Delta Armoury Reflection in London, ON

 

"...the grass is always greener but you still have to cut it..." - Hawksley Workman

 

 

Usually, when the urge to get away pokes at the arm and tickles at the sides, plans are knit together for an evening away at a hotel, usually in Toronto. In August, however, the decision was embraced to stay in London instead. Here was a city I had never explored but one with which my travelling companion had developed close relations while achieving a degree at Western University some years ago.

Unbeknownst to me during the planning stages, this trip would end up tickling more than just one of my sides. It indulged my creative side, my musical side, my dreamy side, and my determined side that perpetually aspires to do more. Inspiration nudged up against me many times. Thankfully, I took notes.

So plans were made to visit London and stay at the gorgeously renovated Delta Armoury, but that's about it. Other than a sold-out Hawksley Workman concert at Aeolian Hall, there weren't any events that caught our eye. But that was fine - there was market-hopping and window-gazing and idea-mingling to facilitate our desire for an escape. The concert tickets remained in the backs of our minds, but the possibility of attending was creeping further and further away as the start time approached. Mere hours before the show, we finally scored entry thanks to an early morning hail-mary Kijiji ad seeking a pair tickets to the show!

I had first discovered the music of the quirky and passionate Hawksley Workman about fifteen years ago when I stumbled upon Jealous of Your Cigarette. (be honest: you're intrigued...) That was the only song I really knew, but over the years his name would occasionally surface and I came to view him as a creative and serious musician. Then I became enamoured with Oh You Delicate Heart and sought out more.

Experiencing his music live exceeded all expectations!! It was at times mesmerising and whimsical and intriguing but overall thoroughly entertaining. Everyone in the room seemed to know his music and some even gravitated towards the stage as the show went on to dance and become further entranced. My favourite takeaway from this concert was the discovery of his We'll Make Time, a song performed early in a repertoire of music largely unfamiliar to me, but one that I knew I would retain as a favourite.

While purchasing actual takeaways from the show, we caught up with friends spotted in the crowd, a charismatic couple known thanks to past jobs and schooling. Here were two people who had taken risks earlier in life to further their crafts, each one boldly proposing significant writing projects without any concern about whether their ideas would be accepted. But accepted they were - one of them has made a career out of cranking out episode guides to several very popular television shows. And that's just a side venture!!

The following day, we ventured to Western University and meandered around its bookstore. Along with a few good bookmarks, I happened to pick up Molly Birnbaum's Season to Taste, a descriptive and sensory memoir about embracing life changes and taking control of the next steps. In short, imagine an aspiring chef suddenly losing her sense of smell! You don't have to be a whiz in the kitchen to appreciate how that could derail someone's life path.

Aside from the inspirational message, this book resonated with me for a few reasons:

I was out of routine and still under the spell of an insanely expressive musician who didn't hesitate to put himself out there.

I discovered it while standing within a university, a destination I still wish I had pursued when I was younger.

And I was holding a personal accomplishment in my hand that I, myself, strive to produce, one that I know would be easier for me to realise if I read other people's words more often.

But why this particular book? The truth is I am a sucker for good presentation, and I would be lying if I said I didn't pick it up because of the cover: a simple row of mason jars, each one filled with a unique, unrefined food item. And the really interesting thing is if I had happened to come across the alternate edition, with the cover image of a woman sitting at a kitchen table, it would not have caught my eye at all. Funny how certain designs speak to certain people!

See below for two links that should serve to tickle any curiosity that may have surfaced from reading my impressions. I've described experiences that on the surface aren't related, but combined into one excursion, they continue to inspire and push me to reach some of the most substantial - and ultimately, achievable - goals on my list.

http://hawksleyworkman.com/2010/videos/the-delicious-wolves-videos/
http://mollysmadeleine.blogspot.ca/

View from CN Tower

"You see, boys, the world looks much different from up here."

Robin Williams as John Keating in Dead Poet's Society

My kids would talk about wanting to go up in the CN Tower on occasion, even going as far as to state they would stand on its glass floor, but I knew it was just aimless proclamation. We had once attempted to visit the Skylon Tower (and venture higher than its midway game level!) but my oldest held back and admitted that he was too nervous to go to the top, so we both knew that the CN Tower was out of the question. Talk about being aware of your limitations!

