One of the things that I noticed upon returning to Toronto back in 2001, was the proliferation of tags, graffiti, and the assorted sprayings that adorn, or perhaps, better said, obscure many public surfaces. You can’t go by a newspaper box, mailbox, street sign, electrical box, or unprotected building without seeing something scribbled on it.

As I write today, we have some minor tagging on our church building. Some on our brick and some on our emergency exit doors. I know I have to get to work and clean that up soon or more will collect. Graffiti is like pigeons or seagulls. Once there is one, others follow and the mess only gets bigger!

I have read that both urban graffiti, as well as, litter have a huge psychological impact on a neighborhood. The more garbage and graffiti the higher the crime. Why is it that people feel the need to mark their (or at least what they think is their) territory? Is a tag a poor man’s monument? Do I look at a tag and go, oh, “Bif” or “Lester” is a great guy, after all, this stop sign was merely a serviceable stop sign until he came along and defaced it?

I take comfort in the fact that graffiti has always been a part of urban life. In World War 2, US soldiers often wrote the “Kilroy was here” slogan wherever they went. I also know that you can find ancient graffiti in Pompeii and elsewhere, much of which were political or editorial comments of one sort or another.

Perhaps tags and graffiti are a way, however destructive and ugly, of proving one’s existence. It seems to me, though, that public defacement for the sake of scribbling your initials, is just plain nasty and selfish. I wonder do taggers ever actually tag their own homes?

Still there is another side to this spraying scenario. Not all that is deposited in the community is ugly and destructive. Since coming to Toronto, I have also found amazing works of graffiti art. Piece large and grand and colourful. Some in secluded areas, public yes, but not in the open, more like in the alleyways and back of buildings. Some beautify abandon buildings others beautify garage doors. The picture accompanying this blog was taken by me in our neighbourhood and it is just one of several pieces that I have photographed and put on my flickr site. There is no doubt in my mind that some of this kind of creative, expressive work is wonderful and welcome. It doesn’t destroy public property, it respects public property. It doesn’t profane, it breathes life and communicates. Some of these pieces of street art, as I call it, make our alleyways art exhibits and they deserve to be appreciated and seen. It is a way of sharing ones’ life in a creative, expressive way.

How do you leave your mark each day? Does it contribute to what is beautiful or ugly? Is it selfish, or giving? Does it deface what is beautiful or does it enhance with new life? What are the effects of your emotional graffiti? Each one of us is part of many communities, we all contribute something, whether we want to or not. At the end of the day are you a tagger or an artist?

I know, I know it’s been a long time. Cold Feet has been more of a blob than a blog lately. I have all kinds of excuses for this, but if you are like me, you don’t want excuses, you want action! Yeah, well, back off!

One of the things that’s contributed to the blockage in my blog is that I got a new camera this summer, a Fuji FinePix S5200 (This isn’t an excuse, it’s an explanation!). Suddenly I had a camera with real potential, especial for a newbie photographer with all his bliss of ignorance still fully intact. So, to make a long story short, I have a new love in my life – my camera.

What I love most about taking pictures is that it takes me somewhere else. There is something about having a camera in my hand that very much gives me a new window on the world. It allows me to look around with new eyes. The small, the insignificant, the common, can all become special with the right light, angle, and focus.

A camera also allows you to capture the moment. True, life can seem like a endless cycle of repetition and routine, but in reality each moment of each day is unique, never to happen the same way ever again. Today may feel and look the same as yesterday, but it isn’t. That sameness is artificial. It’s man-made. Every day is new. Every moment is new. So, there is nothing quite like finding a moment and capturing it. Unfortunately, my inexperience means that for every captured moment I get, I miss about ten others, but at least I got the one!

Through the viewer of my camera the world has become a magical place. Art and beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. With the right perspective, even what’s considered ugly can become an object of beauty and fascination, it just has to be put in the proper context. So for me, the camera has become a sacred exercise in appreciating what I used to walk by without looking. It’s become an exercise in seeing something more in what could easily be missed. It is a celebration of the uniqueness of the moment. Taking pictures has been an offering of prayer to the God of Creation who sees more than I will ever see – even with my camera.

I guess that is my ultimate satisfaction into this foray of photography. I sense that God is teaching me to see differently, to look differently, to appreciate differently. It’s like he is saying, “Open your eyes there is far more beauty, and value in this world than you’ve ever considered before. Don’t give up on it!” At least, now I am looking. I certainly don’t see everything there is to see, no one does, but I see more than I used to and that’s what matters.

In the days ahead I plan on using some of the pictures that I take as the launchpad for new scribbles in blogdom. In other words, I plan on shamelessly sharing my photos with you with the passion and the total disregard for propriety that a first-time grandfather might have. Until then, here are a few observations and questions from my shutter:

1. When was the last time you stopped and looked around? Life is a journey, not a race.

2. How many moments, opportunities have you missed-with your family, with your friends, with what really matters?

3. What makes something beautiful or ugly? More importantly, what do you need to do to find beauty? Make it part of your life-mission to find the beauty that everyone else misses–in life, in people, in situations, in faith. Sometimes the greatest beauty is covered in an unattractive veneer that has to be pealed away.

4. Recognize that you don’t see most of what happens around you. If that’s the case, then how silly would it be to base your entire life and future only on what you do see? I’d rather base my life on following the One who sees it all!

5. There is something wonderful about turning the common, ordinary and perhaps even downright ugly, into a work of art. A good photographer can do that with an image; Jesus does it with every soul offered to him. Paul puts it this way in his letter to the Ephesians: “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” (Ephesians 2:10, NLT)

Get the picture?

I am not competent to comment on horticultural happenings on any level. This abundance of ignorance, however, doesn’t dissuade me. I stand with millions of other peoples who have no fear in sharing their opinions, no matter how uniformed they may be!

It seems to me that the rose, so often revered and immortalized by the pens of poets and female hearts alike, is the poodle of flowers.

Now, just so we are clear and you don’t think my last statement is a compliment, let me unequivocally state that I am not a fan of poodles. The poodles I’ve seen aren’t dogs; they are fashion accessories. They are the canine equivalent of feather boas. At some point, and in some places, they may actually have a purpose, but not the ones I’ve seen.

For example, I’ve never seen poodles sniffing out drugs or bombs. Neither have I ever spied any seeing-eye poodles. To my knowledge, never has a poodle dug anyone out of an avalanche and I’m sorry, but any hunter that uses a poodle, goes out with a dog and a rifle and comes back only with his rifle.

Roses are beautiful, no doubt, but they also require care. In layman’s terms, this means that I can kill a rose just by looking at it. They are finicky. More than that, it is my impression that they have been over-domesticated. They’ve been changed and tampered with to the extent that they resemble the rose God intended them to be as much as Michael Jackson’s nose resembles, well, um, a nose!

When I lived in New Brunswick, the ditches all along the roadways were covered with beautiful blooms of wild roses. These roses were closer to the ground, smaller, very fragrant and majorly beautiful. They were hardy as well. They had the heart and lungs of a weed. They were independent, not needy. They may not have looked good in a vase, but they certainly made the ditch look perdy! And, correct me if I am wrong–don’t ditches need more help than manicured gardens or dining room tables? (OK, our dining room table needs help, but I digress!)

What am I trying to say? Simply this: I prefer my beauty to be real. I want my beauty to be useful. I want my beauty to be able to go toe to toe, or thorn to thorn, as the case might be, with the ditches of life. I want beauty that thrives and develops in harsh conditions; not the kind of beauty that lives only if you hold its hand. I am tired of manufactured beauty. I want to see natural, honest, beauty. I want to see beauty of the soul.