‘Swan Lake’ 2011, Photographic print, dimensions variable.

‘Amphitheatre Lake’ 2011, Photographic print, dimensions variable.

Continued from my post On the road in California….

So when we returned to San Francisco, we were smelly, tired and broke (already). We slept in the airport and flew out to Salt Lake City on an early morning flight. We were relieved to find the hostel we had booked was cheap and cheerful. Showered immediately and decided to plan our trip to Yellowstone National Park immediately. We quickly realized that the bus service we had intended to take was not sure a thing. In fact, public transportation to Yellowstone and within Yellowstone was non-existent. Without a car we had no hope.

After seeking some advice from fellow travelers in the hostel, we decided to head to Jackson Hole, where we planned to set up camp, and maybe travel to Grand Teton National Park. In the mood to celebrate our new plan we decided to hit the town, little did we know we were slap bang in the middle of the most non-existent city in America. The streets were empty, the restaurants were closed, the place was like a set from a postapocalyptic movie. I did not take any photos of SLC – because there was nothing to take photos of. We did however find a bar and succeeded in finding drinks, which continued when we returned to our hostel and were welcomed with open arms by drunk Americans (my favourite kind of American).

Next day we were back on the bus, this time heading to Jackson. When we arrived (7 hours later) we found no campsites in the town. Reluctantly we got a taxi to the nearest campsite, 10 miles from Jackson, in Gros Vente. We pitched our tent in the dead darkness of night. It soon hit us that we were in bear country and our campsite didn’t have bear lockers. Terrified, we decided to leg it down the road and tie our food in back sack in a tree. Good plan if we had some rope. Instead we tried to use a bungee cord I had accidentally stolen from our San Francisco bike rental company. Didn’t work. Just as I was struggling with this pathetic attempt at survival, we heard running and growling. It sounded like whatever it was, was right at our heels. We fled, running as fast as we could with pounding hearts until we reached our tent. It was dark. We left a bag of found on the ground just 100ft from our tent and now there was a snarling monster waiting outside in the shadows for us. Things couldn’t get much worse. We tried to calm ourselves down and go asleep. Just as I beginning to convince myself we were going to live, the sky erupted with the loudest thunder I have heard. Flashes of lightening lit up our small tent. Things had gotten worse. The storm seemed to last all night. I stayed awake all night praying to God we would make it out alive. We did. First thing in the morning we packed our stuff. We retrieved our bag, untouched which was a relief and began our walk back to Jackson. As we left the campsite entrance, another camper pointed out something sight worthy on the dusty ground. A single moose leg. A bear’s left overs. Dying to flee this place immediately we figured our best bet was to hitchhike. We were picked up by a wonderful elderly couple who had been on the road for months and had lots of stories and advice to impart.

When we reached Jackson again we caught a bus to Grand Teton National Park. We jumped off at Jenny Lake and set up our tent in an ideal campsite, situated at the foot of the Grand Teton Range and Jenny Lake, but also just behind the ranger station which gave a small sense of security. Our time in Jenny Lake was the best time in the entire trip. The scenery was breathtaking as was the wildlife. Our first day there, while on a short hike, we almost bumped into a mother moose and baby and we were also lucky enough to see a bear. On our second day we did a 12 mile hike to reach the stunning height and views of Amphitheatre Lake. When descending the mountain, we encountered another bear. This time, it was just the two of us, with no bear spray. Afraid and unsure what to do, we very, very slowly backed away until we reached a corner. We waited in the hope another hiker would pass by and we could all walk past the bear together. We were in luck, along came Bob, our saviour, who joined us and we passed the bear as a trio (much better than a scared duo). When we reached the bottom, Bob generously gave us pretzels and home-made cookies and gave us a ride back to our campsite where we all went for a freezing cold splash in Jenny Lake.

On day three we had succeeded in finding a bus company that could provide a service from Grand Teton to Yellowstone and 7 stops within Yellowstone itself! We were thrilled. We boarded the bus early in the morning and we very welcomed by our bus driver as we were his only passengers. As our bus journey progressed our bus driver became stranger and stranger. His remarks on our appearance began to get creepy and overstep the line. We decided we’d enough and asked to be let off at the next stop so we could explore on our own. He stopped talking to us and we rode in silence until the next stop. As we left, he offered to pick up his car after his shift to spend the day with us, driving us around. Our declination to spend the day with him was more than awkward. As he drove off we realized we were stranded in Madison, miles from Old Faithful where we had wanted to go. We had no option but to hitchhike again. Luckily,  we were picked up by an elderly man and his daughter. We saw Old Faithful and a brief walk around before we had to catch the bus back. We waited and we waited. No bus. Almost 2 hours later, after much argument and frustrated phone calls between Aoife and bus company, a bus appeared. The driver appeared, he was wearing oversized gardening gloves that were black with dirt, his hair was dripping with grease and slick back over his forehead and his eyes were black and crazy. Again, we were the only passengers. We all rode in silence for an hour until he demanded $10 each from us, threatening to leave us on the highway if we didn’t pay. Eventually we made back to our campsite, relived we were still alive (again.)

