The Red Blanket

I was walking along a beach, alone, a lonely beach, at dusk, with no particular goal, though I had my camera with me. 

At first, I only glanced at it. Another cast-off, perhaps washed ashore. I walked on. 

Had it covered a night of embraces in the fog and smoke that had enveloped us? 


Sometimes (maybe more often than I’d like) I go out with a camera and have no idea what I’m going to shoot. I just feel like carrying it with me and hope that something will inspire. This was the case the other night at Jericho Beach in Vancouver, when I wandered around. Walking back along the beach by the sailing centre, I saw large bubbles floating offshore. 


I’d visited Iona Island’s dog beach over the years, but hadn’t gone further, onto the spit, until a photographer friend suggested we do it one evening. A respite from the city, only a bridge away across the Fraser River, in this self-isolating Covid-19 era being able to walk free of mask and crowds, is a refreshing change. An ongoing project, the last image, of a fence lit by a car’s headlights, will lead me to the next visit, and photographing the people who drive here to socialize and party. 

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