Refelctions on Camera Lucida Excerpts, By Roland Barthes

Within the excerpts from Camera Lucida, Barthes attempts to (almost desperately) find meaning and significance within the photographic medium, and justify why it should stand alone as an art form within the visual community. His initial process begins from an analytical, deconstructive stance, attempting to break down the craft as a whole. It seems that only with the death of his mother does this process take on an emotional stance, and consider the role of context, in my opinion a much more appropriate perspective when contemplating the meaning behind any creative endeavor.

Although his initial argument is far from linear, he seems to think photography is devoid of any meaning outside of what is directly portrayed, that the object and the meaning are as one, " A pipe here, is always and inextricably a pipe. It's as if the photograph always carries its referent with itself, both affected by the same amorous or funeral immobility." What he fails to consider at this juncture is the role of context, within and without the confines of the image. A hammer for example, in different contexts: a hammer hanging in a hardware store display window, above it a sign reads "Out of Business"; a hammer in the hands of a child, his father watching over proudly; a hammer in the hands of a rampaging killer. All these images incorporating the same object, illicit different emotional responses. Then there's the context the observer places upon the object, we all know the proposed definition and purpose of a hammer, but likely have varied memories and associations attached to the object.

I think Barthes comes closer to the point though later in the reading, when trying to connect with photos of his recently deceased mother, finding only fragments of familiarity in each photo. He points to history as a source of division; as long as we still exist, we are not a part of history, if we had yet to exist, again, we are not apart of this history. This is where he begins to truly consider context, looking at photos of his mother in a time and place he had no context for, they were unfamiliar, and not the mother he knew and loved. But ironically, in his search for the perfect, all encompassing photo of his mother, he found it in the distant past. His mother as a mere child, unabashedly displaying all of the characteristics that composite her being. I think his connection to this photo speaks of several truths; while considering the arts, and trying to feel something from them, context, and our ability to relate to them, are indeed important factors, but at the same time, the arts, whether it be a photograph, a song, or a painting, often have the unique ability to make us feel something deeply emotional, and inherently human, for something we ourselves have no context for. And I think oftentime, if we are lucky enough to experience this catharsis, it may be best to bask in it rather then attempt its deconstruction.

Theater of the Absurd

The saddest part is I am not in the least surprised.

This does not discredit the anger that I feel, or justify the happenings of the weekend in any way shape or form. In fact, it only serves to add to my feelings of frustration and desperation. But what does one do with these feelings? Join the hordes of protestors, whose sole function is to prove how reproachable, and ultimately futile the system is? I have the utmost respect for anyone who has the will and fortitude to join the ranks and give the powers that be a communal “fuck you” and demand to be heard. But in the end, it seems like one giant joke, only without the humour.

Freedom of speech and the right to assemble have become superficial at best. Where is the freedom in 3.5 km worth of concrete and metal containment? More than 5000 police officers and private security guards? Where is the right to assemble in specified protest zones? How was a billion dollars spent on security for this circus? Harpers pledge to donate 1.1 billion towards maternal health is just a slap in the face, as he smirks creepily justifying the summit expenditures by pledging a mere point one billion more than already spent superfluously. How easily that investment into the health of the worlds mothers could have been raised to 2.1 billion, if only telephone conversations could be photographed marketably, with a pristine Muskokan sunset in the background, or perhaps an enflamed police cruiser, recently (and arguably, intentionally) abandoned.

Over the course of the four day summit, more than 600 people have been arrested. There are numerous reports of police brutality, unlawful search and mass detainment, amongst other horrifying infringements. In any protest environment there are going to be some who view violence as the only way to be taken seriously, but this is by no means a majority, and it in no way validates the theft of enshrined rights, guaranteed by the charter of rights and freedoms.

Maybe I’m just naive in expecting that our own democratically elected officials, and tax payer employed police are there to represent and protect the people. But it fills me with bile and tears to witness this theater of the absurd. How is it possible that these fellow human beings place themselves on such a Godlike pedestal? The fear they hold towards us has guilt and elitist protectionism written all over it.

To say I’m frightened is an understatement. To say I’m angry is futile. To do something, well, hopefully I’ll figure that one out, because I’m sickened to death by this display.

Arrrrrgggggghhh…

whisk(e)y birch bark

They lay there intertwined, womb -like in their fetus dreams, only without the incest.

The wind carried the unfortunate marriage of pine and turpentine. A necessary evil in the removal of the nights acrylic adventures...

Involuntarily she twitched, still conscious, her new intentions shadowed by the nights meager light. Separating silhouettes. The moon still spoke the truth.

She stared into his eyes, as he focused on the stars she asked,

"are you afraid?"

"Of what?"

"Anything...?"

"Anything and everything, fear and excitement are so easily confused. But what scares me most is truth, or lack thereof, what scares me most is you."

hst and insomnia tees

It was a day like any other, or so it seemed this Friday morning. The birds were chirping, the sky was blue, i put one foot in front of the other as I sauntered outside for my joint caffeine and nicotine fix. I have a habit of checking the mail, sometimes several times in a day, a dwindling hope that just maybe what lies within is something other than overdue bills or the local newsletter I'm pretty sure nobody reads. Every day, I open the mailbox, with non-committal anticipation, hoping for hope. Perhaps a letter from a friend I haven't seen in years, the stationary smelling sweetly of pine and mud as he recounts his adventures out west. Or maybe a long lost love, penning her regret for our unfortunate end, using a weary sweater she once borrowed as an excuse to get together.

But this Friday, the mailbox that's been met with so much disappointment gave me a different kind of hope, the temporary kind, the monetary kind. $100 courtesy of Dalton McGuinty himself. While this may not seem like much to most people, whilst in dire straits, you take what you can get, and smile ear to ear.

