The early August heat had just broken when Phi Doan and I met for an evening walk in Kitchener’s Willow River Park. The destination was their choice, a green space that the photographer, artist and community builder has strong memories of from childhood.
“As a kid, there’s this weird distinct memory of the waters being blue or clear, like clean,” they said.
We’re walking past the lake when Phi mentions this, and the muddy brown waters of the current moment stand in contrast to their memories.
“I remember when I was working as a journalist, talking to some Indigenous folks that canoed down the entire length of the river, picking up water samples along the way,” they said.
They noted that the paddlers had similar memories of the former state of the water.
As Phi shares this story, we walk past the canoe statue next to the lake and they note the serendipity of the timing. Phi has spent time thinking about the art and monuments in Willow River Park. We stop at an empty statue mount, one I’ve walked past multiple times, but never noticed.
“There used to be a statue there. It was of the Kaiser, but they threw it away. It was during the time when there was a lot of anti-German sentiment, and the bust was never found,” they said.
Phi clarifies that the bust was removed around WWI and exists as a local legend in town. But as for the statue mount itself, that remains empty.
“I’ve always wanted people to start using it more for protests. Because I think it would be a very strong symbol to put something up there during certain moments in time. The only time I’ve seen something put up there was the chair,” they said.
Phi tells me that a group gathered in the park in response to racially provoked attacks, and a chair was placed on the mount to symbolize the need to protect themselves.
Photographing protests is a theme we visit many times in our conversation, clearly a part of their photography work that drives Phi.
“I don’t necessarily see myself as a passive observer. I’ve ridden,” they said.
They tell me about the narratives they build with the images they capture, allowing them to comment on issues such as policing and corporate influence that are part of the larger story of protest.
Phi initially took up photography as a way to combat burnout from work. Since then, they have established themselves at events such as Pinch Cabaret as the resident photographer.
“I’ve done [Pinch Cabaret] for several months, and I’m very familiar with the entire space. So now the joy comes from whenever I can find a more interesting way to approach it,” they said.
As we continue to circle the park, past the playground and splash pad full of families, around the Boathouse under construction and over to Roos Island, Phi connects our conversation back to the land we’re on. They reminisce speak about the unhoused encampment on the island and the Land Back movement, an issue they covered as a reporter. It’s not lost on either of us that the events and art that mean the most to Phi stand in contrast with the big white tents of the Blues Fest currently being set up; Phi’s focus is on the grassroots movements, art and protests that find a home in the park.
Phi may bring their camera wherever they go, but their artistic practice extends beyond the lens. And right now, they’re considering that evolution and what will come next.
“It’s nostalgia for that childhood wonder when you approach certain things, and you’re not thinking about it, you’re just having fun,” they said.
We’re back by the lake as we discuss this joyful approach to art. Phi’s childhood memories of blue water are still clear in my mind.
“In terms of what’s next for me, I’m still trying to figure that out. Doing a lot of soul searching, personally trying to figure out what am I trying to do with my photography. I can do it kind of in my sleep now, but, OK, well what am I going to dream about?,” they said.
Our walk in the park may be done, but there is no doubt that Phi’s dreams will bring them, their camera, and their future artistic ambition, back to this space.
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