It was in May of 2009 that we finally let one of those famous yellow pods whisk us up the 775 feet to the top of the Skylon. The experience of looking down at Niagara Falls and other familiar venues in this illustrious city proved to incite excitement, not trepidation, so I knew they'd be fine going even higher up.

So three months later, on a molten August afternoon, we ascended another 360 feet into Ontario's sky to drink in the sweeping view of Toronto. It proved to be a wonderful experience, right from the beginning. 2009 was the first year that the GO Train provided weekend service from Niagara Falls to Toronto so, as an alternative to driving to a city which was, at that time, relatively unfamiliar to me, we parked at the St. Catharines Via Station and I got to sit back and relax the whole way!

The lineup to secure a spot in one of this tower's pods felt as long as its ascension. I was slightly annoyed at myself for failing to anticipate this... with minimal diversion paraphernalia, it proved to be the only taxing portion of the whole trip. I don't remember exactly how taxing... I just recall that it was a long time for little people to stand in one spot and wait their turn!

But I do remember the rush of wonder that befell their faces upon looking through one of those panes of glass. I was mesmerized myself, only having been up there once before when I was a teenager, so I can't imagine what it must have been like for children whose highest views were typically realised by climbing the steps of a playground slide! We sat at this spot for a long time, our eyes skipping along the tops of office buildings and following insect-like vehicles along ruler-like streets, and even bearing witness to an aerial proposal!

When we followed the steps up to the next level, however, the flame was abruptly extinguished as my oldest caught a glimpse of the glass floor. It was as if reality hit him and he became blazingly aware of how high we were actually standing! My youngest thought it was cool, and when he realised how nervous his brother was, it became even cooler! He sprawled out and looked up at us, which even made my legs a little jittery. The location of my feet in this picture illustrates how much of the the glass I allowed my feet to cover... I wasn't too comfortable with the imagery myself. But my oldest was done. It was suddenly time to go! I guess sometimes the excursion out of our comfort zone is best experienced through a window that is in a position that is familiar to our eyes!

I had heard about something called a Screaming Tunnel years ago and always retained the understanding that I would never ever feel the need to visit a place that warranted such a title.

But luckily, the bite of the photography bug stuns my hesitation and I usually find myself sliding my fears into my back pocket while in pursuit of the picture (see August 8, 2010 entry for further proof of this)

So I was feeling adventurous one afternoon and upon the urging of my work colleagues, I made up my mind to at least drive up to this notorious limestone passageway and witness it firsthand. In all fairness, I should confess that I didn't undertake this little spelunking expedition solo; I brought my nine-year old son along with me...... because, well, you know, he had heard of it as well and was interested in seeing it and it wouldn't have been nice to go somewhere cool like that without him....... yeah.. that's why!

I had googled the route, which was much more straightforward than I'd thought, and after making the final turn in its direction, the Screaming Tunnel's existence could not have been more visible if it had been flanked with streamers and had an assembly of balloons frolicking at its entrance! I shuddered at its nearness and continued driving forward to the cul-de-sac where I paused a moment before turning around and putting my vehicle into park directly in front of it. If phase one was driving to its doorstep, phase two was walking up and knocking on its door... so to speak.

My son thought it looked cool, but was disappointed at how shallow it was. I think we had both expected that it would be a longer, darker pathway, a tunnel so deep that it escaped from the light and kept its exit eerily out of view. He jumped out and motioned for me to follow him. He expressed only a moment of hesitation at its entrance before bounding forward, calling me and reminding me that it's not so scary after all and would I get out of the jeep already!! I obliged and stepped slowly towards the looming archway. 

Earlier in the day, at the comfort of my work cubicle, I would never have thought I'd actually walk through, but here I was at the fifth hour, penetrating its infamously haunted air and walking breathlessly towards the exit! Phase three.. check! I took pictures of my vehicle from the other side as proof that I'd actually walked through and I shot several at each entrance but I shot nothing from directly inside.. because that would have required my STOPPING while inside!! But it was an interesting spot, just the sort of historical construction that I love to photograph, and it felt good to conquer my fear.. especially when I was so sure earlier that I would never be able to do it.

