Saturday, October 06, 2012

My Mother's Red Shawl - El Rebozo Colorado
Stacey Hutton – Exercise Physiologist






I visited Alex that day not to wear the rebozo, but instead to be photographed undraped for the purpose of documentation. Nude, without props to hide behind or distract with, I wanted Alex to capture who I was at that moment in time because I was soon to change in a drastic way. Perhaps unfairly, I was also hoping Alex could go beyond the physical and somehow preserve on film my strengths and weaknesses as I was sure those would change as well.

Midway through my session with Alex he pulled out the deep red rebozo. I instantly recognized it because prior to our meeting I had thoroughly snooped through his website and read the stories written by others who had already worn the rebozo. Where do I fit in this fabric? First impression probably wouldn’t suggest there is much distinguishing me from other 39-year old single moms in East Van. After a drink you may learn that I went to an Ivy League school, mind you, mostly to play hockey. Perhaps another drink and I would tell you of my adventures around the world as a bike messenger. Third drink would likely reveal that I have a potty mouth.

My story has a snag. The rebozo didn’t come to rest on my shoulders because of where I’ve been or who I was. I was in that studio because I was scared of losing myself to cancer and I thought a photograph might help me find my way back.




Colleen Wheeler Actor
Sarah Rodgers Actor, Director,Mother
Timothy Turner - Real Estate Agent
Kiera Hill Dancer
Johnna Wright & Sascha Director/Mother - Son/Dreamer
Decker & Nick Hunt Cat & 19th century amateur
George Bowering Poet
Celia Duthie Gallerist
Linda Lorenzo Mother
Katheryn Petersen Accordionist
Stefanie Denz Artist
Ivette Hernández Actress
Byron Chief-Moon Actor/Dancer
Colin Horricks Doctor
Ian Mulgrew Vancouver Sun Columnist
Jocelyn Morlock Composer
Corinne McConchie Librarian
Rachel Ditor Dramaturg
Patrick Reid Statesman, Flag Designer
Michael Varga CBC Cameraman
Bronwen Marsden Playwright/Actress/Director
David Baines Vancouver Sun Columnist
Alex Waterhouse-Hayward Photographer
Lauren Elizabeth Stewart Student
Sandrine Cassini Dancer/Choreographer
Meredith Kalaman Dancer/Choreographer
Juliya Kate Dominatrix

Friday, October 05, 2012

My Mother's Red Shawl - El Rebozo Colorado
Colleen Wheeler - Actor






Tradition - (Holding on to a previous time)....I often wondered, when rehearsing Macbeth, what it would have viscerally felt like to live in Scotland in the early 1600's. More specifically, how the clothes would have felt on the skin, all that wool – it would have had to have kept them so warm. When Alex gave me his mother's shawl to wear and I felt it next to my skin, it reminded me of the wool sweater my Irish Grandmother made for me to wear as a child. I think of her making it beside her peat fire, her large knobby hands sitting atop her bosom as she knit for me and my sisters. I keep it safe, my daughter will wear it and I hope her children will too. It is the only thing I have in my possession that my Grandmother made with her own hands. Tradition is something that has been on my mind a lot these days as both of my parents are gone now. I wonder how well I have retained the old stories they told me about their heritage. What will I pass on to my daughter? If Lady Macbeth had had children (who lived) would her desire for power subside? So many questions.



Addendum: Where possible I take the photographs for this series at home. The series involve the wearing of my mother's 1952 red Mexican rebozo. Because actors are busy persons I make exceptions to my rule, particularly if they are then willing not only to pose but to eventually write their essay. I went with my equipment and my semi-portable gray background to Bard on the Beach. Publicist Cynnamon Schreinert set it al up and placed me in a corner of the main stage tent. Colleen Wheeler was there in preparation for her day's performance of Lady Macbeth. I had thought of her for weeks after seeing her in the play because my mothers' red shawl seemed to parallel all the blood of Shakespeare's play. When Wheeler faced my camera I simply told her, you are Lady Macbeth. I am delighted that her essay is about that role.  I was lucky that afternoon as when I spotted Christopher Gaze in the wings I asked him to pose, too. He did. Now if he would only write that essay!
Alex W-H


