Suddenly, incongruously visible from the sidewalk upon which I tread, a beast unexpected.
Buck backlit ! My heart and mind appreciate the wash of sky mood enfolding its silhouetted presence, and then the context… juxtaposition humor’s urban bone.
I am “wow” lens. Ludicrous wildlife art installations abound in the downtown, this one floating in high key sunlight sheen held half back by cloud sulk. A grand old Victorian dame, some windows sadly bricked up but the building in use still, and around its corner another eye catching animalistic sculptation palpitator.
Lupine deuce. It is the underside howler who I most appreciate, leading to another frame inverted and processed with no restraint whatsoever wooooo.
Don’t like it? Bite me.
The city actually *has* coyotes, deer, foxes, all sorts of wildlife running amok within its neighborhoods and boundaries, but for some strange reason more and more art pieces of our less domesticated Earthlings are appearing everywhere. I must say I like it. Spat out gum and assorted windblown detritus on the streets needs to be freshened up with other types of stimuli.
So I walk, see, take picture slices off the bigness of Life. Twenty six years of living here and the pathways are well me-worn, but the enjoyment remains. The freedom and good health to partake, wide the fuck awake. Standing briefly at a railing in a small parkette where subway trains emerge below, I am subtracted back to ten years old, loving trains and the great lakes freighters, all the big jets landing and taking off at Pearson International.
The feet move west at the behest of a brain craving alternate takes on the mundane; the constant construction and endless angles.
It is a strange time of year. The lull of winter’s fade and still sleeping vegetation. There isn’t much of the photogenic to be found anywhere, but I click it walk it click it.
I walk past the 55-floor monster Four Seasons hotel, opened last October. Its shadow has placed a schoolyard nearby in perpetual recess shadow. I recall a protest that fell upon the deaf ears of big money. I remember far enough back when there existed a height restriction upon new construction in this city, but those days are long gone. Here are a couple of contextual images of and *from* the Four Seasons, not mine but good shots anyway, heh heh…
That view faces south from the hotel as it was being erected in its Yorkville (posh posh) location. The next shot looks north.
Back to street level on Bay street, I am glad for the lull between morning and afternoon rush multi-hours.
Even the upscale Yorkville streets are in a mid-seasons hush, and I stroll through with my warm but getting-ratty winter coat, photographing whatever I want and glad not to be filthy rich with orange tanning salon skin. Yorkville was once a hippie enclave, so I keep the old traditions alive when I stroll my long-haired cretinous self through its rarified air. What catches my eye most? A frou frou art gallery? The rows of pricy restaurants? Nope…
I quell an unreasonable urge to free that tree trunk from its bondage. Stupid humanity.
Even the normally busy Royal Ontario Museum is quiet on this cold grey day. I walk along its Bloor street facade for more pictures of the crazy addition that has defiled its architectural grace, then down through a winding path behind the building for other views and an eventual squirrel encounter with surrealist visual overtones.
And, ha ha ha ! Just did it. Just received notification that all space for this blog has been used up and I need to purchase a space upgrade. Hmmm. I am going to have to think on that one. I’ll post what I have and wish you a good day. If you don’t see me here anymore, you know what I decided :-)