Tag Archives: Photography

Running off at the mouth.

04 Thursday Oct 2012

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Yesterday I entered the digital age. Now that is not to say I don’t shoot my photography digitally or I don’t know how to surf the internet. I do on both accounts and I think fairly well.

To date, my encounters with media for the Arn? Narn. PR push, have been of the more traditional kind: print, radio, the like. But now, I was the sole subject of a webinar speaking to other photographers or some such like interested parties. I went online. There’s no turning back now.

Donning my newly purchased headset, I was ready to communicate with the outside world through my computer. I felt as if I was at mission control. And the only thing ready to launch was my mouth. We are running and we have liftoff!

Liftoff indeed!

I was being interviewed – in depth – about my photo-documentary book Arn? Narn. Once we were sure all equipment was functional, last week at the originally scheduled webinar, it wasn’t, we were good to go.

I had anticipated maybe being able to keep the other participants interest for a half hour, 45 minutes tops. Oh, no. Or as George Takei might say, “Oh, Myyyy.” It went longer, a lot longer. Try nearly two hours!

The hands on the clock go round and round…for two hours!

Who knew I had so much to say? Certainly not me. OK, maybe me but not for that long. The moderator, another photographer, kept things humming along. Between his questions and those of the participants, it did take that long. I was surprised at the questions and how thoughtful they were. I can only hope my answers did them justice.

We had posted a number of pictures from the book and discussed them: what was going on; what were my thoughts as I was photographing them, that kind of stuff. Mercifully, there were no questions such as, “What f-stop did you use for that photo?” Truthfully, my answer would have been, “How the h— should I know?” I have trouble remembering where my socks are.

To be the subject of such intense scrutiny is a little unnerving. To think that any group, no matter the size, would have any interest in what I have to say amazes me. But this group, by and large, held on for the entire interview. That was very flattering. I hope it wasn’t boring. The tales I can tell of my experiences in Newfoundland are largely humorous or at least I think so. Judging from the response of the moderator, so did he. An appreciative audience of one is a start.

So now, that two hours is forever available online for anyone with the fortitude to listen to it. Brew some fresh coffee and sit back and try not to gag.

No f-stops. No focal lengths. No “what film did you use, man?” It was all about the story as it should have been. It’s a story that will impact us all. If we only take notice.

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L’il ol’ stealth me.

30 Thursday Aug 2012

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For lo’ these many years, I’ve been able to get by under the radar. That is truly one of the joys of being a photographer. I get to witness and by that, vicariously (I guess), experience a whole host of things without being the subject of them. That is the wonderful and safe anonymity of being behind the camera instead of in front of it. That’s all about to change. What was I thinking?

This is what I thought I was like.

Gone will be the security of my camera. Every photographer knows they’re invincible with the camera in front of them. Done well, invisible too. We are not to be the subject, that’s not our job. But here I find myself ready to go “public” and not in the stock offering sort of way. That would depress the market so it might never recover. No, I am going to have to go out into that cold and unfriendly world in the harsh, unforgiving light of the day and make nice. I fear a Sally Fields kind of response, “You like me, you really like me!” Ugh.

“They like me…”

So no more faceless person in the crowd. I’m outing myself. “Hi, I’m Bruce and I’m a photographer. I haven’t taken a picture in four days. Please, hold your applause.” I don’t know how to do this. I never even gave this stuff any thought when I was up in Newfoundland shooting Arn? Narn. Nothing prepares you for the event of your first book getting published.

So, I’m reading a lot and getting into this much later than I would have liked – ahh, the joys of ignorance. I now have to give up what passed for anonymity and become somewhat public. Is that like a little pregnant?

So over the next few posts, I’ll be writing about the conundrum of nominal “fame” and how one who is uniquely unqualified for it, deals with it. Bring candy, popcorn, and tissues. The candy and popcorn are for you, the tissues, well…..

Now where’s that photo with the, the, you know…

25 Monday Jun 2012

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Even though there are many photographs to print, some are revealing themselves to be keepers right off the bat; others, ehhh, not so much. So the editing starts while I’m still printing. That should make things easier at the end, right? Not so fast, Bucko! Some become instant favorites while others are quickly relegated to orphan status. If they remain orphans at the end, I might be convinced to call in Sally Struthers for help.

