Memento of a Stranger in a Familiar Place

Indeed the images are, at face value, all about candid people—portraits capturing awkwardly public embraces, revealing gestures, and simple routines—but the nature of this project has made the images more about the places of people. The site itself carries as much significance as the anonymous people portrayed.

In seeing the image, the spectator must be at the site of the creation, producing an unusual convergence between the photographer and the viewer. The only thing that separates the photographer and the audience is time. Bringing together all other dimensions except this one makes you suddenly aware of the drastic yet minute changes caused only by the passage of time. The lighting has changed, the people are gone, and that moment has most certainly passed. Yet here you are, squinting into a little viewer in an attempt see something that someone else experienced right where you are now. The sharing of these rather banal but highly specific locations captures an intimacy unique to those who share a city.

There is also an intimacy in the physical act of viewing these artworks, created by the medium. These small frames reveal their contents only when you hold them up to your eye. This gesture must be committed before the image is accessible. And once it is, you are the only person who can see it. The contrast of this experience against the more passive and communal practice of traditional art viewing is an essential part of the work. Torontoist asked the artist what drew him to this medium.

"I had done some previous installations with very small prints, two by two inches, and I usually have little packets of them that I drop around cities. People seemed to really enjoy the small format beyond its simple novelty, possibly because it changes the viewing experience so significantly. I don't remember what exactly made me think to use the viewers, but it's a logical progression in minimizing the scale and personalizing the way a photo is viewed."

Paired with that intimacy is a misplaced wistfulness for which the medium is also responsible. We typically associate these little plastic key-chain viewers with events in which we participated, capturing our friends and family. They can’t help but fabricate a strange nostalgia, in this case for a time not long past and for a person that you will never know.

There is also an odd sensation in leaving the viewer to hang there innocently as you walk away, awaiting the next curious eye. The tiny but intense experience is left dangling and at the mercy of the masses. Krawesky spoke about his observations on the public reaction.

"I've only had a few minutes at each site as I was installing, and a few minutes as I revisit them to repair and replace them. I haven't seen anyone pick them up and look on their own; only after encouragement from me have people looked when I was there. The reaction has been good, surprised, and appreciative. Many of them have already been taken, or destroyed. My favourite engagement so far is at Queen and Dufferin, where I came back to find that the viewer had been snapped off, possibly left on the ground, and then someone else taped it back to the cable with electrical tape."

Such a display of unprompted empathy for the work is not too hard to understand. The treatment of the subjects in the photos, the site-specific interaction, and the humility of the installation all speak to the artist's passion and compassion for this city, developed over the years of walking its streets, taking in the lives of its inhabitants.

Presented by Patrick Mikhail Gallery, instills runs until Friday, May 15.

Photos by Michael Chrisman/Torontoist.