The Image Journey Posts

Phone Booths, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Phone booths used to be everywhere in Toronto, but around 15 years or so ago, when cell phones took over, they began to disappear. Rennee Reizman writes in The Atlantic, “At a time when 95 percent of Americans own a mobile phone, the phone booth seems quaint and outdated. People have waxed nostalgic over the loss of this technology in eulogies, public art installations, and documentaries. Since a peak of 2.6 million public pay phones in the mid-1990s, this ubiquitous infrastructure has been on the decline. After the devices stopped turning a profit, AT&T officially announced its exit from the pay phone market in 2007. Verizon followed suit in 2011.”

In the U.S., phone booths were thought to be linked to criminal activity, and were removed. The efforts led to fewer pay phones in impoverished areas, making them inaccessible to their most-likely users. A post on five9.com states “In addition to technological advancements, phone booths have a separate inferiority: they are frequently vandalized. It is not uncommon to see explicit writing in pen or spray paint and the windows practically beg for hooligans to throw rocks. People leaving bars, intoxicated in the middle of the night, are known to use them as restrooms. Even sober pedestrians use them as garbage cans.”

You may remember having to put a dime in the slot and using the rotary dial to dial the number. Later, in the 1980s, as in these photos, the rotary phones were replaced with push button ones. And at some time, the fee went from 10 cents to 25 cents. It was a place to get out of the wind on a winter night, or a place to have a private conversation. I remember getting my first answering machine is the early 1980s and the messages could be accessed remotely from a pay phone with a little beeper. So high tech!

I miss phone booths, but it is good to know that they are being repurposed in certain places. According to five9, “Despite their imminent extinction, telephone booths have proven useful for other purposes. The city of Shanghai, China, has converted 500 former telephone booths into WiFi hotspots. On one hand, this is a positive change because the booth is being used. On the other hand it is somewhat ironic because its new purpose is powering a successor technology. Phone booths are also still useful for advertisers. Just because people no longer enter the booth to make calls, they do pass by. In fact, New York City earns three times as much using its phone booths as ad space than they do using them for their phone services.”

On a recent trip to Japan, I noticed as many phone booths as ever. It means they are still being used, even if just as a space for advertising.

(The title of this post is of course a reference to Pete Seeger’s 1962 folk classic Where Have All the Flowers Gone? – a circular song, that ends where it started, and summarizes the consequences of war.)

The series “Toronto Gone” puts a focus on things that have disappeared–buildings, businesses, parking lots, cars, people that used to be a part of the city in the 1980s and 1990s prior to the condo boom, and before the widespread use of computers and cell phones.

Pears Avenue, Ramsden Park, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Cherry Street, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Yonge Street, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

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Wallace Avenue, Toronto, 1981 – © Avard Woolaver

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Parliament Street, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Gerrard and Jarvis, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Jarvis Street, Toronto, 1980 – © Avard Woolaver

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Yonge and King (looking west), Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Photography Toronto

The Junction, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

I have always been monochrome dreaming. Since first picking up a camera, I have been interested in recording odd scenes; photos that make you do a double take. In the early days, I didn’t concentrate on it very much. I’d take a photo whenever I came across something unusual. It wasn’t until I got a digital camera in 2006 that I began to actively look for everyday scenes that make the familiar seem a little strange.

With a digital camera, I could experiment more–take many photos of the same scene in order to change the angle of a reflection or align elements perfectly. My image making went from taking a one-off of a particular scene to exploring the scene more fully to get the best possible shot. In this post I show a few early examples from Toronto in the 1980s, and then some more recent examples.

In my Wish You Were Here series, I aim to challenge the viewers’ attention in a subtle way by finding everyday scenes with elements of whimsy and surrealism. Like Magritte, and Friedlander, I want to make the familiar seem a little strange, but without Photoshop and image manipulation. These photos come about through observation, using juxtaposition, reflection, typography, and scale. My new project, “Wish You Were Here – Monochrome Dreaming” shows black and white images that aspire to challenge and entertain the senses.

Dundas Street West, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Danforth Music Hall, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Brooklyn, Nova Scotia, 2014 – © Avard Woolaver

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Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2013 – © Avard Woolaver

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Brooklyn, Nova Scotia, 2012 – © Avard Woolaver

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Windsor, Nova Scotia, 2010 – © Avard Woolaver

Blogging Observation Photography

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

These are photos taken in a neighborhood of Toronto called, The Junction. I lived in this neighborhood from 1982-1986. For part of that time I was attending Ryerson in the downtown core, and did most of my street photography there. But I also took the time to walk around the Junction with my camera recording everyday scenes. It may have been a little gritty and down-trodden, but the area had a lot of character, a lot of soul.

