Portfolio

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THIS IS MY OLD PORTFOLIO. Or rather, this is the shipping case that I’d use to send my old portfolio by courier, mostly to out of town clients. The last FedEx shipping form in the plastic envelope on the front is from a design company in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I haven’t a clue who they were – probably a firm that produced an in-flight magazine for an airline, but I can’t be sure. In any case, I don’t think I got any work from them.

Below is the leather portfolio case I’d use to carry my portfolio to clients here in town. I think my sister found it for me in an estate sale or antique auction somewhere. It might not have been the slickest container for my work, but I thought it summed me up rather nicely, and made a nice introduction to whomever might have responded to its well-worn, patinated exterior and considered hiring the person who’d have put their work in such a thing.

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I used to agonize about my portfolio. The pages below are from that last portfolio – my third or fourth, I think, and the last one that I used to sell myself at the end of the ’90s. It would take me years to update my book, as I’d pore over my work, change layouts, and then decide that I had to wait to shoot something new to create just the right sequence. Because every time I showed my portfolio to anyone it felt like a make-or-break situation – an opportunity that couldn’t be squandered, since they came around so rarely.

I hated showing my portfolio. It wasn’t just the idea of being judged, though that was definitely part of it, as much as knowing that I was the supplicant in an unequal relationship. I could sweat blood over my book, only to have some assistant to the photo editor flip through it at speed, eager to get through the pile of books left with the receptionist on drop-off day. A form rejection letter – some people saved them; I couldn’t – would be your only feedback. Sometimes you wouldn’t even get that.

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I particularly hated showing my portfolio here in town. When I started out, there would be “go-sees” with photo editors or art directors, sitting on one side of a desk or standing to the side in a cluttered layout room while they (silently, too often) went through your book. Those ended at some point in the early ’90s, and from then on it was “drop off days” – leaving your portfolio with a cover letter and a business card or promo mailer with the receptionist, then picking it up a day or two later. I can’t honestly say which one was worse.

Showing work in New York City always felt much more rewarding. Maybe it was because they knew you’d traveled there, but you’d have a small crowd looking at your book – whoever was in the layout office at the time – and some of them might even ask questions about the shoots. Even if they couldn’t use you, someone might say they had a friend at another magazine – they’d make a phone call and you’d jump into a cab. I always got more work after showing in NYC, though the hard part was maintaining the relationship at a distance, and hoping that someone would pass through Toronto who they couldn’t, for some inconceivable reason, have shot in New York.

Sometimes you’d ask another photographer if you could see their portfolio. I remember Michael Lavine showing me a huge, heavy, padded and embossed case with sides that folded down, each photo mounted on a thick board with felt backing. I remember thinking it must have cost a fortune to ship, and knew that with my tight overhead I’d never be able to afford such a lavish presentation. All of my portfolios were strictly off the shelf – black books with clear plastic pages into which you’d slip the 11×14 inch prints you’d laboured over in the darkroom for hours or even days.

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I’ve been thinking about my old portfolios again because, after a painful period of learning to use Adobe’s Portfolio software, I’ve finally updated my own online portfolio. The previous one was at least fifteen years old, wildly out of date and rather ugly, built as it was just after the era of the dial-up modem. The new one is … simple. Off the shelf, by design. I am a simple man, and while I am still in that supplicant position, it’s been a long time since I felt like it was a crucial, pivotal moment every time anyone looked at my work. Part of that is the internet; part of it is just getting older, and caring less.

I don’t know if anyone actually sends around physical portfolios any more. I hear it still happens, though promotional mailing campaigns are a bigger deal. I’d have a better idea about all of this stuff if I had an agent, but I never have, and suspect I never will. In any case, I have just spent over four years putting up hundreds of my old photos with essays explaining them all. I am still terrible at selling myself, but if anyone is curious about the work I’ve been doing for over three decades, they can learn far more about it all now than when it was represented by a generic black portfolio that spent most of its time sitting in a case next to my desk.

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Northumbria

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I SPENT THE FIRST TEN YEARS OF MY CAREER IN AND AROUND MUSICIANS. Toronto had a great – and undersung – music scene in the ’80s and ’90s, and many of my friends from that scene are still performing and recording. Guitarist Jim Field was a mainstay on the scene back then, and last Sunday he and bassist Dorian Williamson played a gig for the release of Vinland, the latest from their group Northumbria.

