I love poetry. I’ve been obsessed with it since I was an adolescent girl. So doing some portrait photography with the celebrated Victoria poet Linda Rogers, was extremely exciting, daunting, and not what I expected.
Linda and Rick are a few years my senior, and I can only aspire to be as creative, dynamic, politically aware, socially conscious, in love, and downright fun as the two of them are when I reach their age—heck, I’d be satisfied if I thought I was currently as enthralled and engaged with life as they are!
The creative energy these two have bounding off of them is reflected and alive in the environment of their home. Floor to ceiling, their Vic West house is literally covered in creations. Art they have either fashioned with their own two hands or gifts from family and friends. The house feels alive, creative energy seeps from the cracks in the walls, and pours out of the two of them. In my short time with them they told me about dozens of artistic or community-oriented ventures they either were currently working on, or had been a part of in the past.When I left Linda gave me 10 different books she had either written or collaborated on. In addition they gave me a knit hat she had made, a necklace that they had made, and an album called ‘Light Sweet Crude,’ where Rick plays the mandolin and Linda writes much of the lyrics. Seriously. I could barely carry all my gifts to the car.
I did my best to depict Linda and Rick in the microcosm that they synergistically create together and clearly thrive on. I also want to emphasize that never have I come across two individuals so keen to goof around in front of my camera. I love documentary-style photography and these photos are the reason why.
Here is one of my favorite Linda Rogers poems.
“Draw me in ink, you said. Make it last. I have to tell you
I write with a pencil because everything I make is
ephemeral. I clean my house in the trees and it gets
dirty. I love and my love vanishes, making the horrible
sucking noise of water going down the drain. When I
wrote with milk, the message disappeared. I gave birth
and my children crawled to the edge of the world, at
Mile Zero, and hurled themselves off into space like
shooting stars. I use a pencil to draw you — hair, eyes
lips. I crosshatch and shade. Then I slowly erase,
blowing the debris away like dead skin. I am a ruthless
dermatologist, starting with the skin and working
toward the center. Your heart is your center. I draw you
again and again. I will not let you go.”