I have personally chosen not to delve into the legends and lore of this steadfast underpass in my blog, but if you would like to rattle your creepy bone a little bit, here is a link just for you:
http://www.ghostwalks.com/14_niagara_screamingtunnel.html

A Toronto Island Pedestrian Bridge and its Scribbled Reflection

We slide into our saucy little powerboat - ours for the next hour and a half - and stow our cameras and other necessities safely at our feet. After a noisy sprint across Toronto's inner harbour, steering comfortably clear of the airport buoys and avoiding the path of the ferries, it is now time to explore. With the throttle pulled down to a hum, we cruise the channels of the many islands that sit in awe (or is it nonchalance?) of that instantly familiar yet metamorphic urban skyline. Rows and rows of sailboats float impatiently on either side of our path, their masts growing up out of the water like stiff reeds, sulking at having to spend this refreshing afternoon suffocatingly moored to dry land. Fingers of elodea that wave to us as we float above their tall stalks become more plentiful as we make our way through the waterway, unwittingly wrapping themselves around the propeller, and only releasing upon being spun in reverse!

It is neat to see evidence of the city on these natural, unassuming land masses, with the City of Toronto's city hall logo visible on everything from Fire Station 335 to a solitary blue recycle bin, not to mention the presence of the CN Tower looking uncharacteristically out of place protruding from this most agrestic of landscapes!!

It has turned out to be a beautiful afternoon, much sunnier and dryer now than in its preceding hours. We ride along our liquid trail beneath many things: the string of red and yellow shaded seats of Centreville's Sky Ride, distinctive bridges such as the one in my photograph which I believe stretches out to Olympic Island, the occasional Porter flight, and of course, a picturesque blue sky satisfyingly accessorised with fleecy white clouds. We leave nothing in our wake but a gentle ripple, and perhaps a few cares that we really didn't need to bring back to land anyway..

Bloor Street, Scallops, and Red Shoes

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

It's fun to think that Holt Renfrew's visual merchandisers knew that we would be strolling by their massive Bloor Street store the day after an intimate evening with Sarah McLachlan and as such, ensured that her contribution was added to their whimsical Accessories Event window display just for us. And even though that is not the case, it was an ordinary little miracle that punctuated a weekend escape to Toronto quite nicely.

Arriving at Massey Hall with mere minutes to spare after feverishly but patiently navigating Friday evening traffic was also a miracle. As I finally relaxed and settled into my well-positioned seat, my own piece of auditory history if only for a few hours, I looked around at the majestic pillars rising out of the burnished wooden mezzanine. My gaze floated upwards and I studied the scalloped beams and soaring ceiling, noticably weathered from, among other things, a century of being tapped and stroked and pounded by every note and chord imaginable.

Sarah's contribution to these auditory archives was delivered with exquisite character and passion, and did not disappoint. She is a true performer, not only when accompanied by instruments and back up vocals (more on that in a moment!), but she is very personable, engaging us by answering questions submitted by the very audience for whom she was performing. I think we were all rooting for the guy who had the courage to ask her out for drinks and was lucky enough to have had his slip of paper find its way into her grasp as she was reaching into her hat for the next question!!

In addition to having the opportunity to bask in the Sarah experience, we were also introduced to three of her backup musicians: Butterfly Boucher, Luke Doucet, and his wife, Melissa McClelland (the engaging owner of the title shoes whose Segovia continues to leave me spellbound, via my iPod) These performers provided an unexpectedly enjoyable addition to an already terrific concert, and it was so refreshing to see a headlining act switch places with her backup singers, and let them shine as she assumed an accompanying microphone. But I suppose it isn't at all a stretch for a musician and lyricist from Canada's East coast who admits to the world (ok, to Toronto) that she is unable to live without music in her life. That's just the kind of person and performer she is!