So, with $100 in my pocket, and restlessness on my mind, I hit up value village and picked up some thirftwise supplies. Next stop, Michaels, I need a new fine tip paint brush and some paint markers. I havent used those since high school, back in the hooligan days when I couldn't be charged as an adult, and vandalism took the unknowing place of sexual pursuits. A six pack of Old Milwaukee and a pack of budget smokes and I'm ready for a night of insomnia tees (aka handpainted/screen printed t-shirts, tank tops and bandannas).

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I'm posting pictures of a few of the designs from last night, unfortunately I had no model readily available, just me and my viking of an elder brother here, and suffice to say, he wouldn't fit in any of it. He enjoys being behind the camera anyway. Thanks Ry ;)

Message me if you like any of these styles. More coming soon.








(I used cut up cucumbers for the geometric shapes)

weird dreams & vitamin d

Shannon wakens from another fitful sleep, plagued with semi-conscious states, and colourful bouts of vivid dreaming. The only time this frustrates her is when she is unable to return to her dreams, continue the story, but then they carry on in the ink of her pen, and she finds momentary solace in this.

She laughs quietly to herself, more of a chuckle, at the contents of her nights dream. The meaning so obvious to her, she feels like a cliché, but the smile fades on her lips as that cold chill returns to her bones.

She was poised in a life raft, somehow attached to a spiraling building, a part of some futuristic cityscape, cast in a gloomy purple hue. Below her and the raft there was a great open plain. The vibrations began lightly, slowly growing until the plain was filled with a stampede of albino moose. As the roar grew louder, her raft began to deflate, and she tried desperately to cling on. She suddenly found herself sprawled on the ground, only moments ago below her, before the approaching hooves, intent on trampling her frail body.

This is when she woke, in a confused state of fear and enlightenment.
She finds herself mumbling an apology to the moose, as she walks to the bathroom, turning on the shower. She knows she’s done nothing to offend it directly, but as a part of the greater whole, she can’t help but feel guilty.

The heat of the steaming shower helps her to forget about this guilt, as she lies down in the fetal position, trying to imagine nothingness, trying to float. She wakes up an hour early every day before work, just to practice her floating.

The Tree House Phenomenon

I remember when I was a child; I was participating in an intensive bout of arts and crafts in the classroom. I was architecting my first fantasy home in the trees, complete with a complex systems of bridges, pulleys, zip lines and even a monstrous water slide, feeding into the nearby river. More of a tree society I suppose. I even drew in all of the guests of my little slice of paradise, select members of my classmates. A friend of mine peered over my shoulder, and noticing he hadn’t been penciled in yet expressed genuine distress, “Can I come stay at your tree house Darc?” Of course he could, this was to be our Grande playhouse. I found room for him in the kitchen; little did I know he’d grow up to become a chef. I never did end up making that palace in the trees, but followed up with several smaller versions with varying degrees of success.



The tree house phenomenon is perhaps easily explained with children: as a representation of the approaching teen angst, and desire for independence and rebellion. The tree house is the child’s imagination trying to define these feelings and hormones beginning to take precedence. Readying them for the day when they will build their own nest, raise their own family. Only by this time, the romance of this fantasy may be slightly dulled down, and there aren’t likely to be any water slides.

As the child reaches adulthood new places and activities replace the escapism associated with the tree home, some healthier than others. Whether it be an addiction to recreational or pharmaceutical drugs, a book club, a rigid stamp collection, or taking the form of a place, perhaps the golf course, the tool shed, or the garden. These are the adolescent substitutes for the freedom we once attributed to the tree house. They are our socially acceptable forms of escapism from the often mundane world of adults.

But, alas, the wooden home is not forever lost on adults. Fully functioning tree homes are appearing throughout the world, from custom built residences in Switzerland, to bamboo tree suites at balmy resorts, (wo)man has reclaimed the tree house. There are a number of custom tree cabin companies out there including La Cabane Perchee who has built over 220 worldwide, and claims to do so without embedding a single nail in the living bark. Then there’s the UK based Blue Forest who not only builds sustainable, luxury tree houses, but is also pioneering the eco-classroom. Referred to as an Environmental Education Facility, these classrooms are entirely self-sustainable, “serviced entirely by solar energy, a revolutionary rainwater harvesting system and composting toilets.”



This is not an anomaly within the UK, in fact they have set a national goal to have all schools sustainable by 2020. The term ‘sustainable’ of course, is a fairly vague one, and the Department for Children, Schools and Families loosely defines a sustainable school as “...guided by the principle of care: care for oneself, care for each other and care for the environment." The point is, they’re not only acknowledging our near hysteric consumption tendencies, but actually doing something about it. At the root of all social change is education, and the most effective place to start, is with the children. Check out this video to see one of the ways this eco-conscious education is coming into practice, or for a broader scope.



The tree house phenomenon turned out to be much more than I fathomed. I came into this with the intention of concluding that the tree house is an ironic, contradictory symbol. The tree house represents the child’s rebellion against their parents, ultimately seeking independence, and fulfilling their wildest dreams of being an adult, and being privy to all of those (seemingly) wonderful rights. While for the parent, or more accurately, the adult, the tree house represents youth, and escape from all of the things that inherently make us adults. A return to innocence. I had no idea when I started writing tonight (err.. this morning?) that the symbology of the tree house would be a trinity, including a symbol of hope, of sustainability, of an environmentally conscious, and active society. We need to start at the root, which leads up the tree, to the house, then the child… The future.

Not to say it’s too late for us of course, that’s just a convenient excuse, and an entirely different story.