Sarah Rodgers Actor, Director,Mother
Timothy Turner - Real Estate Agent
Kiera Hill Dancer
Johnna Wright & Sascha Director/Mother - Son/Dreamer
Decker & Nick Hunt Cat & 19th century amateur
George Bowering Poet
Celia Duthie Gallerist
Linda Lorenzo Mother
Katheryn Petersen Accordionist
Stefanie Denz Artist
Ivette Hernández Actress
Byron Chief-Moon Actor/Dancer
Colin Horricks Doctor
Ian Mulgrew Vancouver Sun Columnist
Jocelyn Morlock Composer
Corinne McConchie Librarian
Rachel Ditor Dramaturg
Patrick Reid Statesman, Flag Designer
Michael Varga CBC Cameraman
Bronwen Marsden Playwright/Actress/Director
David Baines Vancouver Sun Columnist
Alex Waterhouse-Hayward Photographer
Lauren Elizabeth Stewart Student
Sandrine Cassini Dancer/Choreographer
Meredith Kalaman Dancer/Choreographer
Juliya Kate Dominatrix

Thursday, October 04, 2012

Lauren Elizabeth Stewart, 10 Mamiya RB-67 Pro SD, 140mm lens Ektachrome 100 G Makeup Rebecca Stewart Sept 29, 2012

For most of photography’s history the problem was what to do with the taken image in the camera. In the age of film, the undeveloped film (a coated silver plate or tin, glass, celluloid, ESTAR base, etc) was said to be latent until it was developed out (the old way of saying), or simply developed.

Those Daguerreotypes, tintypes, albumen prints, cyanotypes, platinum prints could not be placed in books magazines or newspapers. All that could be done to them was to frame them and hang them up them on the wall. The American Civil War era magazine, Harper’s Weekly published war photographs and paintings (lovely ones by Winslow Homer) by converting them into lithographs. Lithography had been invented at the end of the 18th century. One of the first artists to take advantage of the medium to protest man’s inhumanity to man was Francisco Goya.

The invention of the photogravure made it possible to put pictures into books. It was expensive and most books, at most, had only one photograph




Fuji b+w instant print 3200 ISO

It was the invention of the half-tone process and the printing of a photograph (using the process that under a loupe looks like a bunch of black and gray dots) in a NY newspaper in the beginning of the 1870s that ushered in what I call the age of the halftone.

Until the practical application of Einstein’s photons was used in computer monitors in the 90s of the 20th century, photography and journalism flourished in magazines, books and newspapers. Photographers and writers were paid very good money to travel to points unknown.

Albumen print effect Corel Paint Shop Pro X2

With the advent of digital technology, and cheap web photographs, photography and journalism as we knew it were transformed into something that is still in the middle of a long transition.

During the age of the halftone process, reproduction of photographs, negatives and slides was a complicated process in which sharpness was lost and more often than not contrast increased and details in the shadows disappeared. In order to get real blacks in magazines and newspapers, photographers had to print on glossy photographic paper. This is why the 8x10 glossy was the standard for so long.

Reverse scan of Fuji negative peel

For magazines (particularly the good ones) and art books art directors demanded transparency (in the 35mm format they were commonly called colour slides). One reason is that the art director could look at the original. Shooting slides is what for a long time divided the seasoned professional from the would-be pro. Slide material was exact in its requirements. Exposures had to be bang on, and since white balance had yet to be invented, photographers had a great difficulty in recording pictures under adverse lighting or lighting that mixed daylight with indoor tungsten and or florescent.

But the art director and the photographer could still look at that original.

Glossy b+w prints produced real blacks but to also render the many shades of gray (difficult with newsprint) photographers had to process film and shoot slide film that was low in contrast. We who shot for magazines used low contrast slide film. The high contrast variety reproduced poorly.




Cyanotype setting with Corel Paint Shop Pro X2


Making prints from those slides or from colour negatives produced prints that were never satisfactory. They had too much contrast and something called flashing had to be used to make prints from slides.

Because colour negative was more forgiving than transparency/slide film when exposing, high-brow professionals (I must admit I was one of those) looked down on those who used it. We considered them to have shoddy standards.

All that changed with the advent of the digital camera and digital processing of images and their reproduction in magazines, newspapers, books and ultimately the computer monitor.

But what was lost was the one original. You had the image in the back of your camera. The image corrected and fixed up on your monitor (calibrated or uncalibrated to whatever standards you might hold to). The digital file, on a CD, DVD or emailed would then be opened on an art director’s monitor calibrated to different standards. This image might then be sent to a magazine printer with a different colour standard. And if the image was to be on a web page or web-based magazine then the colour, contrast and brightness depended on a myriad of variables.

