Marina Hasselberg

For most of my life in Vancouver (1975 to now) I was careful to define myself as a competent if not a very good photographer. I never considered myself an artist. In Vancouver which is run (like in most other cities) by an elitist art mafia, to think one is an artist is dangerous. The almost certain subsequent failure will bring bitterness and depression.

Years ago after being obsessed with chess I realized that I was not good enough and in chess the only certainty of this is the fact that I lacked brain power.

So it is safe to not call oneself an artist and to quietly soldier on. This is what I do but I do have the benefit (if not honour) of being considered an artist by my friend, the Argentine painter Juan ManuelSánchez who inspired and egged me on to work in what I like to do.

There are many in this city, that use an expression that for me is verboten. This is, “I make art.” It sounds suspect to me. I have no idea where I would begin in order to make it!

In this digital age, sitting at a monitor (mine is a cathode ray tube Dell) can be fun and is almost as addictive as that ruination of our century by Mr. Jobs. I find myself experimenting and fiddling. That I do this without being in a damp and smelly darkroom, perhaps is a benefit.

Last night I bleached four Fuji Instant Colour Film peels. These were the peels that most photographers (including this one) used to throw away. I have a large box with a many of them. I wrote about the process here.

It was a most pleasant surprise to find that from one of the black peels emerged my cellist friend Marina Hasselberg. I look at this picture. I smile and wonder why she does not own a cat.