On August 3, 2008, we (Louis Helbig & Kristin Reimer) embarked on a six-week journey across the country; a journey with an impact far beyond its six-week timeframe.
On that Ottawa morning, we climbed into our little antique airplane, a 1946 Luscombe 8A, a plane so traditional in design that one starts it not by the turn of a key, but by taking hold of the propeller and physically throwing it down. Louis threw down the propeller and we headed west.
The boundaries of our trip were few and far between: we were due at a wedding in Calgary in mid-August, we wanted to visit Louis’ family in the interior of British Columbia, and we felt a strong call to see Fort McMurray and the Tar Sands. Beyond that, for six weeks we were free to explore Canada and go, quite literally, where the wind blew us.
The plane is tiny. Really tiny. Our luggage consisted of a tent, two sleeping bags, a jerry can for hauling gas, some emergency supplies, and one change of clothes each for cold and warm weather. For six weeks. We actually mailed a package to Calgary so that we would have appropriate wedding clothes and then, somewhat reluctantly, mailed the package back.
Despite our sparse belongings (or, perhaps, because of), our experiences during those six weeks were rich, full and often intense. We bopped along the country, flying low over dramatic scenes – vast expanses of rugged bush and lakes in northern Ontario, whimsical sloughs in Saskatchewan, dramatic mountain peaks in British Columbia – photographing along the way and landing at small airstrips whenever we needed gas or rest. We would then put up our tent beside the airplane and hitchhike into town to buy food and engage in whatever conversation might await us. More often than not, someone would offer to give us a tour of town, take us home for supper or even offer us a bed for the night. We were struck by the profound generosity of so many Canadians, and now count several of these people as dear friends.
Our journey did eventually take us to Fort McMurray, no small feat in our tiny plane. We actually traveled there twice – once on our way to BC and again on our way home. We weren’t able to see the Tar Sands on our first visit as we were grounded by the weather. Instead we spent a few days in the town of Fort McMurray itself, talking to residents, some who had lived there for 26 years and some who had arrived a week earlier. Our experience was full of contradictions: the generosity of the family who invited us into their home & the lack of openness exhibited by the cars streaming by us as we hitchhiked in the pouring rain; the flashy new trucks of many young men & the crumbling infrastructure in the town; the hope for a better life expressed by new arrivals & the cynicism voiced by those who had been there a while; the excitement of being at the centre of a Canadian political hot topic & the sign on the door of the local member of parliament’s office informing citizens it was closed for the summer and to call Ottawa if any need arose.
We returned a few weeks later, eager to actually see the mythic Tar Sands. We flew over the area three times, all at different times of the day and for several hours each flight. The overall impression is striking. Overwhelming. Stunning. The individual scenes are striking. Fascinating. Moving. Beyond words, really.
The images speak for themselves.
We arrived back in Ottawa, full of these images, both buoyed and exhausted by the intensity of our trip. We had a nagging sense that something had to be done with the photos, that the journey was not yet complete; but we had no clue how to proceed.
And so the photos sat dormant for a few months, only being seen by family and friends. Yet a certain phenomenon occurred whenever they were viewed: People started talking and asking questions; engaging with the photos, each other and the issue of the Tar Sands.
Currently, the Tar Sands seem to be of interest mostly to environmental activists and big business. There’s not much discussion about them in broader society; very few opportunities to engage in a real “no-spin” conversation about both the positives and negatives of the Tar Sands. We found that these photos, drawing people in more through the aesthetics than the content, connect with Canadians who wouldn’t normally engage in a conversation about the tar sands. In some way, they seem to initiate debates that are currently absent and start to make the tar sands more relevant for the majority of Canadians who are neither “environmentalists” nor “big business”.
Encouraged by a new friend who had seen the photos and had sensed a certain power in them, a small group of us in Ottawa began gathering at the beginning of January this year. The group is a diverse collection of friends, acquaintances and colleagues from all walks of life who are joined by a commitment to make a difference on this topic. Also connecting the group is a profound respect for the intelligence of Canadians who need facts not spin (from either side) and a belief in the power of art. Our flight across Canada taught us much about the generosity and integrity of Canadians; the experience of this collection of strangers working together continues this lesson, adding in the age-old truth that individuals joining together for good really can make a difference.
While our first idea, launching an art exhibition entitled “Beautiful Destruction – Alberta Tar Sands Aerials” in time for President Obama’s visit, met up against the daunting barriers of time and money, we are continuing to work on the idea of using art exhibitions to open up the conversation of the Alberta Tar Sands for all Canadians.
And so the journey begun many months ago continues, morphing as it goes and engaging us in new and exciting ways. Thank you for joining us in whatever way you have: viewing the images, reading our story, talking with others about the Tar Sands.
Please feel free to contact us with ideas, comments or questions.
Kristin Reimer & Louis Helbig