Today, The Junction is totally revitalized with lots of cafes and bars and a vibrant night life. Back in the 1980s it was a dry area (no alcohol was sold) and it meant a long trek to the liquor on public transit. I miss those carefree days days of my youth.

View of New Image Gallery, Toronto, 1982 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Mavety at Dundas West, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

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Baird Park, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Blogging Film Photography Photography Toronto

This is not a fish, Nova Scotia, 2013 – © Avard Woolaver

There are various motivations for taking a photo–to capture a moment, to document a place or thing, to record beautiful light, or to fulfill an assignment. One of my interests in photography has been to somehow challenge the viewer so that they do a double take; the image holds their attention because there is something thought provoking about it. The notion of using visual trickery and humour came to me early on after discovering the work of American photographer Lee Friedlander, and also the paintings of Belgian surrealist painter Rene Magritte.

It was in Paris in 1978 that I first saw Magritte’s dream-like, illusionistic images. I could gaze at them for a long time and really never figure them out. But that really didn’t matter, for it was the feeling that they invoked that was special–that little area of my brain, the “Magritte zone,” had been suddenly stimulated. Over time I began using these perceptual tricks in my own photography.

“The Treachery of Images”- Ceci n’est pas une pipe./This is not a pipe, Rene Magritte, 1929

One of Magritte’s most famous works is “The treachery of images” (1929), a painting that challenges the viewer’s notion of art. An image of a pipe has the words “This is not a pipe.” written below it. When Magritte was once asked about this image, he replied that of course it was not a pipe, just try to fill it with tobacco. Andrea K. Scott writes in the New Yorker, “It may be art’s most famous one-liner, but it’s a startlingly modernist proposition: this isn’t a pipe, it’s a picture. Magritte’s enduring popularity has edged his once shocking imagery into the realm of cliché. But his radical use of language and his transposition of the banal and the unnerving set a precedent. Would the enigmas of Jasper Johns’s flags or Ed Ruscha’s deadpan pairing of image and text have been conceivable otherwise? Magritte, who dressed like a banker and was known to paint at his dining-room table, saw himself as a “secret agent” in the war on bourgeois values. He once said of his mission, ‘Too often by a twist of thought, we tend to reduce what is strange to what is familiar. I intend to restore the familiar to the strange’.’’

In my Wish You Were Here series, I aim to challenge the viewers’ attention by in a subtle way by finding everyday scenes with elements of surrealism. Like Magritte, I want to make the familiar seem a little strange, but without Photoshop and image manipulation. These photos come about through observation, using juxtaposition, reflection, typography, and scale. My new project, “Wish You Were Here – Monochrome Dreaming” shows black and white images that aspire to challenge and entertain the senses. Is that really a fish, or just a fishy picture?

Earlier this year I had the pleasure of visiting the Magritte Museum in Brussels, Belgium, and found that I was still deeply inspired (and entertained) by his whimsical, dream-like images. I realized that I had never really left the Magritte Zone.

New Minas, Nova Scotia, 2011 – © Avard Woolaver

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Windsor, Nova Scotia, 2013 – © Avard Woolaver

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Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2011 – © Avard Woolaver

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Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2010 – © Avard Woolaver

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Lower Sackville, Nova Scotia, 2012 – © Avard Woolaver

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The house is bigger than the rock, 2010 – © Avard Woolaver

Black and White Observation Photography Social Landscape

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

During the years 1980-1986, I did a lot of street photography in Toronto. For the past four years I have been scanning an archive of this material, and posting it online. Toronto Gone represents the final photos, the ones that have been recently scanned or have not been published in my Toronto books.

My memories of living in The Junction have faded. That’s why I’m so glad I have the photos to help me remember my time there (1982-1986). They bring back the feeling of living there and, for me, the colour photos seem to carry a more emotional and psychological component than the black and white ones. It also reminds me the importance and value of the documentary photograph.

Looking at a photo many years later, you may not know exactly why you took it but still be glad you did. Among other things, photography has been a visual diary for me. It helps me remember the places I’ve been and things I’ve seen. Photos can also become valuable documents of things and places that no longer exist.

We never know the full significance of the photos we take. They’re a picture of a moment, and that moment is gone as soon as you’ve taken the picture. That place–or that person, or cloud, or animal–is already changing before you’ve even walked away. We don’t know until much later whether those changes will accrue quickly or gradually. We don’t know if we’ll ever be there again, ever talk with that person again. The relentlessness of change is masked by its ordinariness.

This has been so evident to me in hearing people’s responses to my Toronto series. Taken in the 1980s, they show a city that many feel no longer exists.

Dundas West and Mavety, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Keele, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Dundas West and Medland, Toronto, 1984 – © Avard Woolaver

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Keele Street, Toronto, 1983 – © Avard Woolaver

Photography Toronto