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Forst, Katja RadovicJonsson, Kyla Flynn, Luiza Teixeira, Maia Cesario, Marie Erikson, Micah Sébastien Zhang, Mrinali Ghosh, Navya Chadha, Olivia Vos, Sam Low, Shubhreet Dadrao, Sidney Shaw, Sofia Campanholo, Sophia Russo, Sophia Samilski, Stella Griffin, Thea Turner, Tiana Khandelwal, Vicky Nguyen, Zoe Wagner
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Photography. Is it a tool, is it patience, is it curiosity or is it truth?
There are photographers who use their art as a means to understand the world. Their practice wasn’t just about capturing moments, but about capturing meaning. Moreover, it was about being a good human first and a good photographer, second.
This issue celebrates BC photographers’ commitment to photojournalism and the timeless art they created, values they upheld and the truth they captured, reminding us that true photography isn’t just about seeing, but about feeling the moment.
We dedicate this to all the storytellers who see the world through a lens but, most importantly, through a heart.
Saumya Kamra Photo Editor
3.
Sidney Shaw Senior Staff Reporter
Guntas Kaur Staff Reporter
Ruoxuan Wang Contributor
Sitting in a cozy armchair by a fireplace, Ralph Bower reminisced about his long career in photography with a big smile. At the age of 90, the award-winning North Vancouver photojournalist still lights up and has lots to say when he shares the stories behind his photos.
Bower worked at the Vancouver Sun for over 40 years, capturing more than 8,000 photos. He values many of the pictures he took, each one holding a special memory and story.
Born and raised in North Vancouver, Bower didn’t plan to become a photographer. He didn’t grow up thinking he would work in journalism, let alone be photojournalist. His journey began when he became a copy boy at the Vancouver Sun because of his friend, also a copy boy. When one of the photographers at the newspaper left the team, Bower was asked to fill the spot. That’s when it all started. From that point on, he dedicated himself to photography, starting at the Vancouver Sun in 1955 and staying at the paper until his retirement in 1997.
When The Ubyssey visited Bower’s home, he had already laid out his collection of cameras and photo archives in the living room. He couldn’t wait to tell us the stories behind each one of them. Among his collection was the large, square-shaped film camera he used when he first started his career. As he demonstrated how to use it and looked into the viewfinder, we were taken back in time. At that moment, we watched a young Bower walk through Vancouver’s streets, holding his camera and capturing the world around him. His excitement was contagious — every word and gesture showed how much photography means to him.
One 300mm lens he proudly showed us was used to capture a dramatic, award-winning photo of a horrifying situation. He photographed a father dangling his young son out of a third-floor apartment window. “The father was yelling at the crowd and said he’d drop the boy [as he saw my camera],” said Bower.
It was a dangerous situation, especially for the child, and Bower had to act fast. He quickly jumped into a van with a colleague and managed to capture the decisive shot. The boy was eventually rescued by the police, and the photo won Bower an award.
The value of the photos Bower took lie` behind the people and memories in them.
“I can’t pick one photo to represent my career because I have so many,” Bower said. “I value every picture. I don’t value 8,000, but I did take 8,000, so I do value a lot of them.”
“I feel so lucky to know all these people.”
To him, photography wasn’t just a job — it was a way to connect with people and tell their stories. Among his many friendships, Bower spoke fondly of Pat Quinn, a Canadian ice hockey player and “Canucks boss.” Quinn was the head coach of the Vancouver Canucks from 1991–97. Bower and Quinn’s bond grew stronger over time, shaped by Bower’s work which captured key moments of the team’s journey. Quinn respected Bower’s dedication and the
way he portrayed the players and the spirit of the game.
This mutual respect turned into a genuine friendship. Bower recalled a moment when Quinn defended him against a security guard, saying, “This man can go wherever he wants. We want pictures in the paper.” It was clear Quinn appreciated Bower’s contributions and saw him as an integral part of the Canucks’ story.
Hockey had been a big part of Bower’s life before he even picked up the camera. He loved playing hockey, and this passion matched perfectly with the decades he spent photographing the Canucks. Bower said he even got to know every player in the NHL through this work. But his talent goes beyond sports photography. Taking portrait photos is also Bower’s expertise.
Over the span of his career, he photographed some of the most famous people in the world, including Elvis Presley, Terry Fox and Frank Sinatra.
Bower said his photographing of Presley was by chance. At a press conference, a man — who turned out to be Presely’s bodyguard — approached him, offering a photo op.
Bower even made Presley laugh when they met, by saying, “Don’t call me sir — I’m only a year older than you!” after Presley shook his hand and called him “sir.” That small moment of humour and being himself helped break the ice and translated into a more natural photo. Bower’s natural ability to connect with people helped him form relationships with many of his subjects, and even became good friends with them.
