Hour 0: After bus confusion and wandering around lost downtown for a bit wondering what direction Nelson Street is, I finally caught the cushy community bus and headed toward Comox & Denman, to the Urban Rush Cafe—the official headquarters of this year’s Vancouver 12×12 Photo Marathon. I register. Am ecstatic to see that I am lucky number 7! Glancing around I feel a bit intimidated by the amount of GIGANTIC lenses there are, and fancy-schmancy cameras attached to them. Tripods, crazy compartmentalized bags, and every other photographic implement of destruction imaginable is present. Humbled. I struggle to remember how to even load film into my crappy Canon Rebel. Man, this is going to be a long day! Briefly consider running away unnoticed;  instead decide that although I have none of the expensive equipment, nor knowledge on how to use it, at least I have a relatively quick trigger finger in order to be the 7th person registered. I drink congratulatory coffee and celebrate small miracles.

First theme announced: Your Entry Number/Different Angle

And we’re off! Feeling refueled by the caffeine and excited by the process, I head out in search of 7 of *something* with which to photograph. I’m hoping for a parade of frolicking ponies pulling wagons of adorable babies but realize this is probably pushing it. Settle instead for standing under a string of seven balloons tied to a stop sign, and wait… ever… so… patiently for them all to line up perfectly. They do, and SNAP – commitment! Not at all sure if I caught the shot. Am suddenly painfully aware of how dependent I am upon the LCD screen preview on my digital camera.

Hour 2: Back at the cafe, excitement in the air. I wish that I had a chance to go to the previous week’s meet-up because everyone seems super friendly and familiar to each other. Feel a momentary pang of shyness. Decide to drink more coffee.

Second theme announced: The Usual Suspects

I head out again in the same direction – back down alleyways and through the residential areas. I think it might be cool to try to locate some pigeons and crows for this shot. Cannot find a single bird to save my life. Finally, I stop a homeless man who tells me a Canucks joke and chats to me about being a camera repair person in his former life. He is fascinating and so very sweet; he tells me I should go to the beach for birds— they like the garbage down there. I wish him well, and am off again. Finally spot two crows on top of a power line. Look through my pitifully small lens and wish that I had thought to rent something better. Wait again patiently for the bird’s heads to line up to show their beak profiles. In the split second between me pressing the shutter and it catching the shot, the birds move. This is ruined shot #1. This is the first of many. This game is harder than it looks.

Hour 3 – Feeling a little sad about my missed shot, I start thinking about how we take for granted the ability to curate our work. How often people don’t understand that out of the 30 great shots that you post on Flickr or Facebook, there may have been 300 others that weren’t. quite. right. It’s a strange feeling thinking that people will be able to see your glory and all your mistakes in this project. No retakes. No trash bin. I’m again humbled when I think of the giant lenses and professional photographers no doubt currently taking masterpiece shots of prancing pony parades and flocks of choreographed seagulls.

Third theme announced: Human Nature

After the bird fiasco, I’m feeling the pressure to do something better with this particular theme—it can be interpreted in so many ways! This is where the challenge lies. I just have to carefully decide what direction I want to take it. I remember seeing a bunch of shoes hanging from wires in a back alley about an hour back, but cannot remember where, for the life of me. Spend the next 45 minutes wandering aimlessly looking for shoes, unable to shake the idea to see other possibilities. Funny how your brain will sometimes fixate. Finally locate them… thankfully they do not move at the last second.

Forth theme announced: Reliable

By this time, my feet are really beginning to ache. I contemplate taking off my shoes and just walking barefoot. Decide instead to stop at Shoppers Drug Mart for emergency Band-Aide triage kit. Oh, good god there is still 8 more hours left. What have I signed myself up for?? I take a picture of my feet. At least they are still attached to my body.

