4 minute read
Alternative photography and art
By Scott Williams
Herb Deary: Opening Doors Through the Lens
Scene: “A stark area. A bit of ice on the ground. And there’s a shopping cart.”
Manipulation: “Took away some of the colouring. Made it feel colder.”
Subject: Homelessness.
Herb Deary, the creative force behind Belleville’s Bonehedz Studios, isn’t afraid of difficult subjects—in fact, he embraces them. “Conversations that people are uncomfortable with.”
Why? “Because real life includes a lot of things. Life isn’t just trees and sailboats.”
And homelessness in particular? “Because for a lot of people it’s one of those conversations that’s ‘out of sight, out of mind’. Sometimes you’ve got to be reminded.”
And the point of the manipulation? “Because every picture is part of a bigger story. There’s so much more than just the picture.”
Deary learned the basics of photography as a kid during the analog days of 35mm film and began his photographic career in a conventional way. “That’s what photography really was,” he says. “You’re at the weddings taking pictures, or birthday parties, or taking headshots.” Though he picked up valuable lessons, he found the work a bit mundane. Then came the shift: “When digital came along it was a whole new age.”
Today, Deary describes himself as a visual opportunist. “I can envision something and I’ll take the opportunity to create it and present it. I’ve always seen things through a different eye than most people: I’ll catch something that people see, but maybe don’t see in its full form.”
His purpose is clear: to spark conversations and make us think. He leans into challenging topics—homelessness, mental health, and sexuality. “That’s a big thing in our modern age. Sexuality has become political. To a point where some people, if they’re in a minority, they can be in a situation that’s detrimental to them. There’s a lot of bigotry, a lot of hatred in the world right now. A lot.”
Deary’s work around gender and sexuality, while sometimes exploring the fringes, also shines light on what we might consider more mainstream—and in doing so, raises provocative questions. “You know the usual wedding picture? That husband and wife… what if, when they go home, they’re wearing panda suits?”
It’s an image that makes us wonder: in that scenario, what are the real costumes—the panda suits, or the fancy clothes worn for the wedding? In a cultural moment where expressing one’s “authentic self” has become a mantra, Deary pushes further, challenging us to ask what our authentic self really is. Will the real you please stand up?
He knows these conversations aren’t easy. In one photograph, Can you hear me now?, a model screams into a phone in anger and frustration, trying to be heard above the static. The piece is an apt metaphor for Deary’s artistic vision. As he insists, “art shouldn’t be comfortable.” Yet many of us would prefer the safety of our comfort zones. His work must be edgy, even unsettling—must scream at us metaphorically—to force us to confront difficult truths.
We are accustomed, even in art, to being guided—to see the world through the artist’s lens in a particular light. Deary flips that script. He is not interested in imposing his view. Instead, he wants to open doors. “I don’t try to put my view into their head. I just open up the door.”
And that may be the greatest challenge—and gift—of Deary’s work. We are not asked to agree or even to see the world his way. We are invited to ask the essential questions he raises, to face the realities he highlights, and to wrestle with them ourselves—without guideposts, only provocations.
