In 2018 I returned to The Yukon to find traces of myself. Landscapes I had not seen since infancy and people, rooted there, were like lost shoes. Here were my first steps. Were molecules from my first breath still suspended in this atmosphere? Like my Dad’s old dog – half-wolf – I sniffed the air for my people, my home. I wandered up, down and around the land under a wild sky, as dramatic as the illustrations of Ted Harrison. My first Northern Lights? No, they were projected vividly on the eve of my birth and during the long nights of my first winter, my Mom told me by SMS as I gazed up up in awe. Upon returning to Vancouver, I found an old box of negatives and Super 8 film that my father had shot in some of the same places I had just visited. Sometimes I had photographed the same scene, unknowingly. Now that my father has passed on, these visual artefacts call me back. They fit.
