THESE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO WE HAVE SEEN MORE OF (BESIDES OUR FAMILY) THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THE LAST THREE AND A HALF MONTHS. More than friends and extended kin, co-workers or schoolmates. As Covid shrunk our world down to a couple of blocks in any direction from our home, our neighbours became the people we came to know with unexpected and offhanded intimacy. Not that we’re complaining; perhaps some people might, but I can’t speak for them. Maybe we just have really nice neighbours.
When lockdown hit all of my work, actual or potential, pretty much dried up. A portrait series I’d only just begun had to be put on hold, and while there was always still life work and street photography to fill the weeks, I missed doing portraits. Frankly, I’m amazed it took me as long as it did to realize that the most appropriate subjects of all were within walking distance, waiting out the lockdown as eagerly as we were.
Using email, the neighbourhood Facebook page or just stopping people as they walked by the house, I began making appointments for quick portrait sessions. The rules were simple: I’d take the photos at either the front or back door of the homes where they’d been sheltering in place. They could choose how they wanted to dress and present themselves.
My camera and tripod would be set up a minimum of the acceptable socially distancing standard of six feet, if only to respect one of lockdown’s most sacred rituals. My oldest child acted as (paid) assistant, and bookings were made around when the sun wouldn’t be in the eyes of my subjects.
These are portraits of people near the end of lockdown. They have pushed past the uncertainty and improvisation of the first weeks and settled into a conditionally comfortable but decidedly ad hoc lifestyle that all of them, I’m certain, can’t wait to leave behind. Some of them have become better cooks. Many of them have watched far more television than they imagined. Their dogs have been living in a paradise of attention and exercise since winter ended, bonded more tightly than ever with a pack that never seemed to leave them.
We are Torontonians. We are polite people who don’t like to intrude, and will politely discourage intrusion. And yet we’ve become familiar with everybody’s regular habits, enthusiasms and preferences, mostly by simply observing our comings and goings, and those of our delivery people. I have, quite against lifelong habit, developed a real fondness and fellow-feeling for my neighbours, the result of living through what we were meant to understand was a lethal threat, in the comfort of our homes. We have bonded by experiencing what I can only understand now as a combination of a horror movie and a vacation.