Drive-by Shooting in Toronto

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

I love images like this, which you have probably already deduced by now if you do come to Salt, Angles, and Elation for the occasional visit. I'm not really sure why distressed-looking relics of a distant day appeal to me. Upon selecting this particular image for my post tonight, I mused about this and came up with a few satisfying linguistic combinations: tenaciously weathered... rustically charismatic... inherently functional... refreshingly asymmetrical... 

Delving into it a little deeper, I decide that lingering solely over this trailer's two-dimensional existence allows me to virtually explore it without burden. I imagine touching it without having to worry about inadvertently acquiring a splinter or encountering a web-encased stowaway. I can enjoy its likely history without having to expend energy on its upkeep or to make room on my property for its sizable footprint. I also find myself drawn in by its perfectly affixed hardware.. I am actually longing to slide the metal rod upwards and slip it out of its position! Not because I feel the need to open the gate necessarily; it's just that I see potential motion. Besides, when you think about it, half of a lock's reason for existence is to unlock. It's probably very good at it, too.

And then, perhaps it is the origins of the photograph itself that entrance me. I captured it while sitting comfortably in a passenger seat, awaiting an illuminated colour change at a downtown intersection, blissfully immersed in an intermission from my routine of active duty. Don't get me wrong: I love everything about my routine as well as my daily intentional lack thereof, which you also 'get' if you've been here before! I simply delight in an intriguing change of scenery while indulging in an abundance of uninterrupted deep breathing. Couldn't we all use that from time to time? Long ago, I stopped waiting for it to appear at my door... now I either take advantage of being offered the means to an escape and turn it into what I need or just go out and concoct one on my own. It's all good.

A Day of One's Own

You know how some people, on the day that commemorates their birth, pretend that that particular day is not surrounding them, and instead quietly hold their breath until it's over, until they can tear away their page-a-day reminder that they have become a year older? I wonder if these are the same people who impatiently count down five days of every week, merely existing and plodding through the motions until they have gleefully arrived at the two that makes them want to devour life, only to dread starting the agonising process all over again on Monday?

Well I am neither of these people! While I ardently, intentionally or unintentionally, derive some form of pleasure from each and every one of my days, I thoroughly enjoy my birthday, the day of me. I have been thinking about it all week, deciding that just because it is my birthday, I am just going to do whatever makes me happiest: savour some decadently dark chocolate in the afternoon, spend a lunchhour meandering around Winners in pursuit of something stimulating, share the happiness that I feel for life with a fellow Aries.... but then I realised that I pretty much do things like this all the time! 

So, just because, I thought it would be fun to share a few of my thoughts on how to enjoy life.... Christine style:

Seek out the little details and revel in them.

Perched in a doorway of the Anglican Church of the Redeemer on Bloor Street, Toronto       

Unabashedly indulge in that which causes you to smile from the inside out.

Holt Renfrew window display, Bloor Street, Toronto

Marvel in your body as it exists.

 

Regularly and unapologetically surrender
to the whims of your passions.

 




Seize any opportunity

to revisit your childhood home.



Labrador City, Newfoundland. May 1992



Frequently contemplate your surroundings.



    

Behave like an enthralled tourist,

whether vacationing or not.

But vacation often.



Whitehall Subway Station, Manhattan

 

Relish each and every occurence of your birthday!

My Grandmother, August 2000



Air Canada  Flight 452

Boeing 767 en route to Ottawa

June 2010

Okay, this was so worth the extra ten thousand Aeroplan miles! Of course I DID use them out of necessity to secure the flight times that facilitated my making this trip at all.... but I figured hey, if that meant flying executive class.. surely I could muster up the strength to get myself through the ordeal somehow ...!!

