Moodycamera Photography

Sunday, February 22, 2026

Bob Wins the Foggy City Award – And He Couldn’t Even See the Buildings

Last night at the Bob Camera Club (yes… the same club that sometimes forgets to invite Bob to speak), something unexpected happened.

Bob won the Foggy City Award.

And the funny thing is… he could barely see what he was photographing.

It started on one of those classic Toronto mornings. The kind where the skyline disappears. The kind where the CN Tower might as well have packed up and gone to Montreal.

Bob grabbed one of his “old but gold” Sony bodies — because fog doesn’t care how new your camera is — and headed downtown.

When he looked up, the towers weren’t towering.

They were fading.

The tops vanished into mist. Glass and steel softened. Harsh lines turned into quiet shapes. The city looked like it was whispering instead of shouting.

The First Shot – Two Ghosts in the Sky

Two dark condo towers rose upward… and then simply dissolved into white.
No dramatic sunset.
No golden hour.
Just grey.

And that’s the beauty.

Bob always says street photography isn’t about perfect light — it’s about honest light. Fog is honest. It hides nothing. It hides everything.

The club judges said the image felt “cinematic” and “mysterious.”
Bob just said, “I pointed the camera up.”

The Glass Tower That Disappeared

One of the shots showed a sleek glass office tower, its top swallowed whole. The lower floors were crisp, structured, geometric. Then halfway up — gone.

It looked like the building was unfinished. Like the city ran out of pixels.

Someone at the club asked what filter Bob used.

He said, “Weather.”

The Layered Skyline

In another frame, three buildings stood together — one sharp, one softer, one barely visible. The fog created depth you couldn’t manufacture in Photoshop.

No over-editing.
No dramatic contrast sliders pushed to 100.
Just quiet tones and patience.

You could almost hear the city breathing.

The Tall One With the Crane

One of the winning images showed a massive skyscraper shot from below, climbing into nothingness, a construction crane stretching beside it like a skeleton arm disappearing into cloud.

It felt like Toronto itself was still being built — even into the sky.

The judges loved that one.

Bob loved that it was cold, damp, and slightly uncomfortable. Because that’s when photos feel real.

Why This Award Matters

The Foggy City Award wasn’t about sharpness.
It wasn’t about expensive gear.
It wasn’t about vibrant colour.

It was about mood.

Bob has photographed Ontario from Ivanhoe Park to Lake Erie, camped along Highway 69, wandered the Ottawa Valley, crossed from the west coast to the east coast of Canada with a tent and a camera. But sometimes the best story is right here — in a downtown that vanishes before your eyes.

His Flickr feed has become a history of moments. Not postcards. Not perfection. Moments.

And last night, the club recognized that.

The Lesson

Fog forces you to slow down.

You can’t shoot everything.
You can’t see everything.
You have to look harder.

Street photography isn’t always about the people walking past you. Sometimes it’s about the city itself — when it decides to hide.

Bob didn’t win because he chased dramatic light.

He won because he showed up when there was none.

And if there’s one thing Bob has proven over thousands of photo walks, 3,000+ Flickr uploads, and countless cold mornings in Toronto…

It’s that showing up is half the photograph.

Foggy City Award 2026.
Bob.

Still looking up.

Bob’s Olympic Moment at Brookfield Place

The Winter Olympics just wrapped up.

The snow, the ice, the long cross-country grinds, the figure skaters floating like they’re made of glass — all of it now tucked away for another four years. Canada did what Canada does. We cheered. We complained about judging. We pretended we could ski moguls.

And then Bob walked into Brookfield Place and realized…

The next Olympics are already underway.

Not on snow.

Not on ice.

But on the glowing tiles of the Allen Lambert Galleria.

No Skates. No Snow. Just Hands.

There she was.

In the middle of the financial district, between revolving doors and Bay Street briefcases, a gymnast in pink flipped herself upside down like gravity was optional.

No crowd.
No announcer.
No national anthem.

Just polished floors, red architectural beams, and the quiet hum of downtown Toronto.

She kicked into a handstand so clean you could have measured it with a ruler. Legs split. Toes pointed. Core tight. Balanced on hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Meanwhile, someone at the bottom of the stairs was filming on a phone — because that’s what we do now. The scouting reports happen on Instagram.

From Winter to Summer

The Winter Games end and the Summer dreams begin.

That’s how it works.

