https://adamsim.ms/sublime daily 0.75 2018-09-06 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358020345087-3M5LDAFVHBVL7BHA2SZ5/03.jpg Sublime https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358014159507-6T8AASU3JFR0P6AFU4XZ/01.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358020196193-EF1UC5KFPLF5DUSGI782/00.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358017121832-2NCV8QVLCWL2KAI2TDH6/03.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358020277974-ZID9J5GTPAJUNLUK9MEV/04.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358018981480-UVCUCQLQLQELOIVBLZPA/08.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358017448235-4O0ZOYWNPQO8XHASHWDH/07.jpeg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358017333870-S132H7EB9DXI8YWHRH7M/02.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357426781854-UTB3S3OGQOKJ0OWQ7034/13.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358017877466-PXKQ6TRP1AXWE8PKNYAM/09.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357426775051-YY26VWO4M1VV2VMNJ2EC/15.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357426742220-LBKRFPLGEQ4C0K9LNDJP/12.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358018850978-PWVV82NDCZJ6PUFTGW93/02.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357426727708-MRHXSZ8DGOCNEWQZ26SO/11.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358018631120-XBCQNSX4DT10DSRBP41A/10.jpg Sublime In Sublime, Adam contemplates the grandeur of the sky, ocean, and forest of his homeland in Newfoundland. As a city dweller, Adam’s experience of this expansive place is at once foreign and familiar, both about returning home and experiencing unexplored places. Sublime proved to be transformational in Adam’s work. This inaugural exploration of Newfoundland prompted further investigation of its history, leading to several bodies of work photographing resettled communities. The large scale and the focus on natural settings in these images recall 19th century Hudson River School landscape paintings. While those paintings romanticized the natural world and emphasized its formidable power over humankind, the photographs in Sublime approach nature on a less intimidating—though still majestic—scale. Newfoundland’s trademark fog is the protagonist of these photographs. Though often associated with melancholy, here the atmosphere is almost playful: clouds echo the shapes of rock formations, fog obscures the horizon line, and the only evidence of the elusive wind is the way the trees lean in its wake. The photographs are alive with texture: snow-laden branches, grassy hills, faceted cliffs, the rippled surface of the sea. Others are more nuanced, requiring a longer look, to see what lies beyond the fog. Adam inserts the human figure into some photographs in the series to investigate humankind’s relationship to the land. While figures in Hudson River School painting were minuscule compared to the imposing landscape, the figures in the Sublime photographs—seen from behind—fit into the landscape almost seamlessly. Even their clothing seems felicitous: the pattern of the woman’s sweater nearly aligns with the horizon; the man, with his camouflage hat, shares the palette of his surroundings. https://adamsim.ms/washed-up daily 0.75 2013-01-03 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249856353-SSX96ZLFGLV4YE4DRYN9/01.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249871411-53O3QST8YKTDB6WDM7B3/01.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249873145-ADUY7H86RBUBGTWROT7B/02.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249875342-1VBBE2T84HC6GEB3RPDL/03.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249879379-HGEXGT99TGDGM4A8B9PJ/05.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249879427-FU8RRJQONW9W4027VAFL/06.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249882555-HJQMIVQ1SVF47SLJQXSJ/07.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249884048-R6FFWWY4DPGKPYV7V8AC/08.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249886416-KRNNJU7V81RA2BI1RP8R/09.jpg Washed-up https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357249887375-OGPEJNCWPOUX6I08IB99/10.jpg Washed-up https://adamsim.ms/from-to daily 0.75 2013-01-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357270721247-Z8G7P7XEHWAX8B9NQL6U/01.jpeg From:To https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357270721247-Z8G7P7XEHWAX8B9NQL6U/01.jpeg From:To https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357270694885-KHC38QQ8NOXF04OMR96M/02.jpeg From:To https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357270890629-KKMKT06RGWS07B82WQOY/03.jpeg From:To https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357270841312-E65KJK1RENB6QTN9SSF2/04.jpeg From:To https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1357271003912-YJOTFUV7TYI8FXXZABDL/05.jpeg From:To https://adamsim.ms/newfoundland daily 0.75 2013-01-12 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358024290694-Q2JD4Y7X3RHGD0RWBP0P/02.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358024290694-Q2JD4Y7X3RHGD0RWBP0P/02.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023190413-KFNWU7IKSE7VZPGSIF49/10.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023159535-SCAMSKO1FGHDPJCX140B/quote-04.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358024607923-4J1LACDA6054SILX6FQU/08.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358024506187-BG5WSY3PIYJ5CV10WGP0/04.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358024743059-TCGB4KG07GWH0PKK88XX/05.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023157836-3E5X6EDBMAIH6HLCFUON/quote-02.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358024922928-0M19KRRQ6T0OKPPA0GJJ/07.