If you’ve never been in a photographic darkroom, it is a place of miracle, wonderment, surprise, and frustration. Sort of like golf, but without the funny clothes. When printing an image, one doesn’t just make one print and that’s it. There is so much influence the photographer can have on the image, that the final realization of it may look entirely different from what was originally seen on the proof sheet.

The adjustments are innumerable. It can go lighter or darker all over; composition is always being fiddled with; one can make only specific areas lighter or darker; contrast is infinitely adjustable; developing techniques affect it strongly; and cropping can make it into an entirely different image altogether. With all that in mind, it doesn’t get printed once. It gets printed many times. All the generations printed of this image lead to the one that stands out; the one where you can’t see that it needs any further work. The differences between the last few generations might be miniscule and often are, but that little difference makes all the difference in the world.

It is not uncommon, rather it’s normal, to spend hours working on an image from just one negative. (The late W. Eugene Smith was known to work as long as a week on one negative!) Multiply that by 200+ images and it’ll be a wonder if I ever see daylight again. On the other hand, if I print at night, that problem is easily eliminated.

W. Eugene Smith in his darkroom. (oocities.org)

So, as preliminary editing begins, there’s always that moment (or moments), when looking through all those prints, you go, “Now where is that photo with the…”. Good times, good times.

This is what looking for that print is like, only cleaner. (the atlantic.com)

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Done and done-r.

07 Thursday Jun 2012

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After careful and meticulous (I hope) examination, I’ve selected some 200 photographs to print from the several thousand taken in Newfoundland. Having so many to choose from is like deciding which of your children will live and the others, well, you get the picture. In this case, several thousand negatives (most of them!) will never see the light of an enlarger. They will be destined to remain in the files until some misguided cultural anthropologist in a dig discovers them and announces a major find. Uh-huh, sure.

Noted and not misguided cultural anthropologist Loretta Orion, not likely to make this major discovery. Oh, well. (27east.com)

From these 200+ images will be the ones I choose to be included in the book “Arn? Narn.”. In turn, those will determine how the book will be divided into chapters. At this point, I’ve no idea how they will come together once selected. I also have no idea of how many I’ll wind up including. It’s much like a very large puzzle whose final image is not on the cover of the box in which it came. How do you put so many disparate pieces together cohesively when you don’t know what it’s supposed to look like? It’s sort of like the ultimate blind date.

Having lived so intimately with these images, it gets to the point that I don’t know if they’re any good. I do have favorites, of course, but there is no rhyme or reason for that. Those may not necessarily make it to the book. Only throwing them together and seeing how they work will I be able to start to shape this.

Like the written word, what I choose, what I edit, will certainly tell a particular story. Rearrange them, add/subtract, and it’s now another story or at the very least one with a different point of view. I have to ask myself continuously, how do I want to tell this story: this tale of survival, this morality play staged against a backdrop of beauty and government greed, and finally what do I bring to it and can I keep my opinions locked down? It’s like being given a dictionary but told “You can only use words that have no “e”s in them. Go ahead and write your story.” I can’t use everything.

I know what my given words, my photos, are. It’s just I don’t know yet how to put them down in a way that makes sense. Eloquence with words is one thing; eloquence with images is an altogether different situation.

So I will enter the darkroom, play and sing diddly music and Peter Gabriel, and print. These will be master prints (suitable for exhibition), so it’s going to take some time. There’s no pressure yet to produce this by a certain date, so I can dawdle, but I won’t. I can’t wait to see what this looks like.

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I suck at math.

24 Thursday May 2012

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Frustrations taken out on an innocent calculator. Do not try this at home!

Math was never a strong suit of mine. Hell, why should it be? I’m right-brained and proud of it! Let someone else with a pocket protector do that work – Hey, I’m busy creating here! And truthfully and thankfully, there are people who can and do do that work well. If not, this book might never have happened. Never ask or trust a creative-type to do a business plan. You’ll be rewarded with a mildly bemused blank stare and a “Sure? Uhhh, you want fries with that?”

If it were up to us (creative-types), money, materials, time, balancing checkbooks, travel, all that stuff that requires some sort of record keeping would be unnecessary. Our tax returns of course might be of the same imaginative and fictional quality that landed Al Capone in jail, Jack Abramoff in jail and now on TV (Hmmm, maybe crime DOES pay!), and a whole host of others who regularly deal in financial fiction writing (Goldman Sachs, Lehman Bros., JP Chase Morgan, – you get the idea).

