Mosquito Mask
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

I doubt the creature on the head of this mask was meant to be a mosquito, but with the long proboscis, who knows? Perhaps it’s size and bright colors were meant to scare off mosquitoes carrying the Zika virus.

In Among the Spirits
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

Zippy and the Fashion Queen reflected in the glass in front of the native mask display at the Royal British Columbia Museum. Some of the masks visible in the photo where directly behind the glass, while others are actually reflections of masks out of direct view of the camera. Except for our rather down to earth postures, it appears like an image from a dream where the spirits are floating around us. I am particularly intrigued THAT the image seems to be giving me a bird’s beak and eye, a beak and eye that don’t seem to be attached to any particular mask.

Raven Mask
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

Smiling Man Mask
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

This mask was meant to represent something other than just a smiling man, but unfortunately I do not remember the story behind most (o.k. all when you get right down to it) of the masks I photographed. So I’ll have to go with purely descriptive titles.

Malevolent Moon
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

A ceremonial moon mask that isn’t perhaps so much malevolent as it is perplexed?

Totem #3
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

Totem #2
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

Totem #1
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

Part of a totem pole in the collection at the Royal British Columbia Museum.

Wind Shadow
Victoria, British Columbia
2016

I’m not sure what the purpose of this floating barrier was; perhaps to keep trash or oil from spreading to the main Victoria harbor. But I like the way (for a short distance anyway) it provided a barrier to the wind, creating a narrow stretch of calm water on the leeward side.

I will miss this man’s wonderful writing. I’m quite up on his novels but not so much his novellas, and certainly not his poetry. So at least I have that to look forward to.

Hard Times

Moving higher my thumping chest recites the names
of a dozen friends who have died in recent years,
names now incomprehensible as the mountains
across the river far behind me.
I’ll always be walking up toward Antelope Butte.
Perhaps when we die our names are taken
from us by a divine magnet and are free
to flutter here and there within the bodies
of birds. I’ll be a simple crow
who can reach the top of Antelope Butte.

                             –Jim Harrison (1937-2016)