Entries from December 2006

2006

Words are just that

Knowledge is like a sharp pain between the eyes. It throbs and hurts and makes us wince.
Awareness is a curse that will leave us naked in the worst of blizzards, shivering and begging for a break or a moment of sleep.
Growth is in the end nothing but the early stages of the final fall, necessary yet futile.
Sadness is a deep, dark lake into which we feel compelled to dive once in a while to wash off the sweat of brief happiness.
And words are just that. Words. They’ll occasionally get one drunk.

Posted at 11:49 PM in Schtroumpfissime: 3 Comments » Toggle display • Reply

2006

Lynn Canyon in shades of grey

As much as the creek can sparkle with color in summertime, it is turned by the snow into an almost surreal monochrome world.

So I’m sitting at Waves with my coffee, trying to figure out what’s wrong with the shot I originally liked most, and along comes Nicky. She glances at the picture opened in Lightroom and without even thinking twice about it, she smiles and waves (pardon the pun) a hand at the screen, saying I should crop it vertically to enhance the bridge. Of course, why didn’t I think of it earlier?

Now it’s really my favorite.

[ As usual, click to enlarge ]

Posted at 11:12 PM in Photoblogs: & Vancouver: 2 Comments » Toggle display • Reply

2006

Of patterns

There was this very little dog that played with a basketball as big as he was in a large snowfield. He would push the ball around with his forehead at a tremendous speed, sliding and slipping on the snow but gathering great momentum nonetheless. Eventually, the ball would collect wet snow and its new irregular shape would prevent it from rolling straight, so the dog would stop and dutifully bite at the snow until the ball was clean again, at which point he’d resume pushing and chasing it around.

There was this window washer, unaware that his efforts rained down on the pedestrians below, endlessly ascending and descending along a building wall on his cable, tiptoeing on ledges, a fish on the outside of a human aquarium. There are so many windows to a tower.

And there was this rather determined tug boat engaged in an aquatic ballet around a huge freighter, seemingly kissing her from all sides in the middle of the Inlet. It reminded me of the surgeon fish delicately picking parasites off the shell of a grateful giant sea turtle in Deep Sea 3D.

And then there was this adorable redhead sitting at the empty terrace of a café, absentmindedly brushing a rebel lock of hair away from her face as she read an old book. She kept laughing silently at the story, completely absorbed by it, never noticing that the very laughter would unavoidably shake her wild hair loose and back in front of her eyes.

And there was, too, a lot more happening, in a regular, rhythmic, systematic, repetitive fashion. But I didn’t see all that, too busy looking back at all the times I should’ve broken the pattern and taken a different step.

The problem with repetition is its hypnotizing nature. Everything in the universe is vibration, from particles to our very actions. We unconsciously seek a rhythm, a wave pattern, and we settle in it. We ride it as it carries us.

But since I know all this so well, I’ve made a rule for myself to keep changing my patterns and to take improbable side-steps. So much so that it’s become a pattern of its own. Check mate.

Posted at 2:47 AM in Schtroumpfissime: 2 Comments » Toggle display • Reply

2006

Finding peace up at Grouse

It was the evening of Nov. 27th. A rare outflow of Arctic air from the continent had collided with incoming Pacific storms, unleashing winter’s full strength and bringing cold temperatures and heavy snow to the Greater Vancouver area.

Earlier that day, I’d left the struggling valley behind and gone to my favorite spot on the North Shore, Lynn Canyon, which hadn’t disappointed me. The place was almost unrecognizable under its new soft white blanket, but every bit as beautiful as always.

I had then taken a chance and headed up to Grouse despite the completely overcast skies, still falling snow and failing light. The weather in Vancouver is well known for its last-minute, late-afternoon clearing and the forecast had been optimistic, so I was, too.

I arrived at the top in an almost empty, cold and dark gondola just before sunset time. The visibility was down to zero as the peak was literally in the clouds. From the exit of the Red Skyride bunker, I could barely see the huge wooden sculptures that sit next to the chalet, a mere hundred meters away.

But I had guessed right. As I walked around, amazed by the thickness of the clouds, a hint of yellow light began to appear above the station. All of a sudden, everything was possible. I got the camera out, and the rest is history. I think the pictures speak for themselves.

I was out for about 2 hours, from before sunset until way past it; from total cloudiness back to it; from a comfortable feeling of warmth to wet and cold feet, frozen pants up to my knees and painful fingers. But the camera never flinched, happily clicking away and hiding between shots inside the relative protection of my open fleece. The temperature wasn’t much below –9 C, and it even got warmer as time went by. But as opposed to the skiers and boarders around me, I didn’t move a lot and spent most of my fun knee-deep in the snow, immobile, waiting.

Strangely, I felt, the whole time, as if I was actually re-doing something that had already been done. It wasn’t until I saw the pictures on a computer screen that I realized what it was: the great Samivel had been there before. Maybe not physically - his playground was the Alps - but in essence. Because mountains are mountains and their spirit travels across oceans, and know no boundaries.

I’d just been photographing what he had once painted. Or better, I had been part of it. I had walked inside one of his scenes, a tiny humble photographer trying hard to take pictures of a majestic giant landscape with a miniscule camera. I recognized the pastel tones, the simple lines, the soft curves, the peace all around me, the nostalgia. It was all there. I hope I did him justice.

Posted at 1:45 AM in Photoblogs: & Vancouver: 8 Comments » Toggle display • Reply

1 - NewYorkangel says:

« BEAUTIFUL!!

C’est drole, dès que j’ai commencé á lire ton article, j’ai pensé à la même chose que toi... Samivel, les Alpes, la montagne, Zian...etc etc... ) »
Date of comment: 2006-12-01 02:52 • Reply
1.1 - Vince answers:

« Tu ne peux pas savoir à quel point le simple fait que tu saches faire la différence entre manivelle et Samivel, ou Zian et Zion, me fait plaisir. Merci.

J’ai pris mes photos et comme d’habitude j’écris tout ça pour ceux et celles qui, comme toi, connaissent instinctivement cet autre monde qui est ici et là-bas, en dedans comme au dehors. »
Date of comment: 2006-12-01 03:12 • Reply
2 - Anonymous says:

« Didn’t you hear ?
When you left, frozen and stiff, there was a discreet hand of applause,
coming from right up above you.
Didn’t you hear ? »
Date of comment: 2006-12-01 06:28 • Reply
2.1 - Vince answers:

« Yeah, it was people cheering from the chair lift when I slipped and landed on my back... »
Date of comment: 2006-12-02 22:18 • Reply
3 - NewYorkangel says:

« On est de la même espèce en fait...
»
Date of comment: 2006-12-01 07:22 • Reply
4 - Sigrid says:

« Good. Lord.
Je ne sais pas ce qui m’épate le plus, tes photos ou quelqu’un qui sait d’office qui est Samivel. »
Date of comment: 2006-12-02 17:17 • Reply
5 - Shandara says:

« Tes photos sont d’une beauté à couper le souffle... »
Date of comment: 2006-12-04 02:13 • Reply
5.1 - Vince answers:

« Merci beaucoup. Mais c’est normal, en montagne, le souffle est déjà court... »
Date of comment: 2006-12-04 02:20 • Reply