All of that stated, I did keep some numbers just out of some sort of OCD notion that once published, it might be fun to know what built this Cabbage Patch doll idea of mine. In a Donald Trumpian world, that translates to nothing spells success like excess.

For instance, in photographing “Arn? Narn.”,  I drove over 7,500 miles across Newfoundland. That’s equal to going back and forth across the US approximately 2.5 times. The good news is that I didn’t see a Newfoundland version of the Cadillac Ranch Art installation in Amarillo. There must be a god!

The Cadillac Ranch. This is not Newfoundland!

I shot nearly 200 roles of film. And I remember every single shot! Well, maybe not every one.

I used over 2,500 sheets of photographic printing paper to get to the final images used in the book. I can’t even begin to tell you how many hours that took. I told you I suck at math and record-keeping!

 I, like George Washington the illustrious Father of Our Country, slept around. I stayed in at least a dozen different places (and paid the bill every time) though no one left signs commemorating my short residences.

I sampled every beer (7-12 depending on what you count as true Newfoundland brew. Brewfoundland?) made in Newfoundland. Yum! I sampled vodka made in Newfoundland from icebergs. Not so yum. I’m a wuss. So what?

I ate countless packages of chocolate covered crackers along the way. An army does travel on its stomach and mine was now a bit larger for those travels. No, I didn’t measure it as part of my record keeping.

And as far as playing Newfoundland (diddly) music incessantly? Yes, guilty as charged and I lost count of the number of Newfoundland music CDs purchased.

Boring anyone who came near me to tears by recounting the wonders of Newfoundland. Yeah, very guilty. Again, a countless number.

Driving my wife crazy about how crazy I was and am about Newfoundland I was? This spans years! So, why don’t you just lock me up and throw away the key? Better yet, solitary confinement: that way no one else will have to listen to me prattling on about Newfoundland pr playing its music continuously. Or just ship me off up there and we’ll both be happy! Well, I apologize. Profusely. (Just not very sincerely.) It’s not my fault you didn’t come with me!

So, after all of this – do the numbers add up? Damned if I know. I’m looking for my next score on chocolate covered crackers. Hey buddy? Wanna help a brother out?

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The damned awful, most sorrowful part of this trip…

10 Thursday May 2012

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A very famous, overpaid (but ungrateful) sports commentator was asked about the best part of his now-over job with ESPN. His too-quick response was “Seeing it in the rear-view mirror”! Obviously, things didn’t go too well for him there. Not to worry though, both he and ESPN have gone on to greater things.

Bye Newfoundland!

For me, the worst part of this trip to Newfoundland was seeing it in my “rearview mirror”. In this case, that was the window of the plane taking me back to the states. I did not want to leave…ever. But…

In front of me was another round of developing many rolls of film, making a like number of proof sheets, and then determining whether or not I had achieved what I had set out to accomplish. I would have to look at the photographs taken over this two year period to see how it all shook out. This would take many months of work in which I would constantly be reminded of the adventures written about in this blog. Alas, no scrunchions, no Quidi Vidi brew, no chocolate covered crackers to help me on my way. Travel is so hard and boring!

As I have a fine and loud stereo in my darkroom, I would play, among all the rest of my musical selections, my newly expanded collection of Newfoundland music. So often that when I go to my next kitchen party, I would be much better equipped to participate. Not that my singing will have improved, not likely, but I’ll be able to choose from a much larger repertoire of what Oscar my friend from St. John’s refers pejoratively (a $ 1.00 word here!) to as “diddly music”. (I loved “diddly music”, but  when you grow up with something so prevalent as did Oscar, you’re not much impressed with it any longer.)

“Close the door! You’ll let out all the dark!” (Old photography joke.)

So my immediate course has been set out in front of me: hours of wet hands, inhaling semi-noxious fumes, singing/screaming at the top of my lungs “diddly music”. Yes b’y! That’s for me. Now we’ll see what develops. (Groan – another old photography joke.)

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We interrupt this blog with breaking news…

07 Monday May 2012

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Several weeks ago, I had set a goal of reaching a certain number of followers/subscribers to this blog in order to help promote my new photography book. When that goal was reached, I would award a free, signed copy of my book “Arn? Narn.” after its publication to one lucky subscriber.

That goal has been met, actually exceeded. And the person who won is Jennifer from… drumroll please… appropriately enough, Newfoundland! Congratulations Jennifer!

