It was the 20th century ambition of any photographer to have a studio separate from where one lived.
My first studio was the basement in our Burnaby home
beginning in 1975. The restriction was the low ceiling. But I had a darkroom
that was clean, bright and spacious and came with its own bathroom.
Between 1980 and until around 1995 I had several studios
which I shared with other photographers.
Then I had my own studio, all for myself on the corner of
Robson and Granville which served as my headquarters away from our home in
Kerrisdale. It was downtown and I felt I as in the thick of things. Ballet
dancers would come to my studio as they were blocks away. It was a comfortable
studio with old radiators. I shared the floor (not the studio!) with noted
artists Neil Wedman and Rodney Graham. While I might have been considered (and
still to this day) as a commercial hack I felt slightly artistic - a hack
wanting to be an artist.
At one point around 7 years ago (when journalism and
magazines was dipping into oblivion) money entering my Farmer Building studio was not exceeding money going out. My Rosemary thought that closing my studio
at that time would have affected my morale. But it was in the books and I
finally closed the studio and the building was soon torn down.
There was something about having a studio not in one’s home
that brought a creativity that somehow came in during the trip to the studio. I
would arrive early look at my lights and equipment and somehow inspiration
would seep into my brain.
Letting go of the studio was heart wrenching especially when
you look back at a career and you realize as I did that the work I was doing
and the trappings of doing that work were gone.
An older contemporary, a much older contemporary, Fred
Schiffer had a lovely studio under the parking bridge on Seymour by the Hudson’s
Bay Company. Sometime in the early 90s he saw the writing on the wall (he
photographed the powerful men of Vancouver and their families). He closed his
studio and purchased compact flash equipment and began (before anybody else)
the photography in the homes of his clients. In his prime, before digital
cameras took over, Schiffer was the most expensive wedding photographer in
Canada.
Two years ago the final nail on my way of life came to end
when we sold our large Kerrisdale home.
It was there that I had a comfortable darkroom. I never expected the magazines
that hired me to print my negatives. I printed them myself and since I began
printing around 1961 I think I was very good. I came to understand that an art
gallery print and one for reproduction in magazines or newspapers were two
distinct entities. My photographs always looked good in publication.
Now in our little Kitsilano duplex (the darkroom long gone)
I have a little studio and “oficina” in what used to be the garage. It is comfy
and warm. The studio is intimate but really the correct definition is that is
it just plain small.
I sit at my antique Edwardian desk with my computer and
scanner on my left. I can look out on our deck garden. Behind me are 7 4-drawer
filing cabinets that contain my life’s work in negatives, slides and prints.
The bigger prints are inside two new Opus-purchased flats. The oficina is
carpeted but I have a small Persian carpet on top of that. Like a sore thumb
there is the presence of my bike. I have no other place to store it.
What is important for me is to cross that deck in the
morning to open the door of my oficina/studio. It is not the same as driving or
taking the trolley as I used to in my trips to Robson and Granville. But it
will have to do.
With money in the bank and two brand new but lovely brother and
sister cats, Rosemary and I, who are in good health, really have no worries
except perhaps that of fussing over our two daughters and two granddaughters.
We can plan trips abroad in Mexico, Argentina, New York and perhaps soon to
Barcelona and to Guadalajara.
But in my present life in which I seriously tell everybody
that I am obsolete, redundant & retired crossing that deck to sit down and
write this blog seems to be the only thing going for me.
Sometimes I feel sad and sometimes the lack of stress feels
pleasant.
But I have to admit that the lack of stress can be
stressful, too.
