There are places in Vancouver that still seem so "Vancouver." I'm not talking post-Expo Vancouver so much as the Vancouver that ghosts about the memories of those of us who lived here when it was more like a big town: stores closed on Sundays, 4th ave. dead before 3pm, doors unlocked in Kits, strange pride for the Sears Tower because it looked kind of like a UFO.
That Vancouver has a certain texture and feel to it; it's orange and brown, has some bricks, has (some) innocence, has tragic dreams of modernism and no precognition that those dreams might get co-opted by a twisted mix of George Jetson, California and some alien thing we're still trying to figure out.
Well, that's my Vancouver. If anything, the city has gotten younger in all the wrong ways. I like the layering of the buildings in this shot as a way of expressing that last thought. And though perhaps clumsy, the obvious pairing with the cross-walk sign and the division between the trees on the right and the buildings on the left express my sense of some of the major tensions I feel about a city that feels like it was my home, even though I still live in it.