While we’re still talking about downhill times and hockey goals, the gymnasts are already upside down somewhere. The swimmers are already staring at a black line at the bottom of a pool. The runners are already counting intervals.

And at Brookfield Place — between the luxury shops and office towers — Toronto quietly hosted its own unofficial Olympic training centre.

No judges.
No medals.
Just repetition.

Handstand.
Hold.
Transition.
Reset.
Again.

That’s how champions are built.

Bob’s Viewfinder

Bob stood back with his camera — because of course he did.

He didn’t see “a girl doing a handstand.”

He saw:

Strength in stillness.
Discipline in an empty space.
A summer podium hidden inside a winter afternoon.

Street photography isn’t always about protests and pigeons and people rushing for the GO Train. Sometimes it’s about noticing preparation.

The Olympics show us the final product.
Street photography shows us the work.

The Quiet Before the Podium

What I loved most?

The setting.

The glowing floor tiles beneath her hands.
The red beams rising behind her.
A mannequin in a store window standing upright… while she stood upside down.

Toronto’s financial district — all structure and steel — becoming a gymnastics studio.

There’s poetry in that.

Because Olympic dreams don’t always start in packed arenas. Sometimes they start in public spaces where no one is watching… except one street photographer named Bob.

See You in 2028?

The Winter Games are over.

But somewhere in Toronto, the next Summer Olympian is holding a handstand in a lobby.

And maybe, just maybe, years from now we’ll say:

“I saw her practising at Brookfield Place.”

And Bob will quietly scroll back through his Flickr archive and smile — because history isn’t just recorded at the medal ceremony.

Sometimes it begins on a glowing tile floor in downtown Toronto.

Bob Picked Number Three

Yesterday downtown Toronto, Bob had a choice.

Not which lens.
Not which camera.
Not even which route.

Just a number.

One.
Two.
Or three.

And Bob picked number three.

Why Three?

Because three is balance.

Three masts on a tall ship sitting frozen in the harbour.
Three orange construction signs glowing against grey winter streets.
Three workers standing on scaffolding like a modern-day Group of Seven — but in hard hats.

When Bob started his photo walk, he didn’t know that “three” would follow him all afternoon. But it did.

Stop 1 – The Harbour

The boats were wrapped in plastic like forgotten Christmas presents. Ice pressed up against their hulls. And there it was — the tall ship with three masts standing proud in the mist.

Not sailing.
Not moving.
Just waiting.

Bob loves that about Toronto in winter. Everything pauses. The city breathes slower. Even the lake seems to think before it moves.

Three masts.
Number three was already winning.

Stop 2 – Jack Layton Ferry Terminal

Three ticket windows open.
Three numbers staring back at him: 3… 4… 5…

Bob smiled.

He’s walked past the Jack Layton Ferry Terminal in summer when it’s packed with island-bound crowds. But yesterday? Quiet. Wet pavement. A little snow clinging to the bricks. The kind of day most people stay home.

But Bob doesn’t.

Because the quiet days tell better stories.

Stop 3 – The Puddles

Downtown Toronto in February is not glamorous. It’s puddles, slush, reflections of buildings that look like they’re melting into the asphalt.

Bob crouched low and saw it — three strong vertical reflections slicing through the water.

He doesn’t over-edit his photos. He records them. Snapshots of time. The way the city really looks. Cold. Honest. Real.

Three reflections.

Still number three.

Stop 4 – Construction Season (Yes, Even in Winter)

If Toronto had a national bird, it would be the orange construction cone.

Bob walked under the overpass and there they were — three bright orange signs in a row:

⚠️ Worker
⚠️ Construction
⚠️ Lane Shift

Three warnings.

Three reminders that Toronto is always building something.

And then the moment: a worker jogging toward him in the rain. Another two standing above on scaffolding.

Three workers.
Three layers of the city — street, scaffold, skyline.

Bob doesn’t chase perfection. He chases moments. And yesterday the moment came in threes.

Stop 5 – The Blue Valves

At the end of the walk, Bob spotted three massive blue water valves sitting curbside like industrial sculptures.

Three circles.
Three openings.
Three heavy-duty pieces of infrastructure that no one else was photographing.

But Bob was.

Because someone has to document the everyday bones of the city.

What Number Three Really Meant

Three isn’t lucky.

Three is structure.

Beginning.
Middle.
End.

Harbour.
Terminal.
Construction.

