I’ve got my eyes aimed at the skies now, looking forward to the crisp, clear winter nights to try my hand at a little astrophotography. I’ll upload those as soon as I have something worthwhile to show off.

All images copyright of Martin J Smith 2012

When I arrived to these shores in 2010, my wife took me out canoeing. I’d been in a canoe before, but only on a handful of occasions, and never anywhere as idyllic as the Canadian backcountry. A canoe instructor in a previous life, she taught me some of the basics, beginning with the essential ‘J’ stroke.

I have fond memories those first trips, packing up her little yellow Mazda with dry bags, paddles, dog,  then strapping the canoe to the roof and heading east for the North Frontenac parklands. Each camp fire roared with the frustration of a ten year camping hiatus, self-imposed, following a number of disappointing experiences in the UK – too many trips ruined by the drunken antics of locals.

The camp fires are a lot smaller these days, but my love of the outdoors is just as strong. Canadians quite clearly understand that the solace of the outdoors is a sacred right. We’ve always been free to enjoy the wilderness without disruption.

Once the tent is pitched and dinner is warming your belly, not much in life can compare to a twighlight paddle. My first was by the light of a ruddy-hued sunset on the glassy waters of an almost deserted Mazinaw Lake. I quickly learned that a quiet paddle is a good one – splashing is just not cricket old bean – it spoils the tranquility and it’s inefficient.

Let it be known,  a few years of lakewater canoeing doth not maketh an expert paddler, so I don’t labour under the belief that expensive custom paddles will make much of a difference to my abilities. But when our friends (thanks James and Liz!) bought us a pair of fine Ray Kettlewell Ottertails as a wedding gift,  I was pretty chuffed. No harm in looking the part, nor is it a sin to be supporting a renowned Canadian artisan. I’m always a fan of fine craftsmanship, especially superior products made with wood (See Audi Duo Series, Fender Stratocaster, Renovatia). Ray fashions his paddles out of single pieces of strong,  kiln-dried cherry. The Ottertails look beautiful, almost too good to take out. I’m told they will darken to a richer mahogany colour over the years. They feel well-balanced, I like the grips, and handled properly they really are quiet through those still lake waters.

Ray is taking a well-earned break from paddle making at the moment, but he’ll be back in the workshop come October 20th. Below are his details:

Ray Kettlewell
4599 County Road 121
Minden, Ontario
K0M 2A1
CANADA

Email: ray@kettlewellpaddles.com

I’ve wanted to participate in the Marathon Des Sables ever since I completed the Hong Kong Trailwalker in 1996 and proved to myself that I was capable of ultra-marathon distances.  For a long time it remained an unfulfilled dream – always a reason why this year wasn’t the one – job, money, other commitments, lack of vacation, the usual excuses.

Now I’ve arrived at that point in my life where, to use and indelicate idiom, I must ‘piss or get off the pot’. Last year I -preregistered for the MDS, and last month I paid the first of two installments. There is no backing out; in April 2013, I will be running the longest, toughest race of my life. I can’t wait.

Challenges of this calibre are worth blogging about, so I’ve started one here. You are invited to visit and contribute. See you there.

Granted, a humble beginning, but I’m pleased someone, somewhere acknowledged this photo. I’ve used it as my iPad wallpaper for 2 years, and it still looks fresh. Not long after arriving in Canada, we took the canoe up to the unfortunately named Crotch Lake, part of the North Frontenac Parklands, and camped out on small island. One morning we awoke to this glassy stillness, so I snapped off a few images with my old Canon G9.

Apologies for the pause – I’ve been busy with various projects whilst preparing myself for a significant changes in my personal and professional life later this year. It’s all very exciting. When the time comes, you’ll see more evidence of the new direction right here.

Eons ago I dabbled in photography. I owned a cheap SLR, printed my images in the school lab, even developed my own film. After graduating I was hired by an aerial photography and mapping company  where I  was responsible for first-run contact prints. My manager hailed from the UK, where previously he earned his keep as a police forensics photographer. Tony was a gifted mentor and possessor of a dry, rapier-sharp wit, setting a high benchmark for all future leaders. He taught me a great deal about photography, without ever really needing to. Some people simply enjoy the sharing of knowledge.

At some point, for reasons I can’t reliably recall, my interest waned to the point where there were entire undocumented chapters of my life – at least from a photographic perspective. When I think back to those times,  it’s clear I missed a cyclopean opportunity to capitalise on my location. I lived in Tokyo and Hong Kong for nigh on 8 years, and the only visual proof is a meagre collection of happy snaps. Almost criminal.

Digital photography changed all that, though I didn’t introduce myself to the world of DSLRs until recently. The epiphany came when I discovered by chance the impressive videography of Devin Graham on YouTube.  I hadn’t realised that cinematic quality video, once the preserve of professional studios, had trickled down to the man-in-the-street in such a dramatic fashion. Here was a young bloke from Utah, his bag of tricks comprising nothing more than a decent DSLR, a few not outrageously expensive accessories, some mainstream editing software,  turning out stunning cinematic hi-def video worthy of Sam Brown. From relative obscurity only months before, his YouTube channels were enjoying the viral adulation of millions globally.

