SECRET GARDENS
I was wandering through downtown Winnipeg one afternoon. This was in mid-July, 2009. I had already put several kilometres behind me when I heard the call for a cigarette. It came from a figure sitting on a bench in the shade. I told the old man I didn’t smoke. Without any pause, he cried out his awareness of the camera hanging from my neck, then beckoned me over. He showed me some of what was stuffed into the gym bag at his side, and I started to wonder. He wanted me to photograph him at my studio. I told him I didn’t have a studio, so he insisted that I come with him.