Water.
Steel.
Concrete.

Bob didn’t plan it. He just chose number three for the route option on his downtown walk.

But sometimes the city decides to lean into your choice.

And yesterday, Toronto gave him:

Three masts
Three ticket booths
Three warning signs
Three workers
Three valves

That’s street photography.

You walk.
You notice.
You commit to a direction.

And sometimes, the number you pick at the start becomes the story.

Bob will probably pick another number next time.

But yesterday?

Number three won.

Wednesday, February 18, 2026

The Man Nobody Notices (But Probably Should)

The Pacific ocean and the Atlantic ocean

You’ve seen him.

You just didn’t know you were looking at one of the best photographers in Toronto.

He doesn’t wear a press badge.

He doesn’t carry two full-frame bodies and a backpack that looks like it belongs on Everest.

He’s not shouting directions at models in front of Yonge–Dundas Square.

He’s just… there.

Quiet. Watching.

On a Tuesday afternoon, while most people rush past Union Station thinking about meetings and missed trains, Bob is standing still.

Not lost.

Not confused.

Composed.

He’s waiting for the light to hit the glass towers just right.

He’s waiting for a streetcar to line up with a reflection in a puddle.

He’s waiting for a construction worker to pause for one second — long enough to tell the story of a changing city.

Click.

He doesn’t overshoot.

He doesn’t machine-gun the shutter.

He takes the photo like it matters.

Because to him, it does.

People assume he’s just another hobbyist.

Someone says, “Nice little camera.”

Someone else wonders why he doesn’t just use their phone.

They don’t know he has documented Toronto through snowstorms, protests, parades, subway openings, and streets that already look different from five years ago.

They don’t know he’s quietly building an archive.

And here’s what almost nobody realizes:

Bob’s Flickr feed isn’t just a gallery.

It’s a history book.

Thousands of photos.

Moments that seemed ordinary at the time.

Corners of Toronto that have already changed.

Small businesses that aren’t there anymore.

Construction sites that are now condo towers.

Scroll through his Flickr and you are scrolling through time.

It’s Toronto before the next skyline shift.

Ontario before the next chapter.

Canada before the next change.

Because Bob doesn’t just stay in the city.

He has walked the shores of Lake Ontario at sunrise.

He has driven north into Ivanhoe Lake Provincial Park where the sky stretches forever.

He has followed the shoreline of Lake Huron and chased warm southern sunsets along Lake Erie.

He has camped along Highway 69 in French River Provincial Park and Grundy Lake Provincial Park.

He has pitched his tent in the forests of the Ottawa Valley and wandered west into the quiet lakes of the Kawartha Lakes.

And when we say “camped,” we mean it.

Bob didn’t book resorts.

He didn’t check into waterfront hotels.

He slept in a tent.

Through cold nights.

Through rain tapping on nylon.

Through early mornings when the zipper frost had to be shaken loose before sunrise.

From the Pacific coast in British Columbia to the Atlantic harbours of Cape Breton and the red shores of Prince Edward Island, Bob also travelled and camped through the coast of New Brunswick.

He woke up in campgrounds.

In National Parks

In provincial parks.

In roadside sites.

Listening to wind in the trees and waves hitting distant shores.

He earned his sunrises.

He doesn’t just photograph postcard views.

He photographs:

The empty campsite before coffee is brewed.

The steam rising from a metal mug at dawn.

The mist hovering over a quiet lake.

The long highway stretching between provinces.

The silence between waves on opposite oceans.

He photographs Canada the way it feels — vast, imperfect, beautiful, and real.

And here’s the part that surprises people:

No camera club has invited Bob to speak.

No big stage.

No keynote introduction.

No slideshow titled “Master of Canadian Street Photography.”

Yet he has photographed more of Canada than many who do get invited.

He has stood in freezing wind for the right moment.

He has camped in the rain.

He has driven thousands of kilometres.

He has slept in a tent from Ontario to both coasts.

He has built an archive that stretches from Toronto sidewalks to northern highways to two oceans.

He has done the work.

Quietly.

But here’s what most people don’t know:

The Bob Camera Club is willing to give guest talks at other camera clubs.

If your club wants a presentation about:

• Building a visual history through Flickr

• Real-world street photography in Canadian winters

• Documenting Toronto’s changing skyline

• Camping across Ontario and Canada with a camera

• Travelling coast to coast and sleeping in a tent to get the shot

• Using “older” cameras to tell powerful stories

You can contact the Bob Camera Club and invite him in.

