NaPoMo poetry party last call

The last day of April brings us to our final guest at my NaPoMo poetry party. If you’ve been following along each day (if not tomorrow’s wrap up will help you catch up), you’ll know our scope has widened a bit from strictly poets to meeting with a handful of visual storytellers – photographers. This morning we are joined by Malcolm Evans, a photographer and someone very dear to my heart; my son.

Tell us a little about yourself, Malcolm.

Malcolm: My name is Malcolm and I currently work as an Outreach Navigator with the Canadian Mental Health Association. In May I will begin working on my Master of Public Safety with Wilfrid Laurier University.

As all of you are also experiencing, my life is going through some unprecedented changes. Not only has COVID-19 changed where I live, how I work, and what I do in my spare time, it has also shifted my ability to focus on what matters most to me as an individual. As I find myself distanced from family and friends, there is a heightened sense of priority in my life. The things that matter most to me have been solidified by their absence.

I find peace in this.

We often say we wish we had more time for certain things. Are you spending your time differently in view of our current world challenges? If so, how?

Malcolm: I tend to be the kind of person who does as much as possible, whenever possible. Since I am an essential worker, the only thing that has changed for me is the time that I spend outside of work. Luckily, a lot of my daily activities already abide by social distancing requirements! If anything, I’m saving money by spending less time in breweries and restaurants, and more time out in nature. The biggest thing that has changed is my ability to spend time with my family. I do my best to find activities that allow us to be together from a distance but it’s never the same.

Why is art important?

Malcolm: Art has always been a form of therapy for myself. The world tends to melt away when I am outside with my camera. Photography allows me to focus on things that have minimal impact on my life and yet, carry significant beauty. Finding beauty in the world continues to be an important source of happiness in my life. I think it’s important for everyone to discover a way to see beauty. Art is a lens that helps us achieve that.

What is one surprising thing that happened today?

Malcolm: I ran out of peanut butter today. It happened a lot faster than I expected. I love peanut butter!

You have chosen several photographs to share this morning, and they are striking examples to me of how form, texture, light, and shadow can be crafted into a emotive compositions completely devoid of colour, and yet my perception is somehow not limited to shades and tones of black and white. I wonder why? There is metaphor in this for me.

Thank you so much for coming by today, Malcolm. Your work is masterful. I wish you all the best with MELK Photography, the business you are developing that will specialize in black/white photography. Maybe you will share more about that another day. And thank you for the helping work you do on the front lines. It is a good work, and you have a good heart.

 

And thank you, friends, for dropping in today. Come back tomorrow for our wrap up session where all of our amazing guests will be back for one more fond farewell.

“May the road rise to meet you, may the sun be always on your back, and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.” (Irish Blessing)

Peace to each of you,

Lesley-Anne

NaPoMo poetry party.21

We are going to dive into a different genre today with our guest photographer, Chris Hancock Donaldson, from Port Alberni, B.C.. She is a visual story teller. Chris’s work includes street photography, quirky domestic scenes, mystical images of coastal rain forests and clear cuts, shots of pets and people, and more. Today she is sharing a collection of 16 of her photographs taken during the pandemic. For more follow Chris on Instagram.

Hi, Chris. I can’t help but notice your poetic voice in both prose and photograph. I recall two writing retreats we attended together with fondness; one where we experienced a few close encounters with deer. Thanks for opening this window into your life. When did you start taking photos?

Chris: I think I first started taking photos about 20 years ago when my husband at the time brought back an SLR for me — I don’t recall now what it was — from a pawn shop in St. Louis. I don’t know why he got me a camera. He must’ve had a hunch. Not long after I got my first digital camera, and I’ve stayed with digital since. And unless I’m doing a professional job, these days I primarily use my iPhone 11. Taking photos is mostly about self-expression for me. 

Lesley-Anne: What is this quieter version of life teaching you, if in fact, it is quieter?

Chris: Previously, my life was tipping the scale heavy on partying. Being forced out of the haze showed me how often I was choosing substances to diminish stepping out of my integrity, angst, emotional pain. When covid hit and I was faced with the prospect of being alone with fewer distractions, I knew it was sink or swim for me. So I’m swimming in these quieter times, stronger than before.

Lesley-Anne: We often say we wish we had more time for certain things. Are you spending your time differently in view of our current world challenges? If so, how?

Chris: Mostly I do what I used to, only more of it. We’ve been graced with days of warm sun this spring on Vancouver Island. I hike daily, but have been exploring new areas, wandering for miles through forests, deactivated logging roads, pushing higher up ridges. By mid-afternoon I sometimes find a spot to hole up with a couple cans of Heineken, or my drum, with my dog, by a river, on a bluff, on a stump in a clear cut. It really doesn’t matter where — for the time I’m in nature, I don’t feel trapped.

Lesley-Anne: What is one surprising thing that happened today?

Chris: [I] Hiked down to a spot on the inlet this afternoon and sprawled against a log in the sun. The wind made whitecaps on the water and whooshed through the firs and I remembered what I’ve done since I was a child: felt the heat of the sun bite through my clothes, let the wind’s clamour dull the heaviness of my mind, and shut my eyes to a world that is sometimes too much for all my senses.

I hear you about the too much, and often feel that way myself. I can feel the peacefulness of these photos, and I encourage people to scroll leisurely and take in the simple and honest atmospheres you have encapsulated here.

May your back road journeys continue to take you wherever you most need to go.

Blessings and peace,
Lesley-Anne