Author: Jackie Ferrier

  • Terribly normal

    This image was inspired by an image shot by Alfred Eisenstaedt of a woman in a mental institute in 1937 (see below). His is better of course. His whole series is a fascinating but of photography.

    The article I read said that his photos helped shape perception of mental health as the people in the pictures looked “terribly normal”.

    He was quoted as saying, “they (the patients) don’t take me too seriously with my little camera.
    “I don’t come as a photographer. I come as a friend.”

    There’s a story right there.

    In playing the character I thought a lot about what she might be carrying – what I would choose to carry in that place and why. Practically speaking moving back and forth from posing to the camera and back with my bundle of stuff it became clear to me that it was quite inconvenient having your hands full like that. I was constantly dropping stuff and reassembling my package. And it required more stuff to hold then I thought from first looking at the photograph. I concluded she probably remained still a lot of the time. That you are limited by your baggage can be taken both literally and figuratively.

    Edit – Feb 2026.

    I am revisiting this image. It doesn’t sit right with me, something is wrong with the scale and angles of it. And yet, I still has this bizarre experience of an unlocked memory, even though I did this. In terms of the final build, well, the miniature set was only just barely assembled and shot in peices and stitched together with photoshop. The single 3d printed was duplicated in photoshop, I spent a long time on getting the floor to blend right the lighting to look right. I can’t recall if I made another heater thing (what’s it called?) or used what I had from before.

    BUt the thing I got most particular about was the floor and the depth in which the windows are set. I was, as I think I might have written about in my floor moulding post – and ironically, you can’t see it. BUt it’s a strange flashback to a place where I took an art class on Saturdays. I was going for that memory at the time of the build. It’s just particularly weird to have got something about that right and have it feel like an unlocked memory. I couldn’t have been older than 9 at the time. I don’t even know why my parents would have even signed me up for such a thing. My father was literally a professional artist. Just weird.

    There is no relation to my experience there to the subject matter of this film, except to say there must have been something about that school that felt particularly cold and institutional. I don’t remember anything about the class at all. But the school. The school I did. The light, the sound, the smell, and the floors of course.

  • Floor Moulding

    Edit: This is not an interesting post in the least. I think at the time I was trying to document my process – must have read somewhere or other this is something artists should do. So, well you can’t be too precious about these things – sometimes you just got to do it. I’ve left here specifically because I did all this about the floor moulding. Something I really was happy with the result of, but did not, as it turns out, make it into the shot which you can see here. I mean it’s there. But it could have been anything.

    I am making base boards / floor moulding this afternoon. Specifically rubber institutional ones. Well, miniature ones, anyway.

    But I am questioning the amount of time and effort on this detail when I risk it not even making it in the shot and if it does not being lit enough to matter.

    But this detail along with the recessed windows and multicoloured stone (were they stone?) floors are the elements of my memory that speak institution.

    While the floors are inspired from an older school where took art classes on a Saturday as a child, the mounding is reminiscent of my days volunteering at a hospital as a teen – I think. This memory surfaced when I realized electrical tape had the perfect texture for such a thing.

    This particular photo I have in mind is based on a documentary photo I’ve researched. But it could be the desire to show the light on these floor boards that changes the entire shot.

    We tend to make these inane choices sometimes. In university I based an entire short film on one shot. Back then we were all trying to fake that elusive dolly shot that made our films gave that high end slickness. I had found a way to attach a tripod to a rolling light stand and on one of the smooth floors of the film building I thought the shot looked pretty good.

    Only to discover that this one coveted shot did not work with the rest of them. Creative people come up against this a lot – we get particularly attached to an idea, a method, a well written line, an edited sequence, it doesn’t matter what. What matters is the attachment and then the realization – if we are lucky to to see the reality of it – for the need to sacrifice our love for the greater good. Arrrgh. We call this “killing our babies”.

    The floor boards may or may not make it in. We’ll see.

    The wood prototype was on the right track but the toe part of it stuck out to much and while I liked the way to slopes getting the bottom flush with the floor was going to be problem. What I didn’t try but thought about was using some air dry clay to help round out the gaps.

    I opted not to try it because I knew it would be difficult getting the consistency I was looking for. And time. It’s easy to get lost in this stuff. I try to always keep the bigger picture in mind. Will it help sell the shot?

    I decided on using thin Bristol board and building up the toe by cutting out thin strips and gluing them on. This caused a little bit of curling in the paper but I used tape to hold it down when I applied the electrical tape and then cut the ends. I wanted the tape to “slope” between the two levels so I was conscious of working carefully to get this consistent. My earlier prototypes demonstrated it was tricky.

    I’m pretty happy with how they’ve turned out so far. The toe not as I have actually seen it, but essence of the texture was what I was looking for.

    Now to see how they photograph. But before that I have the windows to assemble and the floor still to do.

  • Mermaid Problems

    Escuminac Beach, New Brunswick

  • Spencer

    I sometimes pet sit for people. The relationship I have with each is special and unique. Most of them have something to teach you if you listen. I had some adventures with my friend Brian’s dog.

    Spencer by day and Spencer by night are different animals. By day he was the ultimate attention seeker, the ultimate charmer. “Look at me with this big stick”, he’d say to me, “Isn’t it big; aren’t I grand?” “Yes, Spencer”, I would agree. “It’s mighty magnificent and so are you.” He would nod, fully expecting my response. “Pet me”, he would insist, to me, to anyone here, “I am Spencer” as if that was all that was needed to have us fall all over ourselves to do so. And he was pretty much right.

    But by night, he was quiet, preoccupied, focused, on guard, keeping us safe from the worst kind of raccoons and rabbits. I believe he appreciated my still night watchfulness. I didn’t trouble him or talk to him. Just appreciated the night. Kindred spirit, I imagined him thinking, but I’m sure it was all me. But we hung out. Quiet together, he and I.

    Edit: Spencer has since crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. We miss him.

  • Jan 1, 2014

    I’m usually in the habit of wishing people the best year ever. Because that is what I really truly want for people – their best year yet. I feel that intensely.

    But the truth is, you might not think this year ends up being the best year ever. It could be a year of hardships. It might have let downs, struggles and failures. Because in my experience – yours, too – things happen. People you love desperately, die – that’s been my experience. We get sick. We fail. Our hearts hurt. We fail to live up to our unrealistic ideals of ourselves. People cut us off in traffic. Any number of things. That’s my experience, too.

    Instead this year I wish everyone resiliency. I want you to bounce back stronger than ever. I wish you bravery. To conquer your fears. Because the best things in life often have a measure of fear to them.

    I wish you the ability to realize at least once or more, that you have limited time. I’m sorry if that bums you out, but maybe you will make one decision that is meaningful that you might not otherwise.

    I wish that when you knew you were happy, that you realize just how freaking lucky you are. Because there may be a time in your life that you would wish anything to be where were when you realized you were happy.

    I wish that you learn lessons from any hardships – not bitter cynical lessons, but lessons that works to improve your life – someone else’s life. And when someone cuts you off in traffic the wisdom to know that their life may be presenting them some big big challenges.

    I want more than anything – especially for the people who really need it – empathy for themselves. Quit thinking you can do more than you can do. You’re human like the rest of us. Really. Cut it out. And quit thinking you can do less. I don’t need to say more. You know it in your heart.

    I most of all wish you accomplish things in this year that when you come to the end of your life, make you feel like you lived your life and lived it well.

    This – in the grand scheme of things – really is the best. So if I wish you the best year yet on your birthday, this is what I wish for you: meaning.

    For now, Happy 2014. Everyone who this reaches has touched my life in some way and I am grateful for that. I wish you the best year yet.