For Bower, what matters the most in photography is honesty and being authentic with people. Speaking on portrait photography, Bower said, “If you have the patience and learn to get along ... You’ve got to get along with people. You can’t be quiet and say, ‘Oh,’ and let them do something for you. You got to tell them why and show who you are.”
Bower believes this approach helps people feel at ease and trust photographers, allowing true selves to be captured. For Bower, photography isn’t just about taking pictures, it’s about understanding people. The key is to approach photography subjects as people first, not just as subjects.
Although Bower retired at 62, he wasn’t yet ready to put down his camera. Photojournalism had become a part of who he was. Even after retiring, he kept photographing the Canucks and capturing moments that mattered.
After his retirement, Bower took time to save his photos in tapes in his office. He wrote names on each of his tapes to keep track of every one of them and kept them in envelopes for different sections.
It wasn’t as easy as it is with modern digital technologies. Nowadays, we can just upload the pictures that we took onto our computers and type out the captions. But Bower had to spend countless hours carefully organizing and label-
ling everything by hand in order to preserve his legacy. Even though it was a lot of work, every document and tape is neatly arranged, showing the great care he put into them. His deep familiarity with each piece shows how much he loves his archives and how often he must have looked through them.
Bower’s love for photography goes far beyond its technical aspects. Each story he told brought his photos to life. At 90 years old, his passion burns as brightly as ever. As he talked about his work, his eyes lit up, and he dove into each story as if it happened yesterday.
Meeting Bower was an unforgettable experience. Watching him hold his old cameras, smiling as he shared his stories, it is clear photography isn’t just a job — it’s Bower’s life. U
Scattered across the living room of a Bowen Island bungalow are trinkets from nearly every part of the world. Framed photographs hung on the wall show scenes from Asia. In the corner, a simple wooden bookshelf slumps under the weight of books ranging from memoirs to travel guides.
The owner of this home is Kami Kanetsuka. It is difficult to describe her using typical career labels — writer, photojournalist or occasional secretary cannot begin to encompass the breadth of her experiences. After sitting down and speaking with her for two hours, it became clear that our limited time together was insufficient to capture her essence. However, one label best describes Kanetsuka: traveller.
Kanetsuka started taking photographs in 1966, when she first left London and drove to Kathmandu in Nepal.
“Before I went, I never had a camera, and my boyfriend … sent me out to photograph scenes in London.” She recalled going to a
boat and being told by her then-boyfriend to go around it to take pictures of all the different angles. “[T]hat was my basic training. And then we were on the road.”
The trip took several months and Kanetsuka recalled her first realizations upon leaving Western Europe. In Turkey, she was amazed by belly dancers who — contrary to what she had been presented with in London — were older and did not conform to Western beauty standards.
“I was in my 20s and it was sort of like everything on that trip was fascinating, because it’s the realization that what you’ve been brought up with is not the world. It’s a tiny bit of the world.”
Kanetsuka quickly realized her interest lay in the people she met, and it reflected in the way she told us her stories; all of them seemed to centre on the relationships she formed.
On her trip across Eurasia, Kanetsuka a street typist in Pakistan who she photo graphed and immediately connected went on to become pen pals, and the remains one of Kanetsuka’s favourite today.
“I was never a full-time photojournalist,” she stated bluntly. “I would get so involved with the people that sometimes I would up doing photography for a while.”
She flipped through her old black white prints and told stories about the a boy smiles behind the giant mouthpiece sousaphone, a woman strips on a motorcycle in the middle of a crowd. Every photograph vibrant despite being colourless. Though photos we flipped through are framed on the subject, they evoke a feeling of right in the middle of the scene.
“Lots of people think that when you a camera, you’re hiding behind your I’m the opposite. I want to be involved.”
Kanetsuka met photoconnected to. They photo favourite images photojournalist,” involved would give and the sights; mouthpiece of a motorcycle photograph is Though the framed closely of being you have camera. involved.”
The photographer patiently waiting for the perfect moment is a typical image that we see in the media, but it was the opposite of Kanetsuka’s approach.
“I was a spontaneous photographer,” Kanetsuka said after pulling up one of her first photos of Canada. In it are two men in Molson Canadian cowboy hats, one of them looking quite grumpy.
“I don’t think I was ever waiting for that moment … I took lots of pictures, and hop[ed] that there was one really good one there.”
That’s not to say Kanetsuka’s style of photography did not have an element of patience. After her road trip, Kanetsuka settled in Nepal and spent time understanding the place that many of her photographs feature. At the time, film photography was the only available form, and Kanetsuka was unable to process her slides until she returned to
wherever was home for her. “That was the biggest thing, like, what am I going to find?” she said.
Kanetsuka pulled out her laptop and showed us an image of British skinheads sitting in a pub. It had been taken quickly through a pub window, and 40 years later, connected her with the subjects of the photograph.
