Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

 Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering  Cabin  feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.  The immersive environment of  Cabin  represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.   Cabin  echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to  Cabin  look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the   Cloudberry   project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.  Visitors to  Cabin  experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of  Cabin  for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.  The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise,  Cabin  is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.

Opening a nondescript door in the corridor of a high-rise building and unexpectedly stepping into a traditional Newfoundland cabin is a disorienting experience. Indeed, entering Cabin feels like traveling back in time, or even into a completely different realm. In this immersive installation, Adam has completely transformed a 10-foot square studio space, obscuring all traces of the original structure. Visitors find themselves in the interior of a cabin that Adam built, assisted by his father, using materials sourced from the family’s homeland of Newfoundland, and decorated with traditional furniture and household items.

The immersive environment of Cabin represents Adam’s quest to recreate not only the physical place of his homeland but also the feelings it evokes. These sentiments encompass warmth and nostalgia but also a profound sense of loss. Beginning in 1949, the Canadian government paid residents of “unsatisfactory” parts of Newfoundland to move to areas of the country with better jobs and services. In some cases, resettled families brought their homes with them: houses were removed from their foundations and floated on barges to accompany the residents to their new communities. In the photographs documenting these moves, the uprooted structures seem vulnerable, and the expectations placed on them unreasonable: houses can be moved, but they cannot protect the families who inhabit them from the turmoil of being resettled.

Cabin echoes the journey taken by these houses; in this installation, Adam metaphorically moves his family’s cabin from Pinchard’s Island in Newfoundland and places it in his current environment: the urban setting of a multi-story building. When visitors to Cabin look out the simulacrum of a window, they do, in fact, see the island, via a live stream of the Cloudberry project. Time and space collapse and the two places seem simultaneously close and distant.

Visitors to Cabin experience the warmth and hospitality of a traditional Newfoundland saltbox home where the kitchen served as the main gathering space. Families rearranged furniture and repurposed the kitchen throughout the day: in addition to its primary function of preparing and serving meals, the kitchen became a place to work when frigid temperatures kept people indoors, and, later in the evening, a place to gather and celebrate. Similarly, Adam adapts the space of Cabin for his own needs: he uses it as a studio space, and he also welcomes friends to gather for tea.

The old Resettlement-era photographs of floating houses subvert our notion of the family home, which we think of as a sanctuary, impervious to the outside world. These images remind us, however, that “home” is actually an ephemeral concept: even if a house remains in place, its inhabitants and community eventually change in ways large and small. Likewise, Cabin is a temporary structure; eventually it will leave its setting in the high rise. Where it will land, and in what form, is still unknown.