  No, this is not Jennifer.             (Winners of a lottery – telegraph.uk.com)

Jennifer is also quite a good blogger and those interested in her work can read it at: jenniferkellandperry.wordpress.com . I strongly recommend it.

I will also be setting another subscriber goal for my blog and will award yet another book in the near future. But for now, Jennifer will be the recipient of one of the first copies of “Arn? Narn.”

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A thundering herd of…one?

23 Monday Apr 2012

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As I would have done it. (chinamike)

My one-man invasion of Ramea is complete. I had taken the island by storm (yeah, right!) and it is mine…on film at least. There were no hostages taken except my heart to these wonderful people.

As I did do it. Sort of, but with a smile.

I’ve learned a lot on this little island. Who knew you could buy burial caskets at the supermarket? And they’ll store them for you until the ground thaws. Come springtime though, you’re on your own.

A song sung with enthusiasm (or very loudly) is just as good as a song sung well. Just sing it with conviction. An instrument helps too.

In the late hours of a kitchen party, you’ll be amazed that so much incredible and undiscovered talent can be found in one small room. And they get even more talented as the night wears on.

Buying drinks for strangers works as well in Newfoundland as anywhere else. Just don’t be stingy. And if you don’t understand what they’re saying, buy ‘em another drink. Before long, they won’t understand what you’re saying either.

I learned that one should never turn down a moose burger. It’s bad form. It’s not as good as caribou, but it won’t harm you. On the other hand, all your vegan friends will probably never talk to you again.

One should also never refuse a drink if offered. That’s very bad form. You will not be invited back and nor should you. There’s a reason why we’re told not to drink alone.

In Newfoundland, one should make every effort to talk with strangers. You’ll learn so much, you’ll probably make a new friend, and at the very least, they will invite you in for tea. Really.

Be open to all the possibilities that travel will afford you. You won’t regret it. Of course, if someone tells you not to go to a particular neighborhood, that’s probably a good idea. Let me amend something I just said, be open to most of the possibilities.

So the “invasion” is over. Tomorrow I leave…with a lot of wonderful memories and stories, a few new friends, and some great (I hope) photographs for “Arn? Narn.”.

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Abducted by sea turtles AND the talk of the town.

19 Monday Mar 2012

Posted by in Culture, Geography, History, Humor, Observations, Photography, Travel

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With all apologies to the bard (Ramea, O’ Ramea, where art thou O’ Ramea?), Ramea is a small island off the southern coast of Newfoundland and I arrived safely on the good ship (well, ferry) Gallipoli. For those who may be history minded, Gallipoli is the name of a horrible battle in World War I in which allied soldiers were brutally massacred because of an incredibly dumb decision. It was also a movie starring the then uncontroversial and better-looking actor Mel Gibson. And Gallipoli was the boat of which I just got off! Should I have read something into that? Time enough to ponder as I’ll be getting back on it to return to the Newfoundland mainland in a few days.

Approaching Ramea, one travels though a beautiful though unexpected archipelago. It was a wonderful greeting. The only thing missing were giant sea turtles, but for all I knew they may have been laying in wait to ambush me and make mock-Bruce soup. Hey, it could happen.

This was going to be very cool. Ramea is a very small island, populated by about 600 people. At it’s peak in the early 1970′s, it had about double that, but when the fish were gone, half the populace followed. Yet, it holds on. There is a music festival, like so many other Newfoundland outports, in August. And there are a number of outdoor activities in which one can indulge. The electricity is furnished by a small wind turbine farm. OK, so much for the Chamber of Commerce business.

As I’ve come to learn and appreciate and obsessively seek out, the best activity of all in Newfoundland is talking and partying with Newfoundlanders, everywhere! And that more than anything would define this part of the journey. Oh, the photographs would be taken. And with the certainty of only those of the pure of heart and who sleep like babies, I knew they would be good. I didn’t really, I hoped they would be good. But I’m rambling. The beer would be drunk, but not I, oh, no! Moose what would be eaten. Sorry, Squirrel. More on that later,

I checked into the B&B on Ramea, unpacked, and then started out on which was to be my newest adventure. Without giving too much away, must be frugal with my words here, I was to see clothes-lines, coffins, windmills, hand-painted signs, a bar, so much more and unbeknownst to me at the time, become the talk of the island.

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‘Scuse me, while I kiss the sky.