Our fourth day and Grand Teton was our last day and we spent it casually, on gentle hikes and lying on the beach. It was then back to SLC the next day, where we painfully tried to kill some hours. Aoife departed that night and I slept in the airport, leaving the following morning. It was relief to think about returning to my home, with a warm bed and hot meals but also a terrible disappointment to consider the wonderful tranquility and pace of life I had grown accustomed to.  It was the trip of the lifetime and it has only inspired me to do more with all aspects in my life. I’m still paying it off, but it was very, very worth it!

 Coming Home. 2011. Digital Photographic Print. Dimensions Variable.

 - The Dominion Paper, 2001. Found here: http://www.dominionpaper.ca/articles/909

My studio is in the Downtown Eastside (Hastings and Columbia), I walk by and through the squalor everyday. I witness what I could only describe as open air drug markets and mass congregations of homeless people along the steets. Despite the habitual routine of seeing it, I have not become accustomed to it. It still shocks me. And scares me too.

I wish I was the type of photographer, who could assertively hold my camera in the air and photograph what I saw. I wish I could approach the barely dressed women whom I assume are prostitutes and ask to take their portraits. I wish I could kneel down with the homeless man and ask him his story. But I can’t. I want to. I tell myself that I should. I should document this crazy place and it’s inhabitants. That the photographs would be important, that they would be a vivid depiction of where it all goes wrong; where the dirt is swept under the carpet. I tell myself that these people should tell their story, that they should be represented, not feared. But I still can’t do it.  No matter how much I try to encourage myself, I always here an inner voice telling me it’s exploitive. That the photographs won’t make it to a front page headline or an international platform. That the city knows that this problem exists and it will still exist after I release the shutter. Stopping to photograph a prostitute will only remind the woman that she’s a spectacle on the street, so much so that people want to stop and take her picture. How is that going to make her feel? Suppose she agrees to let me photograph her in exchange for a small fee, then essentially I’ll have bought her body in some respect.

The ethics here could be argued for days.

So instead of documenting the people. I initiated what I describe as a photographic performance. I created a sign reading ‘live your life in colour’ and had my model who was vibrantly dressed walk around the downtown eastside with this sign and pause to take shots. We had a lot of positive comments from passersby – mostly the homeless. Some comments a bit too much so, such as an older man who had the line ‘Hey I like your dress, can I talk you out of it?’ Along our route, we found an alley that had an abstract spillage of paint on the ground, perfectly fitting for our shoot. In the end, we left our sign in this alley (as a site-specific art installation if the cops ask) to see if anyone would pick it up and carry the message. The next morning it was gone.

Aoife and I had an itinerary. We had places to go, busses to catch and timelines to follow. Of course, nothing went according to plan.

Our time in San Francisco was brief.We enjoyed the colour of Castro, we did the touristy things such as visiting The Golden Gate Bridge and renting bicycles. But we also revelled in getting lost and exploring the city, of wandering through the street at night, going from one dead-end to another. We took a million photographs.

We wandered from train to bus with our backpacks. Eventually we found our self in a small town called Merced. We were apparently stranded there after the tourist office informed us a fire had broke out on route 140 and there was no public transport running to our anticipated destination – Yosemite National Park. Consoling ourselves with subway sandwiches we concluded that this hot and barren town was not going to keep us hostage. After some interesting encounters with drug addicts and just released prisoners (still dressed in orange) we caught a bus as close as we could to Yosemite; to a small town called Mariposa.

Now, stuck in Mariposa, we consoled ourselves with beer and mashed potatoes (like true Irish). Desperate to make it Yosemite (we were already a day behind) we approached the first people we spotted to ask for a ride (not the most sensible option but we were desperate). Lucky for us, the first people we spotted, were two charmingly polite and generous young British men who kindly offered us two seats in their Ford Mustang (yes) to Yosemite the next morning. Perfect.

We made it to Yosemite the next morning after a very enjoyable journey of breathtaking scenery and the wind in our face. We joined a line at the famous Campsite 4, hoping to acquire a spot. The sign read FULL but we decided to stick it out and see what happened. A large family in front of us decided to cancel their reservation and suddenly seven spaces were free, two for us and five for the five people left in the line. Fate.