As we flipped through, it was clear that Kanetsuka’s photos captured the essence of the place, people and era in which she took them. Somehow through her spontaneity, she managed to represent the unique small and large histories of the people she’d met.
When asked what makes a good photo, Kanetsuka answered in the most simultaneously unspecific and accurate way.
“You just get a feel about photographs,” she said. “There are some photographs that you can see that can go home forever that have some [personal] value.”
By the end of the conversation, Kanetsuka had unearthed and covered her living room with stacks of photographs. The flame in the fireplace had burned out, relit itself and burned out once again.
When asked if she had any advice for young photojournalists, Kanetsuka seemed unsure how to answer for the first time in our conversation. She started by saying photojournalists should be invisible, but then muttered, “No, that’s not good.” She tried again, and said they should be mindful of whether something should be photographed or not, but then she lost her train of thought.
Finally, Kanetsuka settled on this piece of advice: “Every individual is different and you just have to work out your own what you want.” U
life in focus
“Well, I don’t consider myself a photographer anymore,” said Mike Wakefield, flaunting a big head of garlic he grew in his backyard.
Wakefield, a former photojournalist, moved away from the bustling city of Vancouver and now finds himself nestled in a small, tight-knit community off the coast. He has developed a love for farming in his backyard since he retired from the North Shore News He went from living a fast-paced life capturing the breaking news of North Vancouver, to a mindful existence as a farmer.
Wakefield started his career in the early ‘80s. What became a 37-year-long career in journalism began as an unplanned placeholder.
After graduating from Emily Carr University of Art + Design with a degree in sculpture and photography, Wakefield applied to be a darkroom technician at the North Shore News — a decision that catapulted him into the world of truth-seeking.
He didn’t plan to stay at the North Shore News but ended up loving the community enough to work at the paper for almost four decades.
“I can’t think of anything else that I would have [done] other than take photos to illustrate stories,” said Wakefield. “I had been there so long that there was not a day that went by that I did not run into 10 people that I knew. The running joke was I’d been in every other house on the North Shore for some reason.”
“Uhm, so no, I didn’t plan on staying there. I didn’t plan on working there but I’m glad that I did.”
Wakefield emphasized the importance of longevity in relationships and building trust as a photojournalist, recalling an incident when he showed up to the scene of a fire and journalists weren’t allowed to enter. However, when the firefighters scanned the crowd, they asked for Wakefield specifically, ultimately allowing him in to take photos.
He referenced Ralph Bower, a prominent Vancouver photojournalist and Wakefield’s mentor, who taught Wakefield about the “90/10 per cent” rule — 90 per cent of taking a good photo is communicating with the subject, while the other 10 per cent is clicking the button. Before taking a picture, Wakefield
said Bower would talk to the subjects and “warm them up.”
In his own career, Wakefield continued this practice, taking the time to get to know the subject before capturing them. Allowing for a sense of genuinity to be fostered between the subject and photographer underscores the need for connection and empathy in journalism. Without this, journalism would be a colourless mosaic: present yet unconvincing.
While a journalist may want a picture to be a true representation of reality, there is always a desire for the story to reach a wider audience, which is often more difficult to do without exaggerating certain details that grab people’s attention.
Swiping through headlines without learning anything further has become the norm as people embrace the hustle and bustle of fast-paced life, leaving them without much time to spare. When asked
about choosing between an attractive picture or capturing the truth, Wakefield strongly advocated for the latter.
“You can still photograph a tragic incident with a very powerful image that doesn’t show the blood and the gore or jeopardize someone’s situation because of you running that photo,” he said.
A rule he lived by is being a good human first and a photographer second. To maintain a good reputation with the community, journalists have a responsibility to be courteous and respectful. While a problematic photo may get you views, it takes away much more than it gives — it takes away the respect and admiration people have for you, and goes against the very essence of journalism, which is to tell the story as accurately as possible.
WAIT... TO THE LEFT... A BIT MORE THERE. GOT THE SHOT!
Another major component of Wakefield’s work is patience. Having worked with film cameras with limited exposures, Wakefield learned early on to preserve film for the right moment. One would think that with the advent of digital cameras, the importance of patience would fade. Although our willingness to wait has fizzled out, the importance of being patient in order to get the perfect shot remains the same.
With teary eyes, Wakefield reminisced on the best shot he took in his career, titled “Mr. and Mrs. Burton.” Mr. James Burton was a World War 1 veteran — on his 101st birthday, Wakefield was invited to take a picture of him receiving the Order of Canada.
Wakefield had assumed it was going to be a simple picture of Mr. Burton
receiving the award. However, before going up the stage, Mr. Burton asked for a picture with his wife, Susan, who was in a nursing home in another wing of the building. Wakefield set up a chair where the lighting was best, and Mr. Burton requested a few minutes to help Mrs. Burton get ready. He combed her hair, and they shared a moment together. The veteran was now ready for the shot, but Wakefield had already taken it — captured in a moment of vulnerability, shared smiles and intense eye contact full of love.