Earlier today, I got to nestle into one of the Maple Leaf lounge's leather armchairs and sip a gratis cappucino with the June issue of the Walrus draped brazenly across my lap thinking 'This is who I should be all the time,'. But who was I kidding.. I was much too enthusiastic to pull off first class lounge habituation. Most of the guests don't even realise there are windows up here let alone gaze wide-eyed out of them at the sight of all the planes taxiing around their ashphalt playground before disappearing into the vast celestial highway. I further exposed my naivety by proceeding to carry my empty mug to the dirty dishes bin and disposing of my shortbread wrapper in the wastebucket before returning my borrowed magazine to its home amongst the rows of wooden racks. I grinned as I imagined how the other travellers must have been chuckling at me from behind their illuminated BlackBerry screens as they left their own leavings for the wait staff's disposal. Okay, they probably didn't notice me at all! But I'm delighted that I made the effort to come check this place out upon learning that I had a half an hour before departure. (As it turned out, my flight was grossly delayed much longer than that due to the G20 summit that was in full rage that same weekend!! But I didn't allow that to put a damper on my experience. After all, it did provide the opportunity for me to see Air Force One, among other international aviation representatives, from my jet window, which was pretty darn cool!)

So upon finally boarding and encountering a much shorter aisle walk than I'm used to, I find myself sinking into one of these tidy little pods. My own little corner of avionic heaven! I smile at my inherited ability to stretch out far enough to place my feet against the footrest across from me. During the flight, I partake in every little perk that is cheerfully offered to me.. a selection of wines shortly after takeoff, a steamed hand towel draped over my fingers with tongs, oh my... is that a chocolate croissant she is bringing to me? ummm yes I'll have that! I can't believe some people get to fly like this all the time!! And they are so accustomed to it!! Indifferent even! Well, I sure am content to have created the opportunity to experience it once and I fully intend to squeeze from it every last drop of opulence that I can!

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved



Both sides of Queen Street West, Toronto

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

I am looking at a row of stores, teeming with clever merchandising displays, trance inducing sale racks, and the next big deal.... a cavalcade of retail rendezvous and commercial camaraderie. But at which side of the street am I actually looking? What I really see is the building behind me, which is the same view that the people inhabiting the floors above EB Games and clic klak are viewing. Mirrored architectural facades are a bit of a guilty pleasure with me; I always find myself enthralled by very simple concepts such as these, and so indulge. I like to imagine how much more interesting a city's streets would be if every historic building were able to look across the street and see its own reflection, or to muse about how flat and colourless this building might be without its vermillion costume of bricks and arches. I suppose if a storefront were situated across from a derelict, hulking shell of a structure, one would not want to apply reflective panes to its exterior. But here, it works. I also enjoy the way a clean image on one side is delightfully distorted on the other, a watery, stylised version of a predictable arrangement.

This was taken on one of my favourite days of 2010, a late afternoon jaunt full of autumn freshness, intriguing photographic exploration, and a breezy, schedule-free itinerary... it was one of those episodes that found me dangling before everything stimulating, frequently with a unabashedly silly grin on my face. I think as adults, we don't engage in enough frivolous downtime, we don't often allow ourselves an afternoon to guiltlessly unhook our responsibilities and toss them into the trunk with the other incidentals as we purposely seek out a locale that inspires us... or simply causes us to grin incessantly. Of course length of exposure and quality of human accompaniment affect the effectiveness of such an escape, both of which satisfied my needs quite nicely on the day in question!

The Chateau Laurier in Ottawa

                                                                                                                                     © Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

So it would really be fine with me if my living room were to exude the character and class of the lobby of the Chateau Laurier.. I love that there is so much space but yet the furniture is arranged to instigate intimate conversation or perhaps a spirited exchange of opinions or even some provocative banter. How could any interaction be mundane while surrounded by rich, stately mahogany walls adorned with exquisite evidence of Karsh's photographic wisdom and artistry.. nary a lego brick or beheaded Nintendo figure or diminished crayon in sight. I love elementary creative play, but this.. this is a place for elegance and sophistication.. at least it is in my mind:

I step onto the lush carpet, breathtakingly adorned in a crimson floor-length Vera Wang gown and sky high Christian Louboutin pumps. The plunging neckline is gracefully bare, providing a silky backdrop for the sparkling chandeliers that are dancing suggestively from my earlobes. I am promptly greeted by the one smiling face that I intensely wanted to see and soon find myself the recipient of some proficiently delivered compliments that coat my ears like warm literary chocolate.  My expression ameliorates into a unavoidable smile as I accept the warm, outstretched hand that hovers before me and drift through the door in a swirl of satin leaving nothing behind but invisible streams of air delicately infused with Chanel No. 5.