On the good side, for those who shot film or shoot film (that’s me) the scanner and Photoshop are able to bring out (not invent!) all that detail that is in the slide, negative or print that up until now no darkroom could really do justice. The paradox is that in the age of digital, the old wet process that is film has never had the excellence of results that I see now.

A few years ago (perhaps 4) I shot a b+w cover for a local magazine. It was the portrait of a young male ballet dancer wearing a black shirt, a black tie and a black suit jacket. I was furious with my stylist. I cold have never printed a b+w glossy in my darkroom that revealed the differences and the textures of the three blacks. And yet the cover was glorious and you could discern the weave of the shirt, the jacket and the tie.

On the currently bad side (of things digital) is something that is my own personal opinion. I like pastels and soft colours. I like to see detail in the shadows. I don’t like overly bright and colourful colour (generally called oversaturation) that many describe as punchy. My reason is a force of habit. Those punchy colours did not reproduce well in magazines. Magazines were my bread and butter for most of my life.

It is for the above reason that I have always used low contrast slide film like Ektachrome 100G. It has been discontinued so I will transfer my loyalty to Fuji Provia. Unfortunately Astia which was equivalent to my Ektachrome has been discontinued.

What you see here is a scanned Ektachrome 100G 6x7 cm transparency of my granddaughter Lauren Elizabeth Stewart, 10. Her older sister, Rebecca made her up too look Chinese. The reason for this is that on my mother’s side we have relatives in the Philippines, the Roxas who are of Chinese heritage. I took five exposures with Ektachrome 100 G (I have a few rolls left) and one Fuji b+w instant print film (3200 IS0).

I like no colour colour. Rebecca made sure to use an overly bright red lipstick to contrast the muted colour of what Lauren is wearing. The black and white coat is a Chinese coat that was given to my mother in Manila in the mid 30s. The background is pineapple fiber material used in the Philippines before the advent of things synthetic.

Wednesday, October 03, 2012

Fiat lux - Alexandra N.

Since 1992 I have been to many dance performances. These were performances where I actively looked forward to see. This was not always so. In the late and early 89s I took my two young daughters to quite a few shows. This was the “right” thing for a parent to do. After all my wife and I had made sure they took ballet. Their experience at the Vancouver School of Music was not a pleasant one. Their teacher only paid attention to those that showed promise. Of all the ballet and modern dance performances I only remember one. It featured black dancers in white costumes with white parasols. It was the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater’s Revelations. The other shows are a forgotten blur.

Since 1992 I have seen very good dance, including many exquisite pieces danced by Evelyn Hart.

Ballet BC has pleased me to no end. In particular I have to cite the company’s interpretations of works by choreograph William Forsythe. I will never forget the first Carmen (Jean Grand-Maître) danced by Ballet BC’s Sandrine Cassini. And I cannot forget anything danced or choreographed by either Emily Molnar or Crystal Pite, who not by coincidence, both danced for Forsythe’s Ballet Frankfurt.

I have seen experimental stuff, contact improvisational with Peter Bingham and I cannot forget Karen Jameson and our regrettably departed Lola MacLaughlin. Some of this experimental work included singular contributions by artist/sculptor/set designer Alan Storey and painter Tiko Kerr.

But only once has the dance been so good that I simply ignored it (sort of!) because the lighting like lighting I had never seen before.

This was the case last Friday Dance House’s presentation of Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet’s performance at the Vancouver Playhouse. It featured three works, Hofesh Schecter’s Violet Kid (a grueling 33 minute long piece that must have taxed the dancers to their limit), Alexander Ekman’s Tuplet (with lots of humor that dispelled my gloom and depression of that paradoxically terrific Violet Kid) and finally Crystal Pite’s Grace Engine.

We, my granddaughter Lauren, 10, and just about every lanky mini-skirted dancer from Arts Umbrella were there to watch Arts Umbrella and Ballet BC alumnus Acacia Schachte. We  (or at least I was disappointed) had to content ourselves with a short duo at the end of Pite’s piece. I wanted more.