“I get choked up every time I look at it or talk about it,” Wakefield said.
“It was this funny thing of patience, because I was hoping what happened was going to happen. It did, but it took a while and I had to have everything in place. The lighting had to be good. The chair had to be at the right
angle. I had to be at a distance that I didn’t feel like I was intruding. So I think in that case, I always look at that as [a shot] where patience and intuition paid off.”
This goes to show a single shot takes more than just clicking a button. It is an amalgamation of patience, intuition and connection. Photojournalists like Wakefield have shaped the histories of the communities they have worked with through their genuine love for art and appreciation for authenticity. He treats his subject as humans, not spectacles — a perspective he advises the upcoming generation of photojournalists to hold on to. It’s easy to take on an assignment, take a picture and get paid, but it’s more difficult to find a sense of human connection in all of those assignments.
Although he doesn’t fully resonate with the
title of “photographer” anymore, Wakefield’s work isn’t entirely over. He has a few future projects in mind, like publishing coffee table books, participating in photo talks and continuing to be the remarkable photographer he has always been.
While elaborating on this, he went off-camera for a minute and returned with a fresh garlic head in his hand. As he proudly presented his harvest to the camera, Wakefield humbly declared himself to be a farmer now. Yet, the heart of a photojournalist remains — capturing the essence of life, whether through a lens or a garden.
Wakefield’s works continue to shape journalism in Vancouver. The 25-year-old with a mullet and a small camera might have not realized it at the time, but he was making and preserving history. U
1. Got carded at The Roxy, maybe 5. Allard’s study
Hiker’s snack that has lent its name to a fashion “core”
Vintage photo tint
With baby, a screenager’s younger cousin
Drew’s partner on podcast *Emergency Intercom* 17. Earth-shaking event
Spanish kiss
Serves that slay?
Pricey brand featured in a Vancouverite’s winter fit check
Fiona, after true love’s
Function before the function
Silk-chiffon, e.g.
Office note
Laudatory poem
Island nation off the
Outdoor retail brand co-opted by the tech
Nickname for singer of
1. Opposite of a home game
5. To do with pond scum
10. Let thy movements cease, ‘Who goes there?’ predecessor
14. An anagram created from soil
15. She tried to get on the cover of Vogue, but her legs were too long
16. To Kravitz, it ain’t ___ ‘till it’s ___
17. Tony and Riff speak of this 19. Lily plant native to western North America
20. Took a long walk 21. Boring, dull
22. Adm. Ackbar’s folly
1. American surgery association
2. What I’m listening to
3. Relating to wings
4. Walk the dog, around the world
5. A TV’s rabbit ear
6. Louis de Pointe du ___
7. 1692 Sarah who was hanged
8. Love in Italia
9. Marshall’s fiance’s nickname
10. They lead game shows
11. Dodge, escape
53 km north of Edmonton
Such as enemies to lovers 18. Lightbulb over your head
Ed and Edd’s buddy
A Norwegian municipality
23. Chemical suffix
25. One of Jesus Christ’s bros.
27. Recognizing a hardware component
32. It’s what the floor is
33. Lemon, power predecessor
34. Very Mindful, very ___
39. Left no crumbs
41. Sweet potato’s alter ego
43. Gamer’s past temper tantrum
44. Annabeth Chase’s adoptive sister
46. Nickname for one of Winnie’s friends
48. Bit of a mean thing to call a woman, frankly
Il y en a un sur la table 28. Lisping Scot’s girl
Part of the eyeball that absorbs light 30. France, way back when
Boggy
Sailor’s pole
Tangelo misnomer 37. 500 sheets of paper 38. One of four owners of the Daily Planet
Plumber’s pal 42. To piss someone off 45. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard” in legalese 47. Yesterday’s turkey’s exclamation 50. Organize, categorize
Mum telling me not to ____ the dog up
49. Stalling
52. Often confused with thistles
56. __, open up!
57. My heart ___s for you
58. Text slang; medium’s intermediary
60. Blare music really loud
65. Topiary tendrils
66. Samsung Apple Store
68. Espaņa’s pot 69. Botanical term for rough 70. To save a penny is to ____
71. With time this waits for no man 72. C418’s track 24 on Minecraft 73. Wall preventing floods
52. After your astrology GF reads your palm, she’ll read these
53. It keeps getting into the lettuce
54. You simply must have it of yourself
55. Caterpillar hair
59. Unfortunate souls
61. Mimicked, copied 62. French singer, Patrice 63. Common bubble tea component 64. She auld on my lang ‘till I
67. Accepting spaces in secondary school
