Through the Lens

A Life in Quiet Focus

James Harden and Pascal Siakim - iPhone 13 Pro - Courtside

I rarely leave the house without a camera. Something in the ritual—strap over the shoulder, hand on the doorknob, sun tipping the porch edge—tells me the world is about to reveal itself—not with bluster or fanfare, but quietly, as it always does, waiting for the watchful.

This isn’t conceit. It’s anticipation.

My constant companion for the past three years has been the iPhone 13 Pro. It’s weathered all seasons, seen city blocks rise and fall, and caught more sidewalk glances and golden-hour silhouettes than I can count. I feel no urgency to upgrade, and that itch doesn’t come until something truly radical shifts in the tech—until that moment when your tools start speaking a new language you haven’t learned yet.

Cuba - Cigar Factory - A Sweat Shop

But as good as that little slab of glass is—and it is good—it’s not the same as packing my Lumix G9, which still rides shotgun when I head out with serious intent. It's dated by today’s standards—released in December 2017—but it remains a formidable partner. A Micro Four Thirds marvel that makes up in nimbleness what it lacks in sensor size. Twenty-point-three megapixels of unfiltered magic. No low-pass filter. None of that mushy softening. Just sharp, vivid truth.

I’ve used the high-res mode a few times, but what keeps me coming back is the feel: the heft in the hands, the precision of that 5-axis stabilization, and the luxury of a fully articulated LCD that lets you get low, get close, and get real.

Algonquin Island Toronto

I watch a lot of camera YouTube—possibly too much. There are tutorials, gear tests, breakdowns, and side-by-sides. It’s a whole culture, and I love every nerdy minute. That’s what brought me to this morning’s column.

I’ve decided to share this side of my life with you—the daily clicks, the quiet hours, the chase. I’ve been at it professionally for 35 years, and for a glorious decade, I had Panasonic/Lumix backing me—ten years of discovery, wonder, and travel. I lived that Micro Four Thirds life to the fullest. It was a welcome change from the DSLR bulk. My back, my shoulders, and my creative freedom all thanked me.

Havana, Cuba

While most of my portfolio has come from the dimly lit trenches of concert halls—two large-format black-and-white volumes now live on Blurb.ca—what excites me these days is the quiet stuff—life in passing, a café corner on Queen Street, the neighbor unloading groceries, the arc of a cyclist disappearing into morning fog.

There’s no pressure in these moments. Just permission. To see. To feel. To honour.

Warm weather pulls me outside more—a camera over the shoulder and wheels beneath me. I ride, and I wait. Something always happens. A face. A gesture. A forgotten alley lit just right. I’ve learned to be still in motion.

Barbados

Much of what you see here on The Sound & Reason comes with images. I’ve always believed a photograph should pull its weight—be as full-bodied as any sentence. That’s the bar. Not perfection, but presence.

I’m not selling anything. I’m not chasing likes or algorithms. But I’ve somehow landed seven of my portraits in a film with Dustin Hoffman—The Tuner. There they are: seven jazz titans looking back at him from the walls of his piano workshop. Life is strange like that.

Toronto Harbour

So, if something I post sparks a question—or you want a tip or a thought about gear or composition—just ask. I’m happy to help. After all, photography is one long, beautiful conversation with the world. I’m still listening.