But it was the light that grabbed my attention all night. The first piece and Pite’s both used light to conceal more than to reveal. Both pieces had me straining to notice, to see, to figure out, to be surprised. I will never understand why in Pite’s Grace Engine, lighting designer Jim French opened with a long bank of white florescent. It shocked me and the shocks kept coming. I was especially shocked to not note the usual bit of humor that Pite always injects into her choreography. This was dead serious. It reminded me a bit of the subtarreanean inhabitants of Well's The Time Machine. At 28 minutes long I could not have handled three or more minutes more. I was without breath. Lauren looked at me as if she had seen a ghost.

Schekter’s Violet Kid had him not only as choreographer and in charge of music but also as the lighting man. This was the piece, than more than the others hit me viscerally.

It brought to mind a new friend of mine who is a lighting designer for theatre in Vancouver. At age 30 this designer feels in a rut. Why? “They ask me, time and again, to light a living room!” And yes there are quite a few plays I have seen of late that all happen in living rooms. It is a pity that in our fractured and cubby holed arts community a theatrical lighting designer would not attend a dance performance featuring some of the best theatrical lighting I have seen in a long time.

Kudos to the DanceHouse for bringing Cedar Lake and a special mention to Amith A. Chandrashaker’s whimsical use of lighting in tandem with choreographer Alexander Ekman, who made my Lauren and I laugh in between those heavy pieces, pieces I will not forget.

Fiat lux.

Tuesday, October 02, 2012

To Autumn
John Keats

Lonicera periclymenum 'Graham Thomas'

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.





Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Monday, October 01, 2012

I opened the other envelope. It contained a photograph of girl. The pose suggested a natural ease, or a lot of experience in being photographed. It showed darkish hair which might possibly have been red, a wide, clear forehead, serious eyes, high cheekbones, nervous nostrils and a mouth which was not giving anything away. It was a fine drawn, almost taut face, and not a happy one.







On the back there was clearly typed material. ‘Name: Eleanor King. Height five feet four inches. Age about 29. Hair dark reddish-brown, thick with natural wave. Erect carriage, low distinct voice, well-dressed but not overdressed. Conservative make-up. No visible scars. Characteristic mannerisms: habit of moving her eyes without moving her head when entering a room. Scratches palm of right hand when tense. Left-handed but adept at concealing it. Plays fast tennis, swims and dives beautifully, holds her liquor. No convictions, but prints on file.’

‘Been in the coop,” I said, looking up at Miss Vervmilyea.
Chapter 1, Playback, Raymond Chandler



There was nothing to it. The Super Chief was on time, as it almost always is, and the subject was as easy to spot as a kangaroo in a dinner jacket. She wasn’t carrying anything but a paperback which she dumped in the first trash can she came to. She sat down and looked at the floor. An unhappy girl, if I ever saw one. After a while she got up and went to the book rack. She left it without picking anything out, glanced at the big clock on the wall and shut herself in a telephone booth. She talked to someone after putting a handful of silver into the slot. Her expression didn’t change at all. She hung up and went to the magazine rack, picked up a New Yorker, looked at her watch again, and sat down to read.

She was wearing a midnight blue tailor-made suit with a white blouse showing at the neck and a big sapphire blue lapel pin which would probably have matched her earring, if I could see her ears. Her hair was dusky red. She looked like her photograph, but a little taller than I expected. Her dark blue ribbon hat had a short veil hanging from it. She was wearing gloves.
Chapter II, Playback, Raymond Chandler

Sunday, September 30, 2012




 Yo soy la morocha,
la más agraciada
la más renombrada                 
de esta población.

Soy la que al paisano
muy de madrugada
brinda un cimarrón.

Yo, con dulce acento,
junto a mi ranchito,
canto un estilito
con tierna pasión,
mientras que mi dueño
sale al trotecito
en su redomón.

Soy la morocha argentina,
la que no siente pesares
y alegre pasa la vida
con sus cantares.

Soy la gentil compañera
del noble gaucho porteño,
la que conserva el cariño
para su dueño.
más noble y valiente  

En mi amado rancho,
bajo la enramada,
en noche plateada,
con dulce emoción,
le canto al pampero,
a mi patria amada
y a mi fiel amor.

Soy la morocha argentina,
la que no siente pesares
y alegre pasa la vida
con sus cantares.

del noble gaucho porteño,
la que conserva el cariño
para su dueño.

Tango 1905
Música: Enrique Saborido
Letra: Ángel Villoldo

La Morocha