BY Marie Stamp
“O’Hara would eventually make hundreds of recordings of the stories and songs of the people he met in Newfoundland. He did not have to insist too much to coax them to take the mic. “Sing a song or hum a tune, do a dance or leave the room! That’s what they used to say,” he remembers of his time in Branch.”
BY Eva Crocker
Suddenly ripples started appearing on the large screen, like you see on the surface on of a pond at the beginning of a downpour. On two of the smaller screens the tide tugged unfurled waves back out into the bay; another showed mint-coloured lichen on a grey rock; a third played water gurgling in and out of a tide pool. I could feel the bunny-rabbit thump of blood coursing through my heart and it was correlating with the steady tick in the soundscape.
BY Renee Fancey
Joey sits in soft focus. Behind him, blue skies and bright murals paint a backdrop easily mistaken as exotic. Festival flags rally. Paving stones undulate drunkenly up the lane. Streetlamps, tagged out to the sun, sleep off their graveyard shifts. A canopy of shadows waves like a palm tree.