When people think of my home town of Toronto, they often remark on the CN tower (a phallic antenna that stretches high above the skyline,) or the frenetic pace of a space where people don’t make eye contact as they rush by, feet padding pavement, nose to the grindstone.
In fact, Toronto is far more complex; an oasis of small neighbourhoods, all with their own flavor and rhythm. Take, for example, Toronto Island, the largest car-free community in North America. Created in 1958 following a violent storm that severed the spit from the mainland, the islands remain a part of the city, but apart from the pace.
I have a long and complex relationship with Toronto island. Memories of late night bonfires and first kisses with boys who were nothing but trouble. Today, 262 cottages remain on the island, and a small community of residents call the space home. They’re a notoriously complex community, often stereotyped as aging artists and hippies with a sense of entitlement and a bone to pick with those who interfere. In reality, they’re just people with families, trying to live their lives. Now.
In the coming months I will (attempt) to capture something of this complex wilderness that rests across the bay from my own urban jungle.
Afternoon at the Island
On the ferry
Bonfire on the beach
