Many advocates of postmodernism will tell you that architecturally, the former modernist mode came to an end with the demolition of the infamous Pruitt-Igoe projects of Missouri in the early 1970s. Sadly, I was born several decades too late to experience this and bring back images.

I can, however, share some snaps from a somewhat similar site demolition in Toronto. The property in question most definitely falls under the category of modernist design, and in its last breaths, reveals quite a unique aesthetic — one very different from those familiar with my usual work.

Silence is not an attribute one would usually ascribe to urban life. Unlike the typical clamour which seems all too abundant in the life of a city, silence seems to require an active search on our part, if we are to unearth it here. Within the post-industrial built environment, I tend to find the greatest quiet in places which, ironically, once created the greatest noise. Whether factories, power-stations, or processing plants, all of the places depicted in this photo series reveal workplaces long-devoid of their employees; trapped in the silent space between activity and redevelopment (or, sadly, demolition), they bear witness to a past made present by their remnants, while quietly awaiting their fate.

Capturing a natural urban pose on camera often requires no more then, as the saying goes, "being in the right place at the right time." The subjects are, and often remain, almost as unaware that the capture has taken place as the photographer themselves were, moments before the snap was taken. Unexpected, uncanny, and often times unaware, the image created is ideal — a representation of the way things simply are.

I never go out seeking to capture this kind of imagery, and yet over time, they seem to 'appear' throughout my collections. Each shot is its own story, yet when pulled together they seem (in my mind) to create an interesting look at city life in Toronto, and indeed urban life in general.

I find that it is often only in the depths of winter that I return to photographs from my warmer exploration jaunts. Some months ago traveling east from Toronto, myself and two other photographers headed toward a derelict iron ore mine in Marmora which has sat for years, slowly filling with water.

Today, only a few gradations remain visible, and the massive mine-head which overlooks the site sits in shambles, its metal structure and machinery well worn by years of neglect.

There is nothing quite as disturbing as staring off an upper balcony of a gutted high-rise at its equally dead twin.

Adding to the eerie aesthetic element was my personal relationship with the building I was in. In secondary school, I used to stare out of my classroom window at these behemoths , as well as deliver Meals-On-Wheels to clients in the buildings on lunch-break. When I heard of the imminent demolition, I just had to pay the pair one last visit.

The title of this post is a stock example of what psycholinguistic theory calls a "garden path sentence." In this, the reader is fooled by the immediate appearance of the sentence, and ends up with an image that is (at first) very perplexing.

Over my years in photography, I have found the same phenomenon visually when I explore decay in architecture.Those who sojourn with me to the outskirts of Toronto are well aware of my (not-so) secret obsession with abandoned barns and farming complexes. On a recent jaunt, I
happened upon a beautiful site, which, besides a few active chicken coups, was in a state of utter disarray.