Fifth theme announced: My Greatest Wish

My greatest wish… ? I wish for a shopping cart and someone to push me around in it. And a popsicle made of Strongbow. The odds of this combination happening also seem slim, so I decide instead to find something simple. It feels a little like a cop out, but my feet are killing me, so when I spot the fluffiest cat I’ve ever seen hiding under a bush, I think he would make a perfect wish (No Pets building for me, boo!). He sits patiently waiting for me to compose the shot (an obvious pro photographic subject) ready, set… press the shutter, cat MOVES. Mother$*#@er!!! Curse out loud, in manner similar to sailor. Pet adorable cat to console myself, despite his obvious leanings toward sabotage.

Six theme announced: Odour

After grabbing a bite to eat and a couple of beers, everyone seems refreshed. Odour seems like a great theme—everywhere I look today I’ve seen fragrant things: flowers, dumpsters, porta-potties atop flatbed trucks. Decide in the end to shoot some people crossing the ‘Finish’ line of a bike marathon. Wonder if any of these things will make any sense once printed without the aid of artistic explanation? Decide to risk it anyway.

Seventh theme announced: Echo

Man, these themes are getting tough! My creative brain is throbbing much like my feet, although the beer and band-aids helped immensely for at least one of those issues. My friend Craig talks about his idea which admittedly is pretty awesome, and rides off to capture it. I wonder if it’s possible for me to finish the rest of this marathon without actually moving from my chair? Curse you, footwear. I think of all the cool shots that might visually echo… reflective surfaces repeating, over and over. Head back to Shoppers Drug Mart to see if I can find a hand mirror. I buy it, but am used to knowing how a shot will work on my D80, with the 18-135mm lens. Through the film camera, the shot doesn’t seem nearly as good, but I do my best, anyway. Not sure if this one will come through. Drink more beer. Congratulate myself on strenuous tasks already completed today, like breathing and walking upright.

Eighth theme announced: Trapped

I’ve gotten a chance to talk to a few more of the participants. Funny how you see the Photo Marathon lanyards from across the street and nod and smile knowingly at each other. They understand your pain. They know your exhaustion. Fellow troops in the trenches. By this time Denman is starting to get insane with the amount of people heading downtown for the fireworks. I take my picture and then wander down to the beach. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day! On the way back to the cafe I see another marathoner taking the same picture that I did for this theme. I wonder how many duplicates of any given subject there will be?? It’s kind of great to know that similar things catch your eye. It will be interesting to see the different takes on the same idea.

What’s this? A beer? Don’t mind if I do. No longer feel quite so glum about my inadequacies in the lens-department, due largely in part to being slightly tipsy and mentally exhausted.

Ninth theme announced: Take it to the Grave

After sitting on a park bench in the sun with my friends Ryan and Ruwan, eating burgers and bitching about first world problems, we discuss the day’s events thus far. I love how clever my friends are. They were organized and brought props. PROPS! I didn’t even think to bring a tripod… or shoes that actually fit my feet. Clever. Lessons learned for next year.

Beer time?

Tenth theme announced: Second Chance

I debate trying to recreate the echo shot, hopefully get it right this time, but the light is waning, and I know that pretty soon I’m going to be screwed. So I tried instead to find one more street subject. I locate a tattered couch in an alley. My already shaky hands are generally adept at messing up shots in the sunniest of conditions; henceforth, it’s unlikely that I will get a steady picture, sans-tripod. I wish I could shoot “Second Chance” tomorrow, with a new roll of film and a better camera. Again, unlikely… I’m now imagining difficulty moving my limbs in the morning.

Coming into the home stretch!

People galore, downtown! Seriously, I am normally claustrophobic, so the steady and constant stream of bodies down Denman Street is starting to make my heart pound and my hands sweat. Then I see some policemen ride down the street on giant, gorgeous Clydesdale horses, and the Hare Krishna’s following — dancing exuberantly with trumpets and tambourines. This is the best. day. EVER. Is there always this much cool stuff happening around here?