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I don’t love shooting live music – I’ve explained that in the old blog – but it’s not easy to do, and every now and then it’s time for a challenge and trying to get a decent photo in dim, changing light with a subject who isn’t paying attention to you will make you work hard as a photographer. Jim and Dorian sounded great, and it was refreshing to photograph a show without having to work around microphone stands. Check their record out – if you like that sort of thing you’ll love what they do.

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On The Air

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AFTER THIRTY YEARS OF NEVER TALKING ABOUT MY WORK I’ve been spending a lot of time lately discussing my old blog and my photos. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it, but it’s still pretty weird. I seem to have moved on from the print phase of self-promotion to the verbal one, which means I’ve been inflicting my voice on you. Sorry for that.

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With B&H Podcast host Allan Weitz and Julie Grahame

A couple of weeks ago I flew to New York City for a day to appear on the B&H Podcast with photo curator and archivist Julie Grahame. Julie runs the estate and website for legendary Canadian photographer Yousuf Karsh – you probably know his work, even if you’re not Canadian and didn’t see his portraits all the time growing up – and had a lot of wisdom about managing your public profile as a photographer.

Producer John Harris and host Allan Weitz did a great job of keeping the conversation moving (and keeping me on topic.) We talked for over an hour but the show was edited very tightly, I think, though the segment where Julie thought I was saying “bi-curious” when I was talking about bike couriers unfortunately ended up on the cutting room floor. (Must have been my Canadian accent.)

To listen to the show, go here on the podcast website, or listen to it on iTunes here or here on Libsyn.

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With Richard Crouse, Jon Brooks and Anthony Lemke. I really need to change my clothes.

Last week I had the opportunity to wag my jowls a bit more on Richard Crouse’s AM 1010 radio show, alongside singer/songwriter Jon Brooks and actor Anthony Lemke. I’ve known Richard for many years, mostly seeing him at movie screenings back when I did my time as a movie critic, and he runs a nice, loose show where his guests can actually get past talking points – a rarity on radio and TV these days, I can say from experience.

We got on to the topic of failure – a favorite subject of mine – as a constructive, even creatively necessary thing. I plugged my books. It was all very pleasant. Go here to listen to the show.

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Bjarke Ingels

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EVERY NEW PORTRAIT SHOOT FOR ME THESE DAYS IS A GIFT. This quick session with Danish architect Bjarke Ingels came about with a pair of writing assignments – Engels was in town on a promotional blitz for his first project here, and I was assigned to cover a public appearance and do an interview.

I began my professional career as a writer; photography came along just after, and for the subsequent three-plus decades I’ve seesawed back and forth between the two – the only time I’ve spent a sustained period doing nothing but photography was about five years in the early ’90s. I can’t complain about having two possible income streams in an ever more precarious business, but it became obvious years ago that having to divide my energies while producing writing and photos usually means that the photos suffer.

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Ingels is a fascinating guy – a “starchitect” (he told me that he hates the word, as do most other architects) who seems committed to making buildings that are both striking and livable at a time when decades of modern architecture have convinced the public that they’ve rarely been given both at the same time. The development he’s designed for Toronto is certainly audacious – the fact that KING Toronto looks like nothing else that’s been built here has been pointed out by both its fans and detractors – and he’s passionate about explaining and defending his work.

I would have liked to set up my studio in a bag for this shoot, but the interview had precedence so there wasn’t time for that sort of fussiness. I found a half-decent background but it would have been better to have the light coming from behind me and not over my left shoulder. I got along perfectly well with my subject, but as ever just a minute or two extra to work would have been appreciated. In any case the client apparently preferred to go with their own photos, so here they are.

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Humber River, Summer 2018

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Humber River south of Weston, Aug. 19, 2018

THERE’S SNOW ON THE GROUND SO WINTER’S EARLY which seems like a nice time to remember the summer. With my wife and kids out of town, I took a day off to try out the watercolour paint set I’d been given for Christmas. With the paints and my camera in my bag, I set off on a walk along the Humber River from the old town of Weston at Lawrence Avenue down to the Dundas Street bridge. As I say to myself whenever I head out with a camera and no particular agenda, “Let’s see what we can see.”

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