Disintegration Records at the Windsor

This past Thursday local guitar rock quintet, Haunter, released their album Rivers & Rust. They've spent the last five years playing the songs that would eventually land on the album.

The following night, label mate (and co-founder of Disintegration Records) Greg MacPherson took the stage to play some of his classics and a couple songs from his upcoming album.