The Miniaturisation of Manhattan

View from Staten Island Ferry

October 2010

The original intention was to get a close up view of the Statue of Liberty without fees or lineups. We waited our turn, sighing at the expected time allocation upon viewing the large formation of people who shared our destination. However, as the crowd spilled out of the terminal and onto the dock like a herd of cattle assembling into the field, we realised there would be no delay; we were all going to get aboard at the same time!

I did see the Statue of Libery but I didn't expect to become mesmerised by New York City's majestic skyline! I took one photograph after another until I made myself stop and just watch. Watch as the water gurgled in our wake, watch as the distance opened up a wider and wider view of the coastline, watch as Manhattan grew smaller and tidier. With its logos and taxis and inhabitants diminished to obscurity, the city stands tall, methodical and placid, a smooth collection of architectural shapes rising out of its massive river blanket.

I imagine people who commute via these ample orange vessels derive a great feeling of calm at the end of a busy day, whichever side of her route they are leaving. I wonder if travelling by water allows them to more easily separate work from home thereby realising greater refuge from whatever vocation calls them away each morning. I like to think that they breathe a sigh of relief as they release the frustrations of their harried workday overboard, and watch as they are swallowed up by the water and left there to swirl away with the foam.

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved



Distillery District - Toronto

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

The Distillery District in Toronto is a Victorian  pedestrian village brimming with everything that is hip and innovative. What used to be a thriving distillery operation in is now a sumptuous collaboration of cafes, galleries, shops, theatres, restaurants, and more. From the charismatic cobblestone streets that taunt your heels to the lavish building exteriors of jutted wood, grainy brick, and rugged stone, there is as much texture in its surfaces as there is in its cultural offerings. I have been wanting to go there and unleash my camera for some time now.

This past weekend, I finally ventured there.. at night, no less. You may wonder why I would choose nighttime to explore such a eclectic neighbourhood for my first time and be deprived of an unobstructed overview of all of its offerings. This wasn't originally my intention but it was either visit at night or visit during another excursion on another day, so without hesitation, I chose the former. Of course, it didn't take long to realise that this was a smart move. Now I have experienced the area in all of its nocturnal ambiance. I have seen just a hint of it, a glimpse, providing a sort of mystique that wouldn't be possible if daylight had previously revealed everything to me all at once..

The imposing structure above is now home to shops, one called Lileo, so identified. However, the map on the distillery's website affectionately refers to the original names of the buildings, identifying their reason for being, and provides the list of its current inhabitants in the legend. Thanks to this information, I now know that this is a photograph of what used to be The Maltings. Now as I read the names on the map, I recognised that many of the current business titles pay homage to their structures' original functions: Pure Spirits Oyster House is in the original "Pure Spirits" building, The Boiler House Restaurant where the "Boiler House" actually used to be... even Mill Street Brewery has a Tank House Ale tipping its hat to the tank houses, three of which still exist.

Quidi Vidi Village - Newfoundland

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

Here, nestled in a quiet little corner of Quidi Vidi, lives a modest, sky blue house. The water laps at its web of long sun-bleached legs, like a constantly enveloping hug, dependable and familiar. Of course the ocean is not always as friendly as it appears on this particular day - at times it is quite tumultuous and barbaric, but the house does not hold a grudge. It just becomes stronger and more resilient.

This house is content just to be. It cares not what the birds think of its meagre roof, doesn't crumble under whispers made by grander, more refined dwellings, is amused by the fact that some of the watercraft gliding along on its watery front lawn consume more square footage than it does. Conversely, it probably has no inkling of the waves of tourists who delight in its presence, who clamour to capture its image as one more dimension of their East Coast experience, who revel in its hardiness. It doesn't mind either way. It derives enjoyment from the seasoning that the myriad of visitors sprinkle onto its day, providing a refreshed view at any given hour, and keeping life just right in its own patchwork of liquid and light.

Shot during a visit to the Steam Whistle Brewery in September 2010. Whether inside its historial home or browsing its surroundings, there was an abundance of photographic opportunities...

Are we viewing something in its usual environment or is it out of context?

Do you see tension or tenacity?

Is there too much focus or are there not enough elements in focus?

Can you assume that motion is about to occur or did we miss it already?

Did the scant application of paint take a few intentional hours of technique or countless candid years of exposure to the elements?

Are you the top hook or the bottom hook?

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

Conception Bay South, Newfoundland

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

Although this is a photograph I took last year in Newfoundland, it totally echoes the damp chilly air in Southern Ontario on this very day. I don't say this with disdain, however, I am just stating a fact. I am completely fine with weather that makes you want to cocoon with a chunky, homeknit sweater or any other warm, comforting mass of your choosing..

Contrary to popular weather reporting belief, not everyone considers an afternoon of diving temperatures and misty air fodder for complaint. Granted, I would not like every day to be like this. But that is precisely the point: I wouldn't want every day to be bright and sunny either. Some people say they would like to live down south and have summer all the time, but for me, the changing of the seasons not only elicit appreciation for each new one (and reprieve from continuous hot or cold temperatures) but each season brings with it something new to do/wear/eat/begin/etc. Is there not a sense of renovation at the start of the school year? A sense of renewal as we welcome spring?