It ocurred to me, for the price of two weeks as an IT wage slave, I could be doing the same – the caveat being I’d only have to muster up the same level of talent – and YouTube channel stardom was mine.

Well, that’s the dream anyway, and there’s nowt wrong with that. I’m hurting no one.  I’ve already got the camera (Thank You Shannon!!), and a short hi-def video of my last camping trip is available to friends and family. I won’t be posting that or  anything else here until I feel the end product is ready for prime-time. Until then, behold the works of the guy I credit with re-igniting a passion:

From ‘Middlesex’ a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Jeffrey Eugenides published in 2002:

Part of my interest was scientific, zoological. I’d never seen a creature with so many freckles before. A Big Bang had occurred, originating at the bridge of her nose, and the force of this explosion had sent galaxies of freckles hurtling and drifting to every end of her curved, warm-blooded universe. There were clusters of freckles on her forearms and wrists, an entire Milky Way spreading across her forehead, even a few sputtering quasars flung into the wormholes of her ears.

I am, in my 43rd year, still peppered with freckles. They possess the half-life of caesium 137, which I imagine will render me free of them some time in my 60s. That is assuming I embrace the nocturnal life of a vampire until then, for even short exposure to the summer sun ressurects great constellations of stubbornly resilient melanin clusters.

As a wee lad, I seldom worried about my appearance, as little boys are wont not to do. It wasn’t long, however, before I started seeing  girls as something other than irritating, meddlesome creatures, and it was then I became conscious of the sea of muddy brown spots that covered my arms and face. All through puberty, the nascent geek in me daydreamed of curing freckle-afflicted folks the world over through yet undiscovered, fiendishly complicated  scientific means.

I became especially shy in the presence of girls, often imagining mocking laughter and the whispered taunts of freckle bigots when my back was turned. Teenage hypocrisy didn’t spare me though – I was boorishly vocal about my lack of attraction to freckly chicks. No doubt there was justice in me becoming the (perceived) victim of my own prejudices.

Upon graduation from high school in Australia, as is the case in many places, the alcoholic rite of passage must be observed. We call it ‘schoolies week’. In order to fully particpate in the ritual, one must be admitted to establishments that sell alcohol, then successfully procure it. Consumption is the easiest part of the process. To convince the purveyors of intoxicating beverages that I was of the legally required age, I had to look roughly adult enough, and back that up with an authentically crafted fake-id. I possessed the latter, but  I appeared no older than a particularly seasoned 14.  My freckles damned me to sobriety and celibacy.  There can be nothing worse when you are 17 years old and horny enough to shag a knotty fence post. My inability to resemble anything but a pubescent nerd relegated me to the status of ‘hanger-on’, surely the worst social station for a young bloke to occupy.

These days I could care less. I’m more like I was as a 7 year old, comfortable in my own speckled skin and largely indifferent to what my peers might think, at least when it comes to my uneven distribution of melanin. If anything, my freckles are a positive feature. They lend me a youthful, boyish appearance that I am more inclined to cultivate than cover over.

There are cultures that view freckles as a cosmetic scourge. The upwardly mobile certainly don’t want any skin-deep links to the sun-baked peasantry. In China, there is a large market for a wide variety of skin creams and other noxious, potentially toxic remedies that promise to fade or completely remove them.  Even the ancient practice of Qigong offers techniques for elimination of any unwanted pigmentation.

The Japanese word ‘bihaku‘ translates to ‘beautiful white’ and is the fashion for white skin that has existed throughout the archipelago for many centuries.  Again, the most popular methods for achieving a fair and even complexion entail the application of creams that either lighten the skin, inhibit the production of melanin, or simple mask freckles and other blemishes. Younger Japanese women have been moving away from this predilection for whitened skin.  An extreme example was the ‘Ganguro‘ style, first appearing in the 1990s and peaking around the early 2000s, characterised by bleached blonde or grey-streaked hair, and a deep tan. The Ganguro fashion was viewed as a rejection of the traditional contraints imposed by Japanese society, and an open defiance of school dress codes and regulations.

Back in the West, things are looking up for we freckly people, as the  fashion world has decided we are back in um, er, fashion. Unblemished skin is boring they say. Freckly is sexy, interesting and cool. At least until someone writing for Vogue magazine decides we aren’t.

For now, we enjoy another spotty moment in the sun, courtesy of the mainstream media. Regardless of what the the arbiters of beauty say, freckles are in our genes, they are an integral part of our code, and for now, that cannot be overwritten. Nor should it be. I will celebrate what I my ancestors passed to me.