No ego.

No hype.

Just honest photography and real Canadian stories.

One day, someone will scroll through that Flickr feed.

They’ll see Toronto before another tower rose.

They’ll see Ontario’s lakes in a year that already feels distant.

They’ll see campsites, highways, coastlines, and city corners frozen in time.

And they’ll realize:

Bob wasn’t just taking pictures.

He was building a visual history of Canada.

He never needed a microphone.

He never needed recognition.

But if you’re running a camera club and looking for someone who has truly documented this country — from a tent, from the street, from both oceans —

Maybe it’s time to send that invitation.

You can through my 8 pages of Flickr albums to see me travels.

The Olympic Village Ran Out of Condoms at the 2026 Winter Games

Bob read the headline about the Olympic Village running out of condoms at the Winter Games and just stared at the screen.

“Higher-than-anticipated demand.”

That’s a polite way of saying: you didn’t bring enough.

And now Bob has one simple message for Toronto ahead of the 2026 FIFA World Cup:

Stock up.

Seriously.

This Is the World Cup

The World Cup isn’t a small gathering.

It’s not a Tuesday night Leafs game.

It’s not even a long weekend festival.

It’s the entire planet arriving at once.

Fans from Europe. South America. Africa. Asia. Across Canada. Across the U.S. The energy is going to be electric. Streets packed. Bars overflowing. Hotels full. Flags everywhere.

And when that many people celebrate together?

Let’s just say history suggests enthusiasm extends beyond the stadium.

Toronto needs more condoms. Not fewer. Not “we’ll see how it goes.” Not “we ordered what we thought was reasonable.”

We’ve Seen This Movie Before

Bob has lived through:

Transit projects that weren’t ready.
Food courts in the PATH closed on weekends.
Olympic organizers shocked by basic human behaviour.

We can’t be surprised anymore.

The Olympics ran out in three days. Three!

If a few thousand elite athletes can empty the shelves that fast, what do we think will happen when tens of thousands of fans flood Toronto?

Bob doesn’t want international headlines reading:

“Toronto Runs Out During World Cup Celebrations.”

That’s not the souvenir anyone wants.

This Isn’t About Scandal — It’s About Planning

This isn’t gossip. It’s public health.

Major global events always include free condom distribution for a reason:

Safe celebrations
STI prevention
Responsible planning

If we can prepare for crowd control, policing, beer gardens, transit surges, and fireworks — we can prepare for human nature too.

Toronto prides itself on being progressive, practical, and welcoming.

So let’s act like it.

Bob’s Street Photographer View

Bob will be out there with his camera, documenting:

Fans hugging strangers after a goal
Dancing in the streets
Flags wrapped around shoulders
Joy exploding at Yonge-Dundas

He’ll photograph the celebrations.

But behind the scenes, he hopes the city planners learned one simple lesson from the Olympics:

When the world comes to town, don’t underestimate demand.

Not for transit.
Not for food.
And definitely not for condoms.

Toronto, if you’re listening — order extra.

Better to have too many than not enough.

Bob Wins the History Award – For “New” Trains That Were Already 7 Years Old

Only in Toronto could this happen.

Bob has officially won the Bob Camera Club History Award for his photos of the “new” Line 5 Crosstown trains…that were already 7 years old before the line even opened.

Yes.
Seven.

That’s not “brand new.”
That’s “has experience.”

Built… Then Waited

The trains were delivered years before passengers ever boarded.

They didn’t roll straight into daily service.

They sat.
They waited.
They watched construction continue.

By the time Line 5 finally opened in 2026, these “new” cars were already seven years into their lifespan.

In transit years, that’s not fresh out of the factory — that’s “ready for a midlife review.”

The Photo That Became History

When I stepped inside with my old faithful Sony NEX-3 — the same camera I bought back in 2011 when they first started digging up Eglinton — I thought I was photographing something brand new.

The clean symmetry.
The bright yellow poles.
The untouched blue seats.
The quiet, empty car before the crowds arrived.

It looked like the future.

But technically?

It was already seven years in the making.

Toronto’s Unique Timeline

Most cities:

Build the line.
Deliver the trains.
Open the service.

Toronto:

Deliver the trains.
Wait.
Wait some more.
Then open the line with trains that have already had birthdays.

The Crosstown cars aged in the background while the city argued, paved, repaved, and redirected buses.

And now, somehow, my photos of those “new” trains have already qualified for the History Award.

Why It Actually Matters

Street photography — and transit photography — isn’t just about shiny objects.

It’s about documenting the strange in-between moments.

A train that was new… but not new.
A line that opened… long after it was ready.
A city that waited.

That empty interior shot isn’t just about clean design and perspective lines.

It’s about patience.

It’s about infrastructure living in limbo.

It’s about Toronto time.

Bob’s Acceptance Speech

I’d like to thank:

Construction timelines.
Storage yards.
And my refusal to upgrade cameras every two years.

Because sometimes the story isn’t just about what’s new.

Sometimes it’s about how long something had to wait before it was allowed to be new.

Seven years old before its first rush hour.

Only in Toronto.

Monday, February 16, 2026

“Wait… It Just Stops?”

Well folks… Bob finally noticed something.

After 15 years of watching construction cones, fences, detours, and buses replacing buses replacing buses, Bob stepped onto the brand-new Crosstown train and felt something very familiar.

It looks like a Toronto streetcar.

Same bright interior.

Same yellow poles.

Same blue patterned seats.

Same clean, modern vibe.

But here’s the difference…

You don’t have to press the stop request at every station.

“Wait… It Just Stops?”

Bob was sitting there, Sony NEX-3 in hand (yes, the same one he bought in 2011 when this whole thing started), staring at the digital sign overhead.

No frantic reaching for the yellow strip.

No tapping the red button.

No wondering if the driver heard the chime.

The Crosstown cars stop at every station automatically.

It’s like a subway wearing a streetcar costume.

Same Feel, Different System

When you sit inside, it feels exactly like a modern TTC streetcar:

• Wide aisles

• Articulated sections

• Big windows

• Bright lighting

• Yellow grab rails everywhere

But the operation is different.

On regular Toronto streetcars, you press the button unless you want to take a scenic tour past your stop.

On the Crosstown? Every station is a scheduled stop. It behaves more like a subway line.

Bob actually laughed the first time.

He caught himself looking for the button.

Old habits die hard.

The Quiet Ride

What Bob also noticed:

• It’s smooth.

• It’s quieter than the old CLRVs.

• The platforms feel organized.

• The stations feel like real transit hubs, not curbside stops.

And when it pulls into a station in the snow, with the tracks running clean and straight down Eglinton, it doesn’t feel like a streetcar line anymore.

It feels permanent.

Fifteen Years Later

Bob bought that NEX-3 in 2011.

Back when they were digging the first holes.

He probably didn’t think he’d still own that camera when the line finally opened.

But here he is.

Same camera.

Same city.

Different transit line.

And now instead of photographing construction fences, he’s photographing working trains that stop automatically — no button required.

The Little Things Matter

Sometimes progress isn’t flashy.

Sometimes it’s just:

• Not needing to press stop

• Watching the train glide into every station

• Seeing empty seats and clean lines

• Realizing Eglinton finally works

And for a street photographer like Bob?

That’s a whole new moving studio.

No more bus shuffle.

No more guessing if the driver saw you.

Just station to station to station.

Press nothing.

Shoot everything.

Saturday, February 14, 2026

Eglinton Avenue in 2026 and realizing that this isn’t the first time a train has stopped.

There’s something poetic about standing on Eglinton Avenue in 2026 and realizing that this isn’t the first time a train has stopped here.

Long before the bright lights, glass walls, and sleek new platforms of Line 5, there was another subway rumbling into Eglinton Station. The original Line 1 Yonge subway reached Eglinton back in 1954. That was the northern edge of Toronto’s rapid transit world. For a while, this was the end of the line.

And now?

Eglinton is no longer the end. It’s the centre of the Crosstown.

The Old Guard – Line 1 at Eglinton

When Bob stepped on the platform classic stainless-steel subway train, car number 5575 glowing red on the side, he felt that familiar TTC hum. Yellow safety strip. Concrete walls. Posters lined up like a gallery of everyday life.

This station has history in its tiles. Generations have stood on that same platform waiting for a train downtown. Students. Office workers. Dreamers. Photographers.

Bob remembers when this was the connection north. No fancy cross-city LRT. Just Line 1 heading south and buses fanning out across midtown.

You could almost hear the echoes of the 1950s in the tunnel.

The New Arrival – Line 5 Crosstown

Then Bob walked into the future.