Excited, we quickly headed off on a hike to Yosemite Falls. After less than half a mile of upward struggle, the sun was destroying me. I had drank too much of my small water supply already and the dirt trail and rocks were so hot they were burning me. Only through the encouragement of Aoife and other hikers was I able to struggle halfway up. At this landmark, we were renewed by a heavenly stream of water and refilled our bottles and carried on. It took forever. Uphill zig zag switchbacks over and over again. Aoife flew ahead and I struggled for an hour or more fighting with the climb. Eventually, about 3.5 miles and almost 3000 feet later, I’m at the top. Well, I thought I was at the top. Just one more part… scaling a sheer granite rock (with a terrifying and fatal drop to the bottom of the mountain) before reaching th cool pool waters of the upper falls. We made it.

Crossing that sheer rock again was scarier going back, trembled and terrified to possible death, I couldn’t belive I made it, especially in a pair of old Vans. Going down was tough with twilight setting and my apparent exhaustion generating paranoid delusions of bears and mountain lions. However, all being said, it was an experience and hike of a lifetime and although torture at points, the view was breathtaking and feeling of accomplishment and pride is difficult to articulate.

The following day was casually spent cycling and doing the smaller hikes such as Nevada Falls, Mirror Lake and Lower Yosemite Falls. The next day we were back in San Francisco to commence the next leg of our trip. Of course all along the way….lots of photographs.

 Three more shoots booked for tomorrow!

Check it out at: www.unitedbeauties.wordpress.com

My practice is photography, but specifically photographic transfers with acrylic gel. This is what I demonstrated at the show. And at the request of some viewers please find step by step instructions here.

1.) Print photograph ( I usually do inkjet prints on a glossy inkjet photo paper).

2.) Generously apply a thick layer (at least 1/8th inch thick) of acrylic gel (matte or glossy) on your photograph. I suggest using a palette knife to apply.

3.) Allow to dry naturally (may take a few days). DO NOT USE A HAIRDRYER.

4.) Place photograph (now with a dry layer of acrylic gel on it) in a sink/basin of cold water. Allow to soak for at least two hours.

5.) Peel the paper from the back of photograph.

6.) When the majority of paper has been removed by peeling you can gently scrape or rub the rest off with your finger. This may take some time. How much or little paper you leave is your decision.

7.) When the photograph is dry it can be adhered to a surface of your choice. I usually adhere it to wooden panels using gel to glue the image down and a hardware style super glue to glue the edges. If using wood – I recommend sealing it first (I use Golden’s Gac 700).

8.) Voila – transfer complete. Please see this link  for photographs of the process.

My first wedding in a long time but hopefully one of many more to come. Please see my website for current rates.

Made a quick trip to Seattle this week. Unfortunately the few paths I wandered through led to grey landscapes, litter and a huge sense of emptiness and desolation. There was a big sense of relief crossing the border on my way home.

This time; Thetis Lake – Canada’s first nature sanctuary.

This (see below) is the first one, photographs of Trevor, before he left for Calgary.

To simulate my views of misplacement I am taking a new direction of my photographic presentation. Replacing the common practice of digitally printing photographs on paper and then matting, framing and placing behind glass, I am trying something new. I am making ink-jet prints, then coating these prints in a thick layer of acrylic gel. Once this gel has dried (1-2 days) I soak the image in water for 10-20 minutes and then scrape the paper from the back of the gel and the images remains in the gel. I then stretch the gel skin across a wooden cradle panel and glue it down. The process of this image transfer resonates with the concept behind the images; breaking traditions.

One is a very involved self-initiated project on feminist musings of beauty. Based on Naomi Wolf’s ‘The Beauty Myth’, I am commenting on the expectations of women to conform to a socially constructed ideal of beauty and the implications of such conformity and non-conformity.  This project, currently under the working title ‘In Real Life’  is due to be completed in March 2012. The project will be my first solo exhibition to date and will run in Xchanges Gallery, Victoria, for one month in April 2012. Aspirations for this project also include a photo-book. The project is just launching, and I am currently reflecting on my own thoughts of beauty and body image and exploring self portraiture to express  myself. Work shall be uploaded in the coming weeks (a sample of such is in my previous post – ‘Does my bum look big in this‘.

