Kopelow's photo book blows a kiss to the '60s

Being a child of the 1970s, I can only learn about the 1960s from the records that are left behind. Gerry Kopelow's book All Our Changes is probably as good a starting point as any. After all, it just won Best Illustrated Book of the Year at the recent Manitoba Writing and Publishing Awards.

The veteran architecture and performing arts photographer turned 18 in the latter part of that decade of social change and interesting times. In the introduction, he describes why it was so important to put together this pictorial document of his experiences.

"We have a very tenuous relationship with history," he began. "Here was this particular bubble when a lot of people did change. Nowadays, it's thought of (by people who didn't experience it) as quaint, cute and silly, which it was.

"But there were aspects of this era which were, I hesitate to use the word 'noble' but were much more authentic, much more profound, and worth looking at."

It's important to note that the word "tenuous" is very relevant since these photographs were taken between 1967 and 1975. It's difficult to tell if the bulk of the pictures still come from the '60s but they all seem to have a '60s flavour to them.

Kopelow called himself an outsider to most of the upheaval and newly found and tested freedoms. That was probably the best approach for him to be an objective observer to many of these situations. It also seems to have hindered a good portion of these pictures.

There's a two-page spread near the beginning that shows a musician with striped pants at a concert. On the left, he's tuning his guitar while kids hang off of a tree in the background. On the right page, he's still tuning his guitar, no kids. Why include the second shot, I wonder. It adds nothing new to the exploration of his subject, namely the 1960s.

That series, taken at a concert, actually goes on for several more pages, with photos of other musicians and attendees. First, we see the guy in the Mickey Mouse T-shirt walking around with a drum, then he's shown looking like he's about to play a guitar with a lit cigarette. He appears to be the saddest man among the revellers.

I later read the index to learn that it's Burton Cummings of The Guess Who. I probably would've taken more of these kinds of shots too but that doesn't necessarily give them added texture or significance to the whole essay.

The artist confesses that he was depressed during this time. Maybe his outsider status was a compelling factor to how repetitive and uninspired a lot of shots are. A self-portrait later confirms how unenthusiastic he really was. The shot looks like he could have fit right in with the cast of The Royal Tenenbaums.

While the book goes a long way toward providing a Canadian perspective on the people of the '60s, it really only gains its place in the annals of history by Kopelow being in the right place at the right time.