I’ve been thinking recently about this little online life I’ve got going on; not just the blog or the website, but all the other blogs and websites that I regularly visit for my daily dose. On the one hand, I think it’s incredible that I’m so connected with so many remarkable people throughout the world — it’s like I’m suckling from an overflowing teet of inspiration without any question of the source running dry. Quite something, really.

But on the other hand, I question how much good all that “watching” does me. I may know far more about who’s doing what and where, but then all that time I spent skimming about the interweb finding it out I could have been the one actually in the world getting things done. A balance is possible, for sure, but I’ve never been great at balance — I tend to be a bit obsessive about these things — and even in a “balanced” state I’m still not sure how much good all the watching is doing me. You can’t inhale and exhale at the same time (I can’t, anyway).

So I think I’m going to take a breather from the internet for a little while just to see how things go. I’ll still email, but I won’t be posting to the blog and I won’t be reading anyone else’s, either. I’ve got a project I’ve been meaning to get cracking on and a sweet new 4×5 on hand for just that purpose, and I’m going to give that my undivided attention for a while (with the occasional work-related hiccup).

I’m not going for good, but think of this as a wee sabbatical while I go about keeping my Self in check. In a few weeks (maybe a month or two) I’ll be back to report; in the meantime, don’t wait up…

rick van krugel. he really is inimitable…

I had the pleasure of photographing singer/songwriter Anne Shaefer a little while ago. Anne’s upcoming album, “The Waiting Room,” is in the final stages of production at Baker Studios now and will be released at some point in the not-too-distant future, but Anne was kind enough to slip me an unmastered copy to help get some ideas for the shoot.

Even in its unfinished state it was a beautiful and dynamic collection of songs, closer to a book of poems than a traditional record. Keep an eye out for it — it’s going to be a good one…

From a personal shoot a few weeks back. I’ve withheld their names at their father’s request.

From a recent walk in the woods (read: promo shoot) with singer/songwriter Mae Moore. Mae was excellent to work with: easy going, fun, kind, and very professional. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon…

With the Paralympic Games wrapping up yesterday, once and for all putting out the flame on Vancouver’s hyperactive Olympic festivities, I thought I’d post one or two of the shots I took while in the Big Smoke a few weeks ago.

I keep wondering: Where do all the patriots go when the lights turn down?

I photographed poet and essayist Lorne Daniel some time ago in the living room of his Victoria apartment. Daniel, who is originally from Central Alberta, moved to Vancouver Island last year in search of milder winters and has just begun writing a regular column for LifeAsAHuman. Check out his most recent essay here.

The House that Fred Built #3

One of my favourite things to do whenever Emily and I visit her family’s farm in Central Alberta is take the dogs out for a wander around the section. I feel a real connection to that countryside: the rolling fields stretched out under a wide blue sky, the tufts of spruce and alder that break them up into their patchwork, the history that seems to seep from the weary barns and rusted equipment that once played home to sheep, goats, and the sturdiest breed of work horses.

Em’s great Uncle, Fred, homesteaded Spruce Hill nearly a century ago and lived a solitary life there until his death, when Em was still a teenager. Every inch of clearing is such because he, along with his team of horses, chopped and pulled the trees; every nail in every barn-board was hammered by his hands. Fred died long before my marriage to Emily, but each time I go for one of my walks I feel as if I’m getting to know him a little better, and I’m filled with admiration for both the man and his story.

The home that Emily grew up in was constructed by her father 30 or so years ago, but the original house Fred built is still there, tucked into a corner of the clearing. It’s falling apart and will eventually need to be torn down altogether, but for now it stands, weathered and tired and filled with a few stubborn traces of his quiet, perhaps lonely life.

I’ve begun to photograph it and the farm whenever I’m out for a visit, and what started as simple curiosity is over time growing into something much more. The House that Fred Built has become my way of adding something to the record of a family I’ve only just joined by telling Fred’s story in a manner I hope he would have liked. It’s my way of paying respects to a man I’ll never have the chance to meet.

The House that Fred Built #4

I thought I’d post a few more from my session the other week with singer/songwriter Paul O’Brien. I think I mentioned at the time our decision to stay indoors for the shoot, and while we did for the most part, I still managed to drag the gracious Paul outdoors and into the daylight for a few rolls on the Hassi.

My preference for environmental portraiture — and for working with natural light — has a lot to do with what I think every good portrait should strive to be: an honest, uncompromising representation of an individual. You can do this in a studio, of course, but (at least for me) it’s much more difficult: the artificiality of the setting, the too-perfect light — all conspire to create a sheen that too easily stands in between viewer and subject. The gloss of production often shows us what we want to be, rather than what actually is.

Natural light and natural settings are less willing to compromise: sometimes a wayward wanderer gets into the frame, sometimes the light itself is hard to tame. And many times the process of negotiating these variables, and the “mistakes” that are made, are what lead to the final “winning” shots. To a certain degree, we (meaning the subject and myself) relax into circumstance. We give in a little to chance.

Real life can be a gritty, grainy business, and the people of our day-to-day are seldom in perfect focus. That’s what I like about life; no surprise, then, that it’s what I look for in a portrait.

~

Rika (aka Warless) is a musician-cum-artist-cum-activist living in Vancouver, BC. For a taste of his music, go here. If you’re in the Olympic city and want to see some beautiful West Coast art, Rika currently has a show hanging at the Beaumont Studios.