Project number two has been mentioned in my blog already. Similar in ways, it is concerned with  concepts of identity in the  western world.  In particular, it will focus on the divide of identity across Canada between Canadian First Peoples and New Generation Canadians. Particular interest thus far is in the cultural traditions of The First Peoples such as totem carving which was once reserved for the traditional Potlatch festival. This celebration which was outlawed by European newcomers to Canada in the late 19th Century declaring a ‘potlatch ban’ was later removed in the early 20th century. Today, totem poles adorn British Colombian cities such as Victoria and Duncan (nicknamed City of Totems). However, totem poles now standing outside museums, in parks, at the entrances to malls and even outside of police stations seem very out of context. Removed from their traditional place and inserted into contemporary architecture and modern cities, do they exist as reminders of a rich history or as a feeble attempt to demonstrate co-existence between very different worlds? Or even worse, are they just a visual souvenir and stamp of authenticity for the many cruise ships and tourists that pass this way? This one part of a very complex and large project and one which perhaps as an outsider (neither native or new generation Canadian) I may never fully resolve. Other parts will also be explored – such as areas of lands, reservations and treaties. A very significant part of this project and one which is providing the most elusive is tracking down the residential schools that existed in British Columbia, that were set up to relocate First Peoples’ children from their traditional home and background and teach them a new way of life and Christianity. These schools, notorious for varying degrees of abuse came to a close around the 1970′s (although the last school is recording to have closed in 1996).  As part of my project,  I aim on tracing the original buildings of some of these schools and photographing them as they are now, be that abandoned or in use for another purpose. Any information or contributions that you may have about this would be very welcomed – please contact me at red.photos@hotmail.com

So these projects are the at the forefront of my practice at the moment, each as important as the other, but ‘In Real Life’ taking precedence due to the exhibition time line.  However, in between my research for both, I am filling photographic gaps with landscape photography, an inevitable distraction when living on scenic Vancouver Island .

Victoria’s inner harbour viewed from the Johnson St. Bridge. April 2011.

This is me giving Cosmo and all the other gender-stereotyping-women-objectifying magazines the finger. I am so tired of seeing all the same headlines on the cover: ‘Loose 10lbs in 10 days’, Get your bikini body ready for the beach’, ’10 things guys crave in bed’, ‘how to please your man’ and my personal favorite: ‘Sexy VS Skanky The Trick That Attracts Hot Guys Like Crazy’ (Cosmo Nov 2008).  Here’s a radical idea: how about magazines and advertising tell women that they’re pretty enough as they are, that all bodies are different and all ideals of ‘sexy’ are objective. It’s okay to be who you are. If that means being the opposite to ‘sexy’… then that’s okay.

Christine Redmond ‘Consume this Cosmo!’ 2010, photographic print, dimensions variable.

Strangers are interested in why I moved and what I’m doing. More often than not they are of Irish, Scottish or English ancestry. They wonder if I know the meaning of their last name. They tell me stories of their parents or grandparents immigration. I’m not generalizing here, these stories are a regular occurrence. But it makes me wonder, at what point do you stop being one-tenth Irish and start being just plain, old Canadian? When do you forget about tracing your roots and focus on the ones your growing in the here-and-now?

Identity is personal but universal. We all have a need to belong somewhere and knowing where we came from helps to establish where we’re going to, I guess. Being completely ignorant of Canadian history gives me a very objective view of social constructs here. I don’t know anything about the struggles or histories of the Aboriginal peoples. All I know is that they are the true Canadians, in a sense, as they were here first. I am curious to learn more about Canadian or Native culture and customs. I see Native Art all over Victoria, I see it being sold to tourists everyday in the many native art galleries and shops. I see the influence of Native Culture in the landscape; Victoria is home to the World’s tallest totem pole. Although the Aboriginal peoples are the first settlers in Canada they only make up 4% (approximately) of the ‘Canadian’ Population. The Aboriginal peoples generally call themselves: Natives, Inuits, Métis or First Nations according to where their descendants came from. But I have not heard them call themselves Canadian.

So if the native population refer to themselves as Native or Aboriginal and the rest of the population identify themselves in accordance to their French or other European roots, who or what is Canadian?

And so begins my new photographic project. I will spend the rest of my time here trying to explore the concept of Canadian identity. It will be a documentary project, comprising of many parts. It will largely focus on landscape and the influence of man on the landscape. Next will come portraiture and hopefully a documentary on Native Reserves.

Happy Valentine’s Day, whatever that means.

I recently competed in a photographic competition to create a Valentine’s image for the Mayfair Shopping Centre. The condition of the entry was that the photograph had to taken in or outside the shopping centre. I made two images and entered one (the teddy one), claiming third prize:

But Valentine’s Day isn’t really my gig. For some anti-Valentine material I suggest one of my favourite blogs; Ms. Magazine Blog, with recent posts including the truth behind Valentine flowers. In an attempt to support the cause of freedomtomarry.org, I made the below the image: