Wednesday, February 25, 2026

Bob and the Honourable Mention in Brutal Toronto






Bob did not win.

He did not take first place.
He did not take second.
He did not even take third.

Bob received… an Honourable Mention.

And for his series on Brutalized Toronto.

This year Bob entered the camera club competition with something different. No sunsets. No ducks. No soft-focus flowers. No cozy St. Lawrence Market Christmas lights.

Instead, he brought concrete.

He brought steel.

He brought torn-down brick and exposed beams.

He brought the underbelly of Toronto.

The judges stared at the photos.

One image showed a brick building ripped open, its skeleton exposed — steel beams holding up what used to be offices, maybe apartments, maybe someone’s life. Windows gone. Walls peeled back. Modern glass condos rising smugly behind it.

Another showed the old LCBO storefront boarded and fenced, snow piled dirty in front like a forgotten memory.

Another was the underpass — raw concrete ribs arching overhead, scarred, patched, water-stained. The road wet. No pedestrians. Just silence and structural fatigue.

Bob titled the series:

“Brutalise: Toronto in Transition.”

Some members of the Bob Camera Club whispered.

“Is that even photography?”
“It looks unfinished.”
“It’s depressing.”

Bob smiled.

Because that was the point.

Toronto isn’t just cranes and ribbon cuttings. It’s demolition dust. It’s temporary fencing. It’s structural braces holding history upright for just a little longer. It’s the moment before the glass goes up.

Bob sees beauty in what others call ugly.

When the awards were announced, the winning images were safe:
• A swan at sunrise.
• A lighthouse at golden hour.
• A macro of frost on a leaf.

Then came the Honourable Mentions.

“And for capturing the raw urban transformation of Toronto with strong lines and compelling geometry…”

Bob’s name.

Polite applause.

Bob walked up, accepted the certificate, and thought:

Honourable Mention?

Good.

Because brutalism isn’t supposed to win popularity contests.

Bob doesn’t photograph pretty Toronto.

He photographs honest Toronto.

He photographs:
• Buildings mid-surgery.
• Concrete with scars.
• Steel holding memories together.
• Roads under bridges that feel like cathedrals of infrastructure.

He photographs the city as it is — not as it markets itself.

Later that night, Bob looked at his Flickr feed — thousands of images documenting Toronto changing brick by brick.

He realized something.

Awards are nice.

But history is better.

In ten years, when those condos are finished and the fences are gone, Bob’s Honourable Mention photos will show what stood there before.

That’s not second place.

That’s documentation.

And Bob, the so-called street photographer extraordinaire of Toronto, is just fine with that.

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Bob in Another World – The Ice Fields of Toronto Harbour








This morning, Bob did not travel to the Arctic.

He did not book a flight to Iceland.
He did not rent snowshoes.
He did not pack survival gear.

He simply went down to Toronto Harbour.

And suddenly… he was standing on another planet.

The harbour ice right now doesn’t look like water. It doesn’t even look like winter. It looks like a frozen ocean that broke apart mid-sentence. Giant plates of ice float like shattered glass. Dark water snakes between them like cracks in the earth. Everything is quiet. Grey sky. Grey water. Grey horizon. No colour. No noise.

Just space.

Bob stood there with his camera thinking, Is this still Toronto?

In the summer, this is paddle boards, kayaks, Harbourfront concerts, ferries to the islands. Today? It looks like the edge of the world. The ice slabs are layered and textured — some smooth like frosted cake, others jagged and thick like broken stone. The water between them moves slowly, pushing and pulling the pieces as if rearranging a puzzle that will never quite fit.

And that horizon…

The skyline disappears into haze. The far shoreline fades into a thin charcoal line. It feels endless. It feels northern. It feels wild.

Bob loves moments like this because they remind him that Toronto is not just glass towers and streetcars. It is also wind. Water. Ice. Movement. Change.

You don’t have to travel far to photograph something that feels otherworldly. Sometimes you just need to show up when the conditions are right.

The harbour ice creates natural abstract compositions:

  • Leading lines formed by dark channels between ice sheets

  • Layers of texture from slushy buildup and smooth frozen plates

  • Minimalist winter tones — blues, greys, silvers

  • A horizon that almost disappears

It’s not dramatic like a snowstorm. It’s not colourful like autumn. It’s quiet drama. Subtle power.

Bob noticed something else too.

There were birds sitting calmly on the ice as if this was completely normal. For them, it is. For us, it feels like standing at the edge of a frozen sea.

And of course, Bob kept a safe distance. Harbour ice is not a place to test your luck. It’s a place to observe. To photograph. To respect.

What fascinates Bob most is how the harbour constantly reinvents itself. In summer, it reflects sunlight and sailboats. In fall, it mirrors gold trees. In winter, it fractures into something alien and beautiful.

Toronto Harbour — another world hiding in plain sight.

You just have to look.

change Toronto island disappears in a haze

Bob in Another World – The Ice Fields of Toronto Harbour

This morning, Bob did not travel to the Arctic.

He did not book a flight to Iceland.
He did not rent snowshoes.
He did not pack survival gear.

He simply went down to Toronto Harbour.

And suddenly… he was standing on another planet.

The harbour ice right now doesn’t look like water. It doesn’t even look like winter. It looks like a frozen ocean that broke apart mid-sentence. Giant plates of ice float like shattered glass. Dark water snakes between them like cracks in the earth. Everything is quiet. Grey sky. Grey water. Grey horizon. No colour. No noise.

Just space.

Bob stood there with his camera thinking, Is this still Toronto?

In the summer, this is paddleboards, kayaks, Harbourfront concerts, ferries to the islands. Today? It looks like the edge of the world. The ice slabs are layered and textured — some smooth like frosted cake, others jagged and thick like broken stone. The water between them moves slowly, pushing and pulling the pieces as if rearranging a puzzle that will never quite fit.

And that horizon…

Toronto Island disappears in a haze. The far shoreline fades into a thin charcoal line. It feels endless. It feels northern. It feels wild.

Bob loves moments like this because they remind him that Toronto is not just glass towers and streetcars. It is also wind. Water. Ice. Movement. Change.

You don’t have to travel far to photograph something that feels otherworldly. Sometimes you just need to show up when the conditions are right.

The harbour ice creates natural abstract compositions:

  • Leading lines formed by dark channels between ice sheets

  • Layers of texture from slushy buildup and smooth frozen plates

  • Minimalist winter tones — blues, greys, silvers

  • A horizon that almost disappears

It’s not dramatic like a snowstorm. It’s not colourful like autumn. It’s quiet drama. Subtle power.

Bob noticed something else too.

There were birds sitting calmly on the ice as if this was completely normal. For them, it is. For us, it feels like standing at the edge of a frozen sea.

And of course, Bob kept a safe distance. Harbour ice is not a place to test your luck. It’s a place to observe. To photograph. To respect.

What fascinates Bob most is how the harbour constantly reinvents itself. In summer, it reflects sunlight and sailboats. In fall, it mirrors gold trees. In winter, it fractures into something alien and beautiful.

Toronto Harbour — another world hiding in plain sight.

You just have to look.

 

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Bob and the Corner Police of YouTube


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Bob and the Magic of Auto HDR at Union Station










Bob has a confession to make.

For years, he walked through Toronto’s grand buildings — especially Union Station — squinting at blown-out windows and dark shadows thinking, “Well, that’s just the way it is.”

Then one day, he rediscovered a little feature buried inside his Sony menu.

Auto HDR.

And suddenly… everything changed.

What Is Auto HDR Anyway?

On many Sony cameras (yes, even the older ones Bob loves like the NEX-3, a6000, and a5000), Auto HDR takes three photos at different exposures and blends them together inside the camera.

  • One image for the shadows

  • One image for the highlights

  • One image for the midtones

The camera merges them into one balanced image.

No computer needed.
No complicated editing.
Just press the shutter.

Why Bob Uses It at Union Station

Look at a place like Union Station:

  • Bright winter light pouring through massive windows

  • Dark beams and platforms under the tracks

  • Warm indoor lighting mixed with cool outdoor tones

Normally you’d have to choose:

  • Expose for the windows and lose detail in the shadows

  • Or expose for the shadows and blow out the sky

Auto HDR fixes that.

When Bob photographed the GO train sitting under those heavy steel beams, Auto HDR kept:

  • Detail in the train’s green and white paint

  • Texture in the dark ceiling

  • Natural glow in the platform lights

  • And visibility in the snowy skyline outside

All in one shot.

Where to Find It on Sony Cameras

On many Sony models:

Menu → Camera Settings → DRO/Auto HDR → Auto HDR

You can choose:

  • Auto (camera decides)

  • Or manual levels like ±1.0 to ±6.0 EV

Bob usually sets it around Auto or 3.0 EV for interiors like stations.

Too high, and it starts looking fake.
Too low, and you don’t see the difference.

When It Works Best

Bob has found Auto HDR shines in:

  • Train stations

  • Subway platforms

  • City halls

  • Churches

  • Underpasses

  • Coffee shops with bright windows (yes, even at Balzac’s)

  • Glass corridors like the SkyWalk

Basically anywhere Toronto gives you extreme contrast.

When Not to Use It

Auto HDR takes multiple shots quickly.

So:

  • Don’t use it for fast-moving subjects

  • Don’t use it when people are rushing through your frame

  • Avoid it in strong wind (camera movement can cause ghosting)

Bob uses it mostly for architecture and transit photography, where things stay still long enough.

Why This Matters for Street Photographers

Street photography isn’t just people walking.

Sometimes it’s:

  • Empty corridors

  • Quiet platforms

  • The calm before the rush

Auto HDR lets you capture those spaces the way your eye actually sees them.

When Bob stood alone in that long, glass-roofed corridor with the escalators at the end, the scene had detail everywhere — floor, ceiling, walls, lights.

Without HDR?
The windows would blow out.
The ceiling would go dark.
The mood would be lost.

With HDR?
It feels balanced and real.

The Best Part?

You don’t need the newest camera.

Bob proves this all the time.

You can use:

  • An older Sony NEX

  • An a5000

  • An a6000

  • Even that DSLR-looking Sony a3000

You don’t need $4,000 gear to handle dynamic range.

You just need to explore the menu.

Bob’s Final Thought

Auto HDR isn’t cheating.

It’s using the tools your camera already has.

Toronto gives us contrast:

  • Winter light and steel beams

  • Snow and brick

  • Glass and shadow

If you let your Sony help you balance it, your photos will look closer to what your eyes saw in the moment.

And that’s what Bob is always chasing.

Not perfection.

Just the feeling of standing there.

Camera in hand.

Waiting for the next train.

 

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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.


 

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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.

 

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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.


 

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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.

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Bob and the Honourable Mention in Brutal Toronto

Bob did not win. He did not take first place. He did not take second. He did not even take third. Bob received… an Honourable Mention . ...