Eleventh theme announced: Not for Sale

By this time all I can think about is my limited light options and lack of tripod. I head into the thick of the crowd at the beach just to try to catch the last shred of sunlight. Line up the shot beautifully. This might actually work! I realize after the fact that I set it on the wrong shutter speed. Dammit. This one is bound to be insanely overexposed. Oh, hello camera— have we met before? I apparently have no idea how you operate. I silently vow to teach myself better photography skills, and hope that my roll of film mysteriously goes missing during the developing process.

Twelfth theme announced: Expectation

We are all rejuvenated knowing that the torture adventure will soon be ending. This has been one of the most interesting experiences I have had in a long time. It’s been so amazing to come together with a great group of creative people, of all levels and backgrounds: from film novices like me, to seasoned professionals—bound together by the appreciation of the photographic medium. I can only imagine what goes into organizing an event like this; everyone did an incredible job! Although we are all tired from today, I can only imagine that this is just one of several really long days that have been put in by the entire 12×12 Vancouver team. Bravo, you guys!!

The final exhibit is in a month. I’m both excited and nervous to see it. I realized after this weekend how much I depend upon automatic settings and trial-and-error in my own work. I’m not sure what the final result will look like, but even if I get 2 decent shots from the film I’ll be thrilled. I can’t wait to practice over the next year, and *fingers crossed*— I’ll get a chance to participate in this event again in the future. Vancouver is a special city, and to have an opportunity to meet amazing people, drink beer together, and be collectively creative? You can’t really ask for anything better. (Except maybe ponies).

The media is of course having their usual exploitative heyday with the Vancouver Riots. I don’t even really want to acknowledge the whole thing, because frankly, it’s all been done. It’s be said. Over and over until we want to collectively cry. And yes, it was horrible. But out of that dark again, Vancouver proved herself to be comprised of some of the most inspiring, caring and selfless people around. This is what that post is about. This is a post where I talk about how I came to the realization tonight that since moving into this little apartment, the best possible thing could have happened: my extreme lack of space forced my hand into not having a TV. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love watching HBO series and documentaries as much as the next person. But I found that when I had an actual TV in my possession, i often ended up watching a lot of News. Under the guise of educating myself, I was in actuality poisoning my psyche, one day after the next with the endless constant negativity. Now yes, i understand this sounds all very dramatic, but there was a definite downward slump in my mood when I was watching the news 2 hours a day. The sometimes subtle sad or hostile undertones, well – we’ve become so accustomed to them in our daily lives that we don’t question them anymore. But undoubtedly, they are toxic.

Now, because I don’t have my own TV, but have still become quite the hockey watcher during the playoffs, I ended up at my best friend Tara and her husband Jim’s place for Game 7. We understandably we all super excited, and drinking beer and having fun. And then we lost. Disappointing? Yes. Of course. The end of the world? Not in the slightest.

Then we got a call saying that the downtown core had begun the rioting. So we switched the station, and then we watched, stunned. Horrified. And for a few wordless minutes, heartbroken. Despondent. Those pictures – those Molotov cocktail throwing testosterone enraged psychos… this couldn’t be our city? Admittedly, i was in a tipsy state of denial. A friend and I walked home together, and overhead you could hear the helicopters circling, and the endless drone of ambulance sirens taking load after load of casualties to nearby Vancouver General Hospital. What is one to do in this situation?? Well, obviously – the only thing that made any sense to my mind in that moment: go find some swings, and swing the hell out of them. So we did. Then, after the swinging had concluded, it only made sense to further continue the tipsy party in the back courtyard, sipping Granville Island Raspberry beer, and laying in lounge chairs under the stars. Listening to our city, which had in the course of a handful of hours resembled a war zone.

Had this been my old apartment, I would have rushed right home, plunked myself in front of the TV and stayed up until 4am watching in horror as the police struggled in vain against a bunch of hoodlum assholes hell bent on creating destruction. But, because I didn’t, I brushed my teeth, got into bed, and fell asleep.

When I woke up this morning, I felt melancholy. I wasn’t bummed out about the game loss. The Canucks played a great series. Bruins played a better one. It’s ok to admit that your opponent is good. I kept reading Facebook posts about a clean-up that was going to start happening early in the morning downtown – people would be heading there with bags and brooms and dustpans, ready to put the city back to right. Back to normal.

I grabbed my camera and hopped on a bus, preparing myself for a few hours of documenting the carnage, and perhaps lending a hand, if I was needed. But when I got there, my heart almost burst at the weight of it all. The sheer number of smashed windows, the burnt dumpsters, the blood on the ground. BUT… and here is a very large BUT – I was absolutely blown away by how many people were out already, making the city sparkle. People from all walks of life were there – children, teenagers with mohawks, seniors in wheelchairs, businessmen in expensive suits, women in high heels. And they were all working together. And they were all doing it with smiles on their faces. There was no hand-wringing; there was no endless bitching about how the city has failed us, and all the things that could have gone wrong. It was just people in love; bursting with pride for their little city, protecting her and shining her up. Not quite brand new, but almost. And it brought tears to my eyes, several times.

Tonight I realized – I’m so much better off without the TV. I’m better off surrounding myself with things that inspire me, or restore my faith in people who care to do good for those around them, and the place they call home. You can look elsewhere for scathing commentary on the downfall of humanity and the ineptitude of whoever the fuck you think dropped the ball. Personally, I think that the Vancouver Police Department did a bang up job. I think the paramedics and firefighters and civilians who threw themselves in harm’s way on behalf of a city we all love so dearly— you were all amazing — and words cannot thank you enough. So instead, I will do what comes easy to me – I will tell the story of my day through pictures. And I hope that the positivity comes through. The optimism and gratitude. Vancouver, don’t let this get you down. You’ll shake this off just as you have before. You really have no other choice – there are too many of us here, cheering you on.

The plane ride was super turbulent, due to a heavy wind storm that had started earlier in the day. I am a mixed flier. Most of me is excited by the turbulence—it’s similar to an amusement park ride, where all of a sudden your stomach drops out from under you. It’s fun. Then I get flashbacks to the plane crash scenes in every stranded-on-a-desert-island movie ever made, where backs of planes are suddenly ripped off, and people are sucked out in screaming fiery explosions. I momentarily get a little nervous and white knuckle the armrest until the plane rights itself. Then, all is well. The green of the land and that intense grey-lavender that comes after a storm here in BC, coupled with the ability to walk around in a hoodie… you’d be hard pressed to find a happier girl at that moment. Instant comfort.

It’s been 1 week. 1 week of running the gamut of emotion: Happy, scared, worried, disappointed, excited, discouraged, sad, comfortable, happy again. Wash.rinse.repeat. I’m ecstatic to be back, but also feeling at a bit of a loss of where to start to rebuild. It’s like I hit the “reset” button on my life, and now I’m back trying to find a house I adore, find work I love, reestablish me in this place, all.over.again. Funny how everything can be knocked down to zero in the course of just under 6 weeks. Instant regrowth.

I’ve realized the hardest part about what I will now refer to as “the experiment” in Banff, was letting go of my apartment. When I moved away, I said my goodbyes as I was scrubbing her black and white checkered floor. I lovingly removed every scrap of myself from within her walls, whispering reassurances of adoration as I worked. When I locked the door for the final time, I felt like I had closure. I knew I would get over the loss. Sure, it might take awhile, but I would be better from the experience. But because I cut the experiment short, I didn’t have enough time to feel like I had moved on. So here I am back, feeling as though I could just walk right into my old building, open the door and find all my things—my studio, my bathtub, my life. Start from where I left off. Obviously, it’s been a tough break-up, me and that apartment. A lot of sleepless nights, a lot of regrets. I just hope that I can eventually move on. I just hope that I don’t spend the next 5 years reminiscing about all the good times we had, she and I. Holding a ruler up to all the new apartments, forlorn if they don’t quite measure up. But she will be a tough one to live up to—with her high ceilings, beautiful kitchen, decorative mantle, clawfoot bathtub, windowed office, southwest facing, cheap(relatively speaking, for the Westside of Vancouver). She was pretty special. I daydream about the property managers calling me up, telling me the new occupant had to take a job in a foreign country unexpectedly, the suite suddenly available again. These are the fantasies that live in my thoughts now. Instant longing.

I realized that looking for a new place is not unlike online dating. You get a super brief description, and then show up hoping to hell that it all works out. Sometimes you are amazed at the diamond in the rough that came from a few descriptors: one bedroom, 2nd floor, non-smoking, no pets. And then it ends up gorgeous and amazing. Other times, no matter how much they try to spruce it up by using words like “spacious” (380 sq ft bachelor apartment), and “bright” (as bright as an underground basement suite can be), and “cozy” (read: 6.5′ ceilings), there is just no prettying it up. I like to imagine who ends up taking those places. Midgets? Vampires? Hobbits? Not girls with long legs who like to collect things… not me.

Rental pricing in Vancouver is atrocious. I knew this before, but some of the rent is ridiculously laughable. All this “Vancouver is the Best Place on Earth to Live” is hurting us. $1200 for a teeny tiny bachelor suite? I don’t care if you do have an elevator (which, by the sounds of it, is larger than the apartment itself), or in-suite laundry. Having the convenience of washing your shirts at 2 a.m. pales in comparison to being able to stand upright in ones own living room.

I’ve approached the process in baby steps (much like everything else in my life as of late). I’ve slept on the floor of my best friend’s apartment so I can be in Vancouver, searching. I’ve wandered around, writing down addresses of buildings that seem like they would have character—be somewhere I would like to call home. I’ve drafted a letter, and sent out many envelopes, explaining my situation. Pleading my case. Hoping that a vacancy will come up and they will take a chance on me. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I’ve enjoyed hanging out with my folks. Playing with their cats. Eating home-cooked meals. Catching up with dear friends. Taking in all the signs of Spring—the yellow and purple crocuses, the tiny fragile paperwhites, the cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom, the light out until 6:37 pm.

I don’t regret the experiment. I had to do it in order to know. But at this moment it’s hard not to look back regretfully on what once was. It is with this experience that I hope comes something new—something even better. In the midst of uncertainty, it can be tough not to dwell. Only when you’ve had some space and time to reflect do you truly understand that that situation was necessary to get where you now stand. That rough patch was necessary in order to move forward. That’s what I just keep trying to remember. It will all work out in the end— it always does. Instant faith.

If anyone hears of a great one bedroom character apartment in Fairview, Cambie, Main Street, or the WestEnd, please let me know. I’m responsible, quiet, and love places as though they were my own. Because I suppose for a short time, in my mind, they actually are.

Dear Vancouver,

I am writing this letter to you because I need to get something off my chest. It has been bothering me for about 4 years now, and I tried my best to bite my tongue and let you do your thing. But seriously – it’s getting a little out of hand.  You are allowing your new friends to walk all over you. What about those of us who support you and have been around for years? We cheer for your achievements, and stand up for you when things aren’t going so well. Even though we may not understand the choices that you make sometimes, we still adore you anyway. I’m sorry to have to be the one to break it to you, but you should know – some of those people don’t treat you very well. They trash talk you behind your back. I knew they were assholes when they started that rumor about you being a ”no fun city”. Don’t listen to them, Vancouver; they are just obnoxious, materialistic jerks who want to use you for your stuff. That 14-day house party that’s happening – although super prestigious, I hope you understand that you’ll be paying for it for years to come! And you don’t really make that much money, Vancouver. I don’t know why you felt the need to buy everyone sirloin steaks and truffles anyway? They are EXPENSIVE and so impractical! I know you just want to impress everyone with your worldliness, but seriously – what are you going to do with the leftovers?