White walls. Clean lines. LED strips running like light trails overhead. Signs glowing: Eglinton Avenue – Line 5. Elevators, glass railings, wide corridors. It feels like Toronto finally caught up to the drawings we saw 15 years ago.

Fifteen years.

Bob bought his Sony NEX-3 back in 2011 when construction started. He joked he’d probably upgrade cameras before the Crosstown opened. Instead, here he is — still shooting with a camera older than the project itself.

And now Line 5 stops here too.

People crowd the platform, bundled up in winter coats. The sleek Metrolinx train slides in quietly, almost politely. No heavy steel clatter like the old subway. It feels modern. Smooth. Connected.

Eglinton is no longer just north-south.

Now it runs east-west across the city.

One Station, Two Eras

That’s what Bob loves about Toronto.

At Eglinton, you can stand in one place and see two different generations of transit thinking:

1954: “Let’s build a subway north.”

2011–2026: “Let’s connect the whole midtown.”

The old subway feels industrial and honest. The Crosstown feels clean and optimistic.

Both stop at Eglinton Avenue.

Both move Toronto forward.

A Photographer’s Reflection

Bob stood between the old Line 1 platform and the new Line 5 corridor and realized something:

Transit isn’t just about trains.

It’s about time.

The first subway stopped at Eglinton and changed the city forever. Now Line 5 stops at the same station and changes it again.

Same avenue.

Different era.

Same Bob.

Different camera batteries.

And if you look closely, both trains are carrying the same thing:

Toronto.

Bob and the Camera That Waited 15 Years

In 2011, when they first started digging up Eglinton Avenue for what would become the Crosstown, Bob walked into a camera shop and bought himself a little mirror-less camera — a Sony NEX-3.

Back then, people laughed at it.

“Where’s the viewfinder?”

“Is that a real camera?”

“Looks like a toy.”

But Bob knew something.

He wasn’t buying it for that day.

He was buying it for a story that hadn’t happened yet.

2011 – Dirt, Fences, and Promises

In 2011 the Line 5 Eglinton was just plywood walls, orange cones, and “coming soon” signs. Bob took photos of the construction pits. The cranes. The torn-up sidewalks. He photographed businesses hanging on, transit riders confused by bus detours, and winter snow blowing across unfinished stations.

He told himself:

“One day I’m going to ride this thing and photograph it properly.”

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

2026 – Doors Open

Fifteen years later.

The doors finally slide open. The trains hum quietly into the stations. The digital signs glow. The escalators actually move.

And Bob pulls out that same Sony NEX-3.

Not the newest camera.

Not the fanciest body.

Just the same little 2011 machine that started the journey.

Inside the Train

The yellow poles.

The clean patterned seats.

The long symmetrical lines stretching down the carriage.

Bob stands in the middle aisle and smiles.

This is why he kept the camera.

The NEX-3 may not have the fastest auto focus in 2026. It may not have 8K video or eye-tracking. But it still sees light. It still sees geometry. It still tells a story.

And this train interior? It’s all leading lines and modern design — perfect for a camera that was born at the start of the project.

Fairbank Station – Finally Alive

Bob steps off at Fairbank.

Fifteen years ago this was a construction hole.

Now it’s bright signage, digital boards, glowing platform edges, and people actually riding the train. The escalators hum. The announcements echo. The artwork pops against the clean concrete walls.

Bob photographs commuters walking between the trains. He captures the moment when something that was once a political promise becomes part of everyday life.

This isn’t just transit.

It’s time.

Snow on the Tracks

Outside, snow lines the rails.

Bob remembers photographing snow blowing through construction fencing years ago. Back then, the tracks didn’t exist. Just mud and machinery.

Now the train glides past quietly in the winter air.

Same season.

Different chapter.

Same camera.

Why Bob Used the NEX-3

Because this wasn’t about megapixels.

It was about continuity.

The Sony NEX-3 was there in 2011 when Line 5 was a dream.

It deserved to be there in 2026 when Line 5 became reality.

Cameras aren’t just tools.

They’re witnesses.

And this little 15-year-old mirror-less camera witnessed one of the longest waits in Toronto transit history.

Bob’s Lesson

You don’t need the newest gear to tell a meaningful story.

Sometimes the best photo you’ll ever take is with the camera that’s been waiting with you.

Bob waited 15 years to press that shutter.

Worth it?