L-R: Peter Kundert, Raymond Parker, 8×10 Deardorff, John Ashton + Labbat’s Blue

My return to England convinced me of one thing: I couldn’t return to England. As deeply felt as my roots there might be — and I felt their tug during my last visit — I discovered a deeper-rooted homesickness for British Columbia.

But first, I had some ends to tie up in Toronto. I arrived back at Pearson International in the late fall of 1988.

I’d given up my room in the Palmerston house (as had fellow photographer Brian Hay and one of the women artists, so a new brood of creatives were uniting, including actress and singer Rebecca Jenkins.

Thank goodness for friends.

A Terrible Waste

One lunchtime, at my first “foot-in-the-door” job at TDF Artists, I was sitting at the counter of a canteen that served the industrial area under the Gardiner Expressway. I was about to order lunch when the waitress and I locked eyes. Holy! It was Shelly Lye, a woman I’d shared an apartment with in Vancouver, 8-years before.

The first time I visited her place in Toronto, there on the mantle was the portrait I had made of her in Vancouver, in 1979.

Shelly put me up for the couple of months I remained in the city.

It was a tumultuous time — I’d formed new bonds and strengthened old ties.

I got back on at one of the big commercial photo factories, but eagerly accepted an offer to join the team at Lightwaves, a relatively small studio on John Street, around the corner from City TV, off Queen Street West.

Once again, the introduction came from my friend Peter Kundert who I’d met at TDF and who tipped me off to the opportunity at Pringle & Booth. Lightwaves owner John Ashton welcomed me into the fold. We shot everything from perfume to pickup trucks. 

Better yet, John provided me with a darkroom and budget to pursue my experiments in alternate printing processes, including chemical split-toning (which we now accomplish with the adjustment of a few sliders in digital applications), that we might offer as “looks” to commercial clients wanting something out of the ordinary.

We were a great team, our little trio — the kind that can work together almost without words, catching mistakes before they happen, innovating our way through challenges, and most importantly having a good laugh under pressure. When it came time to leave, John and Peter tried to talk me into staying.

But I was adamant. As winter tightened its icy grip on the cold streets, I caught a train to Vancouver. I remember vividly the smell of the ocean as we exited the Fraser Canyon. I was nearing home.

Over the next little while, I received post cards from Peter and John, begging me to return. Perhaps, as a final attempt to shame me back to the centre of the universe, Peter sent me the photo at the right, featuring his dog, Gomer. As I struggled to reestablish myself on the coast, I nearly gave way to the appeals. 

False Creek, Vancouver, 1984. Split-toned print (copper/blue). The blue has faded over 30-years.