I’m a bit concerned about your place. It’s really nice.  I hope they don’t ruin your stuff. I know they said they weren’t going to invite all that many people, but I think your friends invited their friends, and all of a sudden you may find yourself with so many people packed in your place you might have to call the cops. Are you prepared for that? Do you really even know these people? Admittedly, I was surprised when they shoved you out of the way and started putting random stuff around that doesn’t suit the vibe of your space at all. None of this new stuff really goes together. You know that cool Art Gallery that you were so proud of? Sure it’s an antique, but it was really striking! But they went and threw this giant floral art installation over the whole thing, and now no one will be able to see how neat it was. I also think it was a little audacious that they used your money to pay for all these expensive decorations. Sure, some of them are really pretty -  but can you afford them? I mean seriously, you could have just tidied up, threw on a bit of paint here and there, and arranged for some transportation to get people to the party… maybe put out some chips and beer. Isn’t that what you’re about? You are laid back! You are low key! That’s what we love about you!

Some of those people that are coming over look a little shady, Vancouver; I think they might be looking to take advantage of your good nature. Did you know that they are selling tickets to get in? I know originally you wanted to host this great party that was accessible to everyone – but now those tickets are so ridiculously expensive that most of the people who love you the most won’t even be able to get in the door. How did things get so out of hand?

Truthfully, the whole thing makes me a little sad. I’m feeling hurt and a bit betrayed. Don’t get me wrong – I’m still happy for you. I’m happy that you are finally getting your chance to shine, and meet some new people. Maybe I’m just being overprotective, but I just love you so much and don’t want you to see you hurt. You are fantastic just the way you are – you don’t need to put on that horrible dress – it’s not flattering at all, and you look really uncomfortable. When the party is over, and everyone goes home, what sort of impression of you will they come away with? Will your amazing personality have shone through? Did you really need all that shitty costume jewelry? You have incredibly breathtaking natural beauty, Vancouver! You could have just put on some lip gloss and brushed your hair, and people would have been smitten by your witty charm and wicked sense of humor. You look like you are trying to be someone that you’re not. If people wanted that, they would have gone and partied in Las Vegas, or New York. Honestly, if those people keep telling you to need to change to fit in, are they really your friends? I’m sorry that they told you that you weren’t good enough the way you were, Vancouver. But mostly I’m sorry that you believed them. I hope one day you will get some self confidence and stop letting people push you around.

I’m sure most of them are great people, who just want to come, hang out and get to know you. It will be fun! But don’t let all this attention go to your head; being humble is one of your most endearing features. Putting up pretensions – it doesn’t suit you. Just be yourself, and people will notice how amazing you are, don’t worry. I know you are feeling self conscious about the not having enough snow thing, but what can you do? You can’t control everything.

We think you are wonderful and amazing, just the way you are – even if we are feeling a bit pissed off at you at the moment. We’re not trying to prevent you from having a good time; we are just trying to look out for your best interest. After all, we’ll still be here long after the party is over… when you are exhausted, hung-over and feeling a bit used and regretful for spending all that money you didn’t have. We will stand by you regardless, Vancouver, and try our best to look out for you when your place is packed with people stepping all over your carpet with dirty shoes and stealing stuff out of your medicine cabinet. Don’t fret, in a month this will all be behind us and you can take off all that garish makeup and just go back to being you – natural, mountainous, incredible, you.

Love, Vancouverites

PS – GOOD LUCK CANADA!

I’ve been sewing Bittersweets like crazy – wasabi/ginger, stacks of pancakes and pin-back magnets and buttons are now added to the Etsy shop. Because of the media hype of the economy on verge of imminent collapse (PANIC PEOPLE, PANIC!) my shop has been almost totally dead recently. Literally crickets chirping and tumbleweeds a-plenty. I’m hoping that now the media has turned it’s sights upon the fact we will all likely die of the swine flu soon, people will begin spending money with reckless abandon. After all, if we only have 2 weeks to live, what better than to spend money on bitter felt foods?