I came to be when Mennonite and Ukrainian bloodlines—both having set out hundreds of years ago from origins near the Black Sea—finally crossed paths in mid-’70s Winnipeg. Faced with the prospect of raising a family, my parents fled to a village east of the city, where they became wedding photographers. It was there that they subjected my brother and I to traumatizing experiments they called "portraiture". Consequence laid dormant for years. It was not until the dawn of the new millennium—when humankind was facing its greatest threat of extinction from a virus called “Y2K”—that I instead caught the photo bug.