Citadel Building in Medicine Hat

Of the photo sets that I've been shooting for my Around the Hat series, including the Citadel building was an easy choice as it's where Stream Media, one of the companies that I edit for, is located.  The building was constructed in 1913 for the Salvation Army and replaced a wooden structure originally on the site.  Years later the building was remodeled, and eventually sold in 1983 when the Salvation Army relocated to a new building.  The Citadel has since housed offices.

For me this location is special because of the time I spent here after moving home to Medicine Hat from university.  Stream was my first job out of school in 2008, and I continue to work contract for them now.  I think the understated charm of the building suits the production company well.  You can also see that I parked my Jaguar next to the Stream graffiti that we used to open the promo reel I edited for them last year.  

Citadel Building ca. 1986

Salvation Army Citadel ca. 1970s

Citadel Building with St. Barnabas church next door.

But, You're Not a Photographer

One of my pet peeves these days is the way people classify themselves as photographers.  Honestly, it's brilliant to see so many people snapping pictures and finding ways to share their work, and to those giving it an honest go, I have nothing but respect.  My issue arises when people disregard the skill that actually separates a photographer who does it professionally (and actually gets paid) versus someone who simply enjoys it - or more so, those who don't feel the need to work at it because they have apps and a flickr account. 

Self portrait.  Ooooo, Canon? Nope, iPod.

Case in point, Instagram.  I love Instagram.  I snap hundreds of photos with my iPod Touch and use them to create collages for my blog posts, create fun profile pictures, and generally capture things on the go.  However, if Instagram and the prepackaged filters it comes with are the extent of your photographic knowledge and experience, then really you're no more of a photographer than my pancakes and spaghetti make me a chef. And to those posting shoddy Facebook ads promoting your photography businesses, the expense of your camera should not be your top selling point!

Once again, it's not that lots of people are doing it, it's the assumption that somehow everyone who has access to the same tools are equal in skill; that if we all had the same camera the results would be exactly the same.  The truth is that it's not the equipment that tells you how to frame a shot, how to properly white balance, how to bounce and reflect light, or how to effectively manipulate a shot in post.  There's intuition, experimentation, and a keen eye involved.  What I'm saying is that if everyone can do something, then there naturally has to be a new benchmark for those who don't only snap pictures of their cats. If you're wondering who I'm talking about, check out all of the people featured on the hilarious website, You Are Not a Photographer. And as a guy who also makes his living as an editor, trust me when I say that the spectrum is no less terrifying in video.

While I'm not losing any sleep over this long standing debate, I feel like there's a lot to be said for those who excel in creative professions and those who simply want to be part of the club.  It comes down to a matter of intent.  What I shoot and share is deliberate, and the way my photos are edited is not only a reflection of my personal style, it's an exercise in originality and my perspective on what other professionals are doing.  Every decent photographer is out to make common focal points seem more unique, and if you're shooting wedding photos like yearbook pictures, something's wrong.  
    

Photography, much like video editing, is about understanding subtlety. Expressions, framing, the angle, and the depth of field used are all variables that can project different meanings and encourage different reactions.  I've always been even more focused on the post-production side of things - filters, etc.  Often times something made to look simple and natural is frustratingly hard to create.

I'm reminded of the Picasso napkin story.  The story goes that Picasso was sitting in a Paris café when an admirer approached and asked if he would do a quick sketch on a paper napkin. Picasso politely agreed, swiftly executed the work, and handed back the napkin — but not before asking for a rather significant amount of money. The admirer was shocked: “How can you ask for so much? It took you a minute to draw this!” “No”, Picasso replied, “It took me 40 years”.     
In short, while talent certainly varies, the skill (in any field) doesn't come prepackaged. 

Silent City (2003)

For nearly a decade this project sat in a box full of my old film school reels, and to be honest, no one was missing much.  It was perhaps the very first thing my friend Dave and I ever shot on film, outside of a few tests maybe.  At the very least it was the first assignment in the film program that required us to shoot and edit on 16mm.

What makes Silent City worth sharing is more than just the few seconds of grainy footage that we managed to capture.  It isn't that there was some profound message behind our shots or that we had any intent of creating something epic to document how brilliant we were (although I wouldn't doubt that such things were said in jest at the time).  The film was simply a start.  It was a beginning to our film school careers, and in an unexpected and far more symbolic sense, it played a role as one of the ways that I said goodbye to Dave when he passed away last year.  

The project was shot on an afternoon in Regina that consisted of us driving around downtown, Wascana park, and the university campus and randomly pointing the Bolex camera at things.  As technical as I'm sure that sounds, I don't remember either of us being too concerned with what we shot, just as long as something actually developed when we got our film back.

The one scene that we actually put some thought into took place in Wascana park.  It consisted of me shooting Dave as he walked across to the left side of the frame and then overexposing the shot as he walked back again.  The idea, and how it ended up in the finished reel, is that we would cut the two shots together to contrast the exposures and motion between the takes.  The result was like a ghostly apparition of Dave crossing paths with himself.   

I really hadn't given the project much thought until Dave's passing in September 2011. Dave's girlfriend, Wendy asked me if I'd like to place anything in his casket and I suddenly felt there was a reason to dig out the reel again.  I still had the envelope of raw 16mm clips that we'd spliced from this project when we had edited it on the giant Steenbeck late one night.  After careful consideration I thought that nothing would be more fitting than to leave him with one of the first creative ventures we had shared in film school together.  He'd have a piece of it, and I'd have the finished reel to remember what we made.

Up until February 2012, when I purchased myself a vintage 16mm projector, I still hadn't seen this project since we shot it back in 2003.  I honestly didn't know what to expect, but the reality behind what had happened in just the last few months made each frame a bit more memorable, and even a bit haunting.  It wasn't like watching a home video, the cold shots of the city and of Dave walking just seemed to echo a lot of the sadness behind losing a friend whom I'd shared so many memories like this with.

The reel of Silent City is simplistic, direct, and little more than a 16mm film test.  And yet, it's become a project that I'll never forget or view the same way ever again.