01 Thursday Mar 2012

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It’s probably a good bet Jimi Hendrix was not singing about the skies in Newfoundland and more’s the pity.

Nowhere have I seen a more dramatic skyscape than up on The Rock. Now you may be thinking, “It’s a sky. So what? Big deal!” Well, yeah, it is a big deal. It will show you textures, shapes, and tonalities like you’ve never seen and then in a moment vanish only to replaced by something completely different (and not in the Monty Python sense either).

Why is this sky different from all other skies you ask? In one sense, it’s very similar to Big Sky country in Montana. It’s high, it’s enormous, it appears to cover and touch everything you see, it goes on forever, and oftentimes it resembles a time lapse film. The Newfoundland sky is like a living motion picture – something is always going on and like a really good one, you won’t know the ending.

If it’s a sunny day, then the sea takes on an unbelievably rich and dark blue color. All the colors of the island jump out in blazing relief. And even on such a day, there can be fog which will give you a teasing glimpse of something beautiful only to obscure it moments later.

On a cloudy day then, of which there are many, the show really begins. Cloudy days in Newfoundland are not to be confused with a cloudy or overcast day anywhere else. After all, this is Newfoundland. Missing are the drab, plain-jane grey skies in the lower 48. Instead you’ll be witness to high drama. For the person who believes everything is black and white, they should be prepared for disappointment. These skies display some serious greys and a hell of a lot of variations. From light and medium greys to end-of-the-world dark greys. it’s all there. What makes it even that much more spectacular are the many textures. It’s not a flat sky by any stretch of the imagination; no, it’s a roiling, scudding, blustering, opinionated sky with its own intent.

Picture this: you’re out on the coast – the sea is a wind-whipped, nearly black surface complete with whitecaps; nearer than the horizon are brilliant white icebergs sitting in stark contrast to the dark, colorless sea and to the rich, cloud-laden thunder grey sky.This is the stuff of wonderful black & white photography and I’m really there.

So, go ahead and kiss this sky! I have.

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How did I get here?

17 Friday Feb 2012

Posted by in Discovery, History, Humor, Newfoundland, Photography

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Sometime during this, my second trip to Newfoundland, I mused upon the events that led me there. Having previously written about how this whole idea came about, this is not to be a rehashing of that. I’ll probably indulge myself to do so though at some future time begging one’s patience. It’s also not how I physically got here – wrote about that as well in length. No, this is about a seminal event that did ultimately lead to this point in time.

A long time ago, (in a part of the country far, far away), I was sharing drinks with some college friends up in Boston. We were talking about careers and what we wanted to do with our lives. You know, the typical 3:00 AM college discussion. I was also trying to impress a young woman, Darla D., with what I thought was cool. I was an art major which is really, when you think of it, pretty cool, if not a non-starter on the economic scale. I wanted to paint. The underlying problem with that was I wasn’t very good. Being young and full of myself, I wasn’t about to admit it. What to do?

I blurted out, “I’m thinking of getting into photography.” Whoa! Where did that come from? Yes, I was trying to impress Darla D. and that did do it, but I had never thought of photography before. I would look at my fellow students with their cameras going around taking pictures of nothing and think, “Glad I’m not them, what dorks.” Truth is that as a teenage art major (Hmmm, that might be a good idea for a B-movie), we were all dorks already, but the photographers didn’t seem to care and were cool with that.

The more I thought about it, the more attractive the idea became. I have to believe my painting professor was relieved about the decision. So, I took some classes, worked with a photographer to learn more, and then courageously set out to wow the world. Uh huh, yeah, right. It wasn’t at all different from any other artistic discipline or business for that matter. Ya gotta pay yer dues.

So many years later, with any number of missteps and mistakes behind me and yet to come, I found myself in Newfoundland photographing this book. The big difference is that I’m that dork now, taking pictures of “nothing.”

There’s a fjord in your future.

19 Monday Dec 2011

Posted by in Discovery, Fish, Geography, Newfoundland, Observations, Uncategorized

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There used to be only the Big Three automakers – Ford, GM, and Chrysler. That was it. None of the others that populate our driveways today were in sight back then. Life it seems was much simpler then.

This is a Ford.

So imagine my surprise when I heard about fjords. I was certain some under-educated person misspelled the ever-oh-so-easy name of Ford. Never mind that its usage in the sentence was peculiar, I figured they just spelled it wrong!