Conqueror, the premium paper brand from Arjowiggins Creative Papers, announces its “Typographic Games“,a creative challenge on the theme of sport. There is Gold, Silver and Bronze glory for the world’s fittest designers and a coveted ticket to the 2012 Olympics in London for the top medalist. The graphic design and typographic poster competition is open to creatives around the world and runs from November 2011 to April 2012. Entry is free and the only requirement is that their graphics incorporate the phrase “It’s not what you win, but how you conquer it”. Full competition details are available to download at: www.conqueror.com/typographicgames

Typographer Jean François Porchez will head the international jury of leading typographers and designers who will judge the entries and pick the medal winners. Porchez designed five bespoke “Conqueror” typefaces as part of the “It’s Not What You Say, It’s How You Say It” award-winning campaign, which re-launched the Conqueror brand in 2010. Judging for the Typographic Games will take place in London in May 2012. In addition to the top prize VIP trip to the Olympic Games there are customised Nike trainers for five Silver medalists and international exposure for the Gold, Silver and Bronze winners; all will find fame through a special edition booklet distributed with an international design magazine and an exhibition in London in June 2012.

Tim Smith/The Brandon Sun

Brandon, Manitoba based Tim Smith is a photojournalist with a distinguished career for one so young. He’s bagged an impressive list of national and international awards for his photography. His tear sheets include some big names, including The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, The Guardian (UK), The Independent (UK), and The Globe and Mail. I first became aware of him through his magnetic contributions to Canadian Geographic magazine.

A seminal moment in Tim’s career came when he started as a freelancer for the Edmonton Sun, working alongside highly experienced, award-winning photographers. Under their guidance, he fine-tuned his skills and further developed his style. This eventually led to him taking a staff position with the Brandon Sun. “I knew I was going to a much smaller newspaper but the challenge of producing quality work in a smaller market appealed to me. Knowing that Managing Editor James O’Connor really valued photography cemented my decision to take the job”.

Prairie life is a recurring subject throughout Tim’s work. Hailing from a country with equally vast, open spaces, I share a kindred appreciation. Driving across Manitoba with my wife in 2010, I felt at home under those cobalt blue skies. I gazed across a seemingly boundless, cultivated landscape, flat as a billiard table, while dark and brooding clouds in the distance coalesced into storms, and the connection was made.

Australia’s wheatbelt narrative, while superficially similar, is to the prairies as contradistinctive as the wildlife of these two great lands. My real interest lies not in the parallels, but in the differences. In particular, the contrasting odysseys of the people that have made their mark upon the land. Most intriguing of them are, for me, the Hutterites.

Although Tim’s work is not limited to these folk, I am drawn to his depiction of Hutterite colony existence. He captures the simplicity, honesty and harmony of a peaceful splinter group, who have threaded themselves indelibly into the colourful tapestry of the Canadian story. In Tim’s own words: “My goal is to capture narratives and feelings, not just moments”.

Tim Smith/The Brandon Sun

Tim Smith/The Brandon Sun

Tim Smith/Brandon Sun

Tim Smith/Brandon Sun

I’ve decided to herald the works of new breed Russian fashion photographers, beginning with the bewitching visual artistry of Andrey Yakolev and Lili Aleeva. Andrey is the photographer half of the Moscow based team, while Lili is responsible for the inspired art direction.

To date, I haven’t been successful at learning more about the dynamic duo, so for the time being, they’ll continue in their guise as the enigmatic talent behind this stunning set of glamour photos, handpicked from an extensive portfolio of works. If Andrey or Lili do happen upon this page, then I’d love to chat more about your work.

Today’s trite aphorism is courtesy of Dieter Rams: Good design is long-lasting. I would add to that : Good design is widely copied. The Fender Stratocaster exemplifies both.

In 1954, Leo Fender, George Fullerton and Freddie Tavares created one of the most enduring and recognizable examples of industrial design music has ever seen. The “Strat” is still in production today, testimony to the qualities that made it such a groundbreaking instrument back in the Fabulous Fifties. Even Leo Fender was surprised at how the Stratocaster surpassed his expectations. The shape, immediately familiar to us now as the quintessential solid body guitar, was radical and futuristic when first introduced over five decades ago.

Innovations included the two piece body, which allowed owners to replace the neck, and not the entire guitar, if the frets wore out. The contoured form and light weight of the Strat made it comfortable to hold, and the double cutaways gave players access to higher positions on the neck. Guitarists also had the option of setting the bridge into a ‘floating’ position, allowing them to modulate the pitch of notes being played by moving the attached tremolo arm.

Over the years, the pantheon of guitar heroes who have owned Strats has grown considerably.  Arguably, just about every great rock track in the past 50 years has been played on either a Strat, or a Gibson Les Paul (I’ll get to Gibson in a future post). Buddy Holly was one of the first guitar greats to popularise the Stratocaster, along with Paul McCartney and John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck, Ry Cooder, Eric Clapton, Dave Gilmour, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Ronnie Wood, Pete Townshend and a host of others. Many music professionals prefer the Fender bell-like tone, or “Fender tone”, a trait of the single-coil pickups. Fender also produce a range of signature models. The Eric Clapton Stratocaster is one such guitar from the manufacturer’s ‘Artist’ Series.

Of all the design objects of desire I have admired, I am the least qualified to write on the Strat. Perhaps a reader will let me mash out a few notes on a left-handed Stratocaster.  If that kind of charity still exists, I’ll get to scratch another one from the bucket list.