A life spent looking, wondering and making photographs

There is little doubt that photography found me before I was old enough to know what to do with it.

My first camera was a rather peculiar 35mm Voigtländer Bessamatic. My first car was a Citroën DS21. Both were beautifully engineered, complicated and looked rather like something designed by a very clever watchmaker who had been allowed to have a little fun. Perhaps that explains something. I've always been attracted to things that make you stop, look twice and wonder.

The camera came first

By the time I graduated from high school, I already knew photography wasn't going to be a passing interest. While my classmates arrived for graduation dressed for the traditional ceremony, I arrived with a camera.

Rather than make the expected head-and-shoulder portraits, I photographed my fellow graduates in their surroundings — talking, laughing, waiting and celebrating. I called them environmental portraits. Today, we'd probably call it documentary photography. I simply thought they looked more like themselves that way.

The photographs weren't exactly a path to riches, but they paid for film, developing and a few dollars toward my next adventure: studying Photographic Arts at Ryerson Polytechnic in Toronto, now Toronto Metropolitan University. It turned out to be one of the most consequential decisions of my life.

Learning to see

At Ryerson, I was exposed to a remarkable generation of photographers and educators who demonstrated that a photograph could be much more than a technically successful picture. It could be observation. It could be poetry. It could be evidence. It could be humour, mystery, beauty, awkwardness or truth.

Among the photographer/educators who have influenced the way I see are Ansel Adams, Diane Arbus, Paul Caponigro, Imogen Cunningham, Elliott Erwitt, Walker Evans, Lee Friedlander, Rob Gooblar, Emmet Gowin, Man Ray, André Kertész, Vivian Maier, Arnold Newman, Phil Bergerson, W. Eugene Smith, Don Snyder, Paul Strand, Frederick Somers, Margaret Bourke-White, Minor White and Gary Winogrand. And then there is Edward Weston, my favourite.

What I learned from these photographers wasn't to imitate them. Quite the opposite. I learned that the task of a photographer is to develop a way of seeing that is genuinely one's own.

Fifty years later, I'm still learning

Photography has remained a constant companion for more than five decades.I photograph almost every day. Sometimes I have a project in mind. Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what I'm looking for. That's often when something interesting happens.

My work moves across people, streets, cafés, communities, landscapes, and the ordinary theatre of everyday life. I'm particularly interested in the small human moments that might otherwise disappear — a glance, a gesture, an encounter, an odd juxtaposition, a moment of quiet or a scene that somehow says more than it first appears to.

I approach photography with a social-anthropological curiosity. I'm interested in how we inhabit the world, how we behave when we think nobody is watching, and what seemingly insignificant moments can tell us about ourselves. The camera is simply a tool for paying attention.

Photographs made to be lived with

The photographs on this site aren't offered simply as reproductions of things I've seen. They are photographs I believe are worth keeping.

Selected works are available as limited edition, archival, fine art prints, produced in small numbers in various sizes for discerning collectors and for people who simply find a particular photograph impossible to walk away from. Prints are currently available by inquiry.

If there is a photograph that speaks to you, get in touch. We'll talk about the work, available sizes and the possibilities for acquiring it.

And then there's the rest of my life

I live in Canada, not far from Toronto, with my wife of more than 45 years, Suzi — otherwise known as The Tomato Lady.

I travel whenever I can. I keep a camera close. I continue to work on specific photographic projects. And after all these years, I still get a kick out of walking out the door without knowing what photograph might be waiting for me.

That's the wonderful thing about photography. You never really finish learning how to see.

Self Portrait, Port Hope, 2020