But noooo, I was the ignorant fool. Every Norwegian child worth their salt (and much salt is used to keep and preserve cod and other delicacies – don’t even mention Lutefisk to me!) knew what a fjord was. No Ragnar, a fjord doesn’t have four wheels! Yes, Bruce (the teacher said patiently), a fjord is a u-shaped valley carved out by glaciers a long, long time ago. Pay attention!

This is a fjord.

So, right about this time you’re asking yourself what does this have to do with Newfoundland? And my book “Arn? Narn.”? Good questions. As it turns out, a lot. On the western coast of the island is Gros Morne National Park. Gros Morne is French for the less than poetic sounding “large mountain standing alone.” And in this park is the Western Brook Pond fjord. It is your typical, everyday, run-of-the-mill, drop-dead, central casting beautiful fjord.

This is a fjord too. See the difference? – Western Brook Pond fjord.

The western coast is the final stretch of the Appalachian mountain range and it alone is worth the trip to Newfoundland. An area of unimaginable beauty, it is home to mountains, fjords, caribou (more on them at a later post), moose and the Tablelands. There was also very fine salmon fishing here, but it too like cod fishing is highly restricted. This is a problem that affects the entire island and it’s been learned a global one as well.

So if you go and I do recommend it, get yourself a Ford. It’ll give you a certain symmetry.

Lobsters and a screw cap.

15 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by in Discovery, Fish, Food, Humor, Newfoundland, Photography, Sea, Uncategorized, Weather

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On the western coast of Newfoundland, I drive through such towns as Cow Head, Sally’s Cove, Three Mile Rock, (not to be confused with the atomic town in Pennsylvania), and Spudgels Cove. (Who was Spudgels that he was important enough to have a cove named after him?) Each one of these has it’s own personality waiting to be discovered by an intrepid traveler such as me. But not now as I’m on a quest. I’ve learned fresh lobster can be had inexpensively here. I make a short stop to see The Arches Provincial Park. This is a natural rock arch formation acting as a gateway to the ocean. I think however, most people probably just go around it to get there. But it does form a wonderful backdrop for new photographs.

The sea is starting to kick up into what will develop on the next day into a pretty fierce storm. Unfortunately, most of the lobster traps on the western coast will be lost.

But for this day, the lobstermen are making the most of their efforts. No longer permitted to fish for cod, they’ve turned to lobstering and crabbing. The lobstering season is very short, lasting only 5-6 weeks. In this time, the lobstermen will catch enough to deliver to the fishery and also help feed their family throughout the year. However, according to the lobstermen, eating lobster all year long gets old fast. When asked what they do the rest of the year, his reply was, “Well, we just —- around.” OK, sounds good. But in the meantime, I’m told if I go down to the fishery which is conveniently located near the cabin in which I’m staying, they’ll cook me up some lobsters fresh and really cheap. This is getting better all the time.

Down to the fishery I go and place my gluttonous order of two(!) lobsters to be picked up at 7:00 PM. Back to the cabin, drop off my equipment, get a bottle of wine from the market, and then pick up my lobsters. I go to the counter and pick up my dinner and am charged the princely sum of $ 11.00! Cooked and ready to eat! And the wine has a screw cap! I’m in heaven.

Shooting without a license or a clue.

18 Friday Nov 2011

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The moment of truth had arrived. Not the result of downing an uncounted number of Jager shots; nor the facing of a mildly enraged bull. No, those pale in comparison. With camera in hand and way too many rolls of film, I venture out to start what I came up here for… taking photographs. But, as I practice my personal conceit of not taking pictures I’ve seen before, I’m faced with a land like I’ve never seen before.

It was not a “dark and stormy night.” It was a cloudy day: the first of many and the type of which I grew quite fond. Cloudy in Newfoundland was not the boring pale grey skies I was accustomed to. Oh, no. These were skies with intent. In a land with so much character, defined largely by the sea, these skies had their own opinion. Shooting in black and white, I came to the realization that here was a brand new palette. Oh yes, this is going to be fun. My real education in Newfoundland was about to begin and it would open my eyes.

Earlier I wrote of the isolation I sought to portray and I found it. But looking back, I came to realize I was imposing my own projection of that onto the landscape. It didn’t need my help. In doing so, it took me quite some time to realize that I was missing the real story here. Really, quite some time. But I pressed on…without a license and without a clue.