CN and Me: A Tale of Two (?) Reflections

                                                                                                                                          © Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

I couldn't resist posting this untouched image of four different views of downtown Toronto. For tourists who journey to our vast country, either from their own exotic country or from a different corner of the same vast country) the CN Tower is a coveted view that simply must be securely packaged up inside their travelling camera. I suppose, however, that for those tourists who have become locals (like me) who choose to vigorously and enthusastically retain their tourist-like status of awe in their day to day excusions (like me!), the goal exceeds that of simply acquiring its likeness. We strive instead to compose an image of individuality, something that's a little different from the predictable postcard, something that allows one to examine the mighty tower from a different angle, or capturing something that perhaps makes one wonder where in the city that particular perspective would be viewable.... so how about it... any guesses??

Ottawa's Rideau Canal in February of 2009

                                                                                                                                                    © Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

I decide against renting a pair of skates and instead give myself permission to enjoy the frozen Rideau Canal flatfooted. I am just content to be present in this invigorating city during their celebration of winter, drinking in the wondrous expanse of crystal clear blue and white, inhaling air so strikingly fresh that it speared at the inside of my nose upon greeting me this morning, a feeling that used to be routinely aggravating but that now makes me smile as I remember my Northern childhood. I close my eyes for a few moments, discerning the sound of refined steel blades slicing happily into the ice, gliding smoothly over its surface while leaving behind etchings of swirls and signatures.

In the summer, this is a fluid trail for canoes and ducks, as joggers and cyclists trace its banks in great numbers on welcoming manicured trails. But now, it has become the trail, providing an alternate route for those who wish to literally venture off the beaten path. Why not take advantage of something different, something that is accessible for only a few months of the year?

Ottawa's inhabitants vigorously embrace their outdoors, not only enjoying physical activity outdoors, but resting there as well, setting up huts and creating edible wares that waft their delectable smells to the masses, beckoning skaters to come take a break! After a long satisfying stroll, I succumb to the temptation and I buy myself a cup filled to the brim with one of the greatest concoctions known to winter: a steaming marriage of molten chocolate and earthy coffee. I scan the borderless cafe in search of an available chair, which is not immediately evident amidst so many enthusiastic Canadians. Finally, I locate a place to sit and be. I wrap my fingers around the piping hot receptacle and savour the rich flavours it is holding for me. I breathe deeply and revel in the feeling of spending my afternoon among so many like-minded beings, outdoors in the winter sunshine, my soft blue gloves waiting patiently for me on the carved wooden cafe table.

Stratford, Ontario in December

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

As we descend upon our placid aqueous avenue, we hear you complaining about the gelid wind as it brazenly slaps your cheeks and taunts your down-filled garmets into which you are desperately cocooned until the soft breath of springtime. Even on an afternoon such as this, refreshingly infused with invigorating air calmly hovering over a blanket of virgin snow, you are bothered.

We're not entirely sure that we understand this aversion to winter. Is this not the season that welcomes holiday camaraderie, lavish generosity, and lush displays of evergreens and holly? Is there something wrong with decelerated evenings spent surrounded by layers of quilted coverings and a like-minded individual?

Surely, there must be a few examples of your species who will unabashedly embrace this season for its exhilerating temperament and appreciate all of its bracing qualities. As a matter of fact, we see them, occasionally, meandering along the snow-crusted banks of our world, eagerly capturing photographs and exploring the nuances of our city as the evening rolls in. 

As for us, we revel in the changing of the seasons. Today, we're content to be flying over a pristine, uncluttered view enroute to our happy place, where we will congregate with some of our favourite winged creatures, as we do every evening.

Distillery District - Toronto, ON

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

I shot this on the night that I learned how to use my camera.

I didn't own a tripod at the time so most of the handheld pictures I took were, to be nice, technically inadequate... the lines almost indiscernible, splaying all over the image with a complete disregard for aesthetics and reason.... the lights erratically exploding and dominating the image, completely altering the mood it was intending to portray. However, I have retained all of the shots from that night, even the duds, because they illustrate my foray into night photography, documenting my attempts at better understanding aperture and shutter speed and the intimate relationship they share. I am finally able to absorb and manipulate what my light meter has always been trying to tell me instead of brazenly overlooking it yet again. I just hope that it can forgive me for ignoring it all of these years.

My love affair with light was intensely elevated on that night and I do believe that it marked the beginning of a exquisitely renewed and potentially fruitful relationship with my Nikon.

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.

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

In a classy city like Toronto, the streets are like aisles upon aisles of candy just waiting to be devoured, treats to delight the eyes and stimulate the psyche on any day of the week.

I recently made the opportunity to partake in just one of these offerings: the Steam Whistle Brewery. I am a fan of the immensely refreshing beer, but I had no idea just how cool its birthplace is: Steam Whistle Brewing Company was conceived and created by three guys who refused to sit in the corner and cry upon losing their dream jobs but instead went on to create an even more perfect vocation not only for them, but for their enthusiastic and fortunate employees.

Some more reasons this place intrigued me so: this company has been greener than its retro bottles long before it was hip and essential to be green. It provides space for original and passionate local artists to showcase their work and retains one piece from each artist for its own growing collection. Finally, it lives and thrives in the historic John Street Roundhouse, happy to be occupying bays that had been used for servicing steam train cars, and proud to call the mighty CN Tower and energetic Rogers Centre its neighbours.
© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

National War Memorial

Confederation Square, Ottawa, Ontario

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

On the one day that allowed time for exploration during a fabulous weekend reunion in Ottawa, it poured! Now understand that I have no aversion to rain, and welcome any occurance of its presence.. as sustenance, as refreshment, as seasoning for landscapes that would eventually grow terribly boring if always viewed in clear, unfiltered sunshine. So, undaunted, I set out with my friends to drink a few of the sights of our charming capital city.

And even though my particular camera is vulnerable to the seeping damage that would inevitably occur upon exposure to condensation, I managed to take a few pictures! This one of a frequently captured image of the passion and grittiness of war, rendered even grittier with the addition of a little seasoning, served as just reward for my saturated efforts.

A few Toronto girls

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

You are looking at two of my all time favourite photos and no, I have no idea of which building it is!! I shot this during one of my first excursions into Toronto's urban playground, getting lost among the downtown melange of business people, tourists, and shoppers... just to name a few!

I thoroughly enjoyed this foray into the world of photography! While I was always the one with the compact camera tucked into my purse, I had never ventured into the delicious world of SLR photography until I started working for one of its most dynamic enthusiasts!! She wanted nothing to do with a classroom environment... so there we were, cameras in hand, mentoring and learning, eagerly sharing and eagerly absorbing. And at one point, I happened to look up and discovered these ladies looking down at me and I was hooked!

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

Power House, Welland, ON

© Christine Mastroianni, all rights reserved

I used to walk by the old Power House building at the corner of Lincoln and Hellems Streets in Welland and wonder what it was like inside. Abandoned for years, it was probably an eyesore to those in the proximity, but I always thought it was an interesting building to look at, with its power line fixtures in a row along the top. At one point it had actually become a women's gym, but I don't recall how long it was available for workouts before it was deserted again.

I recall seeing this quirky old floodlight and thinking: I should bring my camera over here sometime and take some pictures of it. I think what really motivated me to actually do it was when I passed by and saw that someone had smashed the glass inside of it. I decided I'd better hurry up and do it for fear it would disappear altogether some day. So I grabbed my old Miranda and walked over and shot a whole roll on the red brick building and all its nuances. I would have taken this sometime between 1999 and 2000 I guess.

The day after I did this, (and yes, it was exactly one day!) there was an army of Caterpillars on site to finally demolish the lonely, neglected building. Mere hours later, there was nothing left of the structure but crumbling framework and massive piles of bricks. Cleanup took a little longer of course, but to this day, there has still not been a replacement erected at the corner of Lincoln and Hellems Streets.