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023157185-UTVN00Z9BT9I66EE05WI/quote-03.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358025173262-B51C9YIHX0XI4BTFTKQJ/11.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023343898-KLIQDXM83MF8FHKOTGQN/03.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023156373-2BYVLOSXIRNF037YQF9K/quote-05.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023372170-NRULAEZ93U2VEZTL0O52/01.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358025476289-I2ZSL6T2TQ3NGX7XTIPJ/06.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358023159293-ZPJIG94A52DG51XTSSKY/quote-01.jpg Newfoundland https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358025582603-VNHBDCMJ8G3WTCXPP3WH/09.jpg Newfoundland https://adamsim.ms/resettlement daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358037460592-8M20PN71KQ2FN8FGZ9S9/01-round-harbour.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358037460592-8M20PN71KQ2FN8FGZ9S9/01-round-harbour.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217653703-HS6ZIXBODG3W4VVG7B22/04-jacksons-cove.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217730491-ILV9O8DTP4F5EGNPBY3T/02-coffee-cove.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217844825-0YTV9VUKZZ4WNMVD8PG2/13-Adam-Simms.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041215131-BW8O74FNHB2K7555IRVO/center-rock+copy.png Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217545581-BW7BH0Y5VW9GAV0823UP/round-harbour-07-01.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217434321-CQXB76X57GZVC8649YJ1/05-jacksons-cove.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041882251-5JH99C1FZHRR3OMCK03L/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.37.44%E2%80%AFAM.png Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217347157-7LLGD79N5LRCRYI4QQ7O/house-01.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041245363-VN7XMUU00KG9N6T4K7DT/DJI_0081-1.png Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217980353-SXH501AM6XT42TU76HQ7/round-harbour-09-01.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217516964-KKCA0KL6LVP7AI8445T0/wards-harbour-01.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217817545-46CDU69UBO98J2YJKHEG/dgf.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217961269-LWZYQZ30X2WFL6WPYNWI/paddocks-bight-01-01.jpg Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217415196-QN3QG5MPY63SK5Q7BA6G/round-harbour-01-01.jpg Resettlement https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358217310060-38GH8FX6N0OHDNE8CPMF/shoe-cove-01-02.jpg Resettlement https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041233719-HH6OWE46S6AP8B2NFPSI/DJI_0058-5.png Resettlement - Resettlement The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041782295-3P2SIRFPRMYLUEXQ7TMQ/map+copy.png Resettlement - Resettled Communities The photographs in the Resettlement project document Adam’s journey to immerse himself in the remains of outport communities in Newfoundland that were once vibrant places but are now uninhabited. Begun shortly after Newfoundland became the 10th province of Canada in 1949, the government’s resettlement programs offered subsidies and improved public services to the thousands of people it relocated from these isolated coastal communities to so-called “growth centers.” While ostensibly designed to benefit the people who were moved, these resettlement programs had the devastating consequence of erasing entire communities, both literally—their names expunged from maps—and figuratively. As people dispersed, so did their history, family relationships, livelihoods, and traditions; unnurtured, these fundamental aspects of community began to fade away. In these solemn photographs, Adam captures the immense sense of loss that lingers even now in these forgotten communities. The images are as mysterious as they are mournful. They raise unanswerable questions about the people who inhabited these places that had “no great future” and about the circumstances under which they left. Contemplating these photographs is a layered process: at first, they may seem like familiar landscapes or interiors; but look a moment longer, and a growing sense of discomfort begins to emerge: we see the playful silhouette of the iron bed frame against the floral wallpaper before we notice that the curtains are in tatters. These images are disconcerting because they upend some of our most fundamental beliefs about of being human: our homes provide protection for the people and things we cherish most; we honour our ancestors by sustaining their traditions; our community will remain long after we are gone; we can always go home again. The sense of absence in the Resettlement photographs is so palpable that it becomes its own kind of presence. The scenes in this body of work feel nostalgic, but they also remind us that the displacement of groups of people is a contemporary issue. Whether forcibly or by choice, people around the world have left their homes, livelihoods, and families, and have endured the loss of their homeland and its culture and history. The journey Adam documents in Resettlement represents a step toward reversing the loss of a unique, self-sufficient way of life, a step that engenders empathy for those who will never have the chance. https://adamsim.ms/blog daily 0.75 2014-06-08 https://adamsim.ms/blog/2014/landscape-and-power monthly 0.5 2014-06-08 https://adamsim.ms/blog/2013/artsida5-auction monthly 0.5 2014-06-08 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1368371215148-MA59X9DVGMCQCGA7SCAT/artsidaauction.jpg Blog - ARTSIDA5 Auction Photo: Jean Chaîney https://adamsim.ms/blog/2013/artsida-5-exhibition monthly 0.5 2014-06-08 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1368371372851-TAXCHFVPYRH5WETHRUK4/1366267181038_ORIGINAL.jpg Blog - ARTSIDA5 Exhibition Photo: Joyceln Malette https://adamsim.ms/blog/tag/auction monthly 0.5 https://adamsim.ms/blog/tag/gallerie+dentaire monthly 0.5 https://adamsim.ms/blog/tag/sublime monthly 0.5 https://adamsim.ms/blog/tag/exhibition monthly 0.5 https://adamsim.ms/blog/tag/photography monthly 0.5 https://adamsim.ms/pinchards-island daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485792718219-JO7WSN39B5ACN3SE0HW4/10_adam_simms_sisters.jpg Pinchard's Island https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728055310641-OQM2D9T8W02JU4M3ZERW/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.27.41%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728042767880-B7UY5H1BPDTGAG3FR1PW/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.35.28%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728040980459-L4RHXI0LUTSY31GI2OQN/image-asset.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793500077-BJKR0VSM6HPXIN55BCTH/03_adam_simms_explorers.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728055329322-QZN3ZYBAO24WA5B0SJPG/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.27.56%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041371724-WNZY82X9UZY9JCJZDGZ8/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.28.22%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041381256-AS33BYT0ILNFXIRQFI68/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.28.50%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041113974-3L4UCH397HU7MYTE9EQ4/land-ocean-scape+copy.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041389109-31Z7TZIV335C8ON5K1G1/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.29.06%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793513098-ZJGN00R8AS1MQ0UDSN0I/10_adam_simms_sisters.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041672753-NBHZUBBLMM4MJ3FX6JQX/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.34.18%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041162636-Y8F3GDT7IHWCH3QU26WC/bob-man-cabin+copy.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793499354-5WU0TXWWRLRMO937OX8F/02_adam_simms_daisy.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793498960-PY9GY0V3T7RQ3DGJ3K7E/01_adam_simms_archipelago.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793501700-CRCYWDWWTDDCEWSM8QUA/05_adam_simms_island.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793501667-OYLHW9EFLJ040YTBE4Z2/06_adam_simms_houses.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793513063-TA1GZZBLFX6EU71TKKF2/09_adam_simms_doris.jpg Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041527371-IKBV2GSA2JES1U9ROPEJ/picture-map+copy.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041701485-8VV0N819QK7QXNNP09VG/Screenshot+2024-10-04+at+7.34.45%E2%80%AFAM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041591920-Y4QT8WMGW55YUJ1VP257/window+copy.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485794574793-7Q5SHASU1L7FRXGMXEA3/blankets.jpg Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793499972-FA1G7T7AOFBR1ISJ54YI/04_adam_simms_window.jpg Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793507522-QN4WEOCO28JUVV2RD98E/07_adam_simms_bunk-beds.jpg Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1485793509637-5OU9RYBA4L0ZE3JO3QJG/08_adam_simms_flower.jpg Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. Through this hyper-local and deeply personal series of large-scale photographs, Adam evokes global themes of displacement, homogenizing of cultures, and the inextricability of place from an individual’s—and family’s—identity. The photographs in this series highlight the contrast between the desolate landscape and the animation that the reestablishment of even the smallest community brings to the setting. One element Adam manipulates to create this contrast is scale: in one photograph, the built structures are barely noticeable in the sweeping panorama of the shoreline, while in another, the interior space looms large as the windows frame and contain the expanse of the land. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728041542037-WLCNSXCD90QQF3MN22GX/Screenshot+2024-09-20+at+6.17.05%E2%80%AFPM.png Pinchard's Island - Pinchard's Island In Pinchard’s Island, Adam documents his family’s reclaiming of the land where his grandmother was born, before the Canadian government’s Resettlement Act paid residents to move from the isolated fishing community to areas with more potential for economic growth. Over a series of trips to the remote island, Adam and his family have built a cabin there, staking a claim to the land that has been all but forgotten, its people dispersed, and its culture left to fade away. https://adamsim.ms/driftwood daily 0.75 2020-07-06 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1525974332152-9UVITHQ2IL33DXO39FZB/driftwood-01AS.png Driftwood - Driftwood Adam collected the eponymous object featured in Driftwood from the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Newfoundland, his family’s homeland. In this kinetic installation, a microelectronic system controls the driftwood’s movement. This system receives transmissions of live data from a buoy located in the Atlantic ocean off the coast of Newfoundland. The electronics translate the data into motion, enabling the driftwood to respond in real-time to the movement of the ocean. Though we don’t see the ocean, the installation evokes it: the driftwood moves rhythmically through the negative space, just as it would in the water. By separating the driftwood from its original context and presenting it as sculpture in a stark gallery setting, Adam draws a parallel to the Resettlement Acts that took place in Newfoundland after it became Canada’s 10th province in 1949. Resettlement entailed the relocation of people from remote locations with few economic prospects to areas the Canadian government deemed to have more potential for growth. As a result, the people from the resettled areas left their communities and their land behind to start over in new locations. In Driftwood, Adam examines the notion of displacement, questioning the changes that occur when something—or someone—is uprooted from its native environment. Here, the driftwood is geographically distant from the ocean, but the ocean remains its lifeblood, carrying it along on invisible waves. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1525974332152-9UVITHQ2IL33DXO39FZB/driftwood-01AS.png Driftwood - Driftwood Adam collected the eponymous object featured in Driftwood from the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Newfoundland, his family’s homeland. In this kinetic installation, a microelectronic system controls the driftwood’s movement. This system receives transmissions of live data from a buoy located in the Atlantic ocean off the coast of Newfoundland. The electronics translate the data into motion, enabling the driftwood to respond in real-time to the movement of the ocean. Though we don’t see the ocean, the installation evokes it: the driftwood moves rhythmically through the negative space, just as it would in the water. By separating the driftwood from its original context and presenting it as sculpture in a stark gallery setting, Adam draws a parallel to the Resettlement Acts that took place in Newfoundland after it became Canada’s 10th province in 1949. Resettlement entailed the relocation of people from remote locations with few economic prospects to areas the Canadian government deemed to have more potential for growth. As a result, the people from the resettled areas left their communities and their land behind to start over in new locations. In Driftwood, Adam examines the notion of displacement, questioning the changes that occur when something—or someone—is uprooted from its native environment. Here, the driftwood is geographically distant from the ocean, but the ocean remains its lifeblood, carrying it along on invisible waves. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1525789814729-CDG1H5PVZAH4BO7UXPAM/driftwood-01AS.png Driftwood https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1525789187327-H50ZVV9YZIVCNL1HN50L/driftwood-01AS.png Driftwood https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1525789811789-N36774DVVF6NHEA4L6IU/drfitwood-02AS.png Driftwood - Driftwood Adam collected the eponymous object featured in Driftwood from the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Newfoundland, his family’s homeland. In this kinetic installation, a microelectronic system controls the driftwood’s movement. This system receives transmissions of live data from a buoy located in the Atlantic ocean off the coast of Newfoundland. The electronics translate the data into motion, enabling the driftwood to respond in real-time to the movement of the ocean. Though we don’t see the ocean, the installation evokes it: the driftwood moves rhythmically through the negative space, just as it would in the water. By separating the driftwood from its original context and presenting it as sculpture in a stark gallery setting, Adam draws a parallel to the Resettlement Acts that took place in Newfoundland after it became Canada’s 10th province in 1949. Resettlement entailed the relocation of people from remote locations with few economic prospects to areas the Canadian government deemed to have more potential for growth. As a result, the people from the resettled areas left their communities and their land behind to start over in new locations. In Driftwood, Adam examines the notion of displacement, questioning the changes that occur when something—or someone—is uprooted from its native environment. Here, the driftwood is geographically distant from the ocean, but the ocean remains its lifeblood, carrying it along on invisible waves. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1525789811986-1G990R052LWNOTRKA8LB/drfitwood-03AS.png Driftwood - Driftwood Adam collected the eponymous object featured in Driftwood from the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Newfoundland, his family’s homeland. In this kinetic installation, a microelectronic system controls the driftwood’s movement. This system receives transmissions of live data from a buoy located in the Atlantic ocean off the coast of Newfoundland. The electronics translate the data into motion, enabling the driftwood to respond in real-time to the movement of the ocean. Though we don’t see the ocean, the installation evokes it: the driftwood moves rhythmically through the negative space, just as it would in the water. By separating the driftwood from its original context and presenting it as sculpture in a stark gallery setting, Adam draws a parallel to the Resettlement Acts that took place in Newfoundland after it became Canada’s 10th province in 1949. Resettlement entailed the relocation of people from remote locations with few economic prospects to areas the Canadian government deemed to have more potential for growth. As a result, the people from the resettled areas left their communities and their land behind to start over in new locations. In Driftwood, Adam examines the notion of displacement, questioning the changes that occur when something—or someone—is uprooted from its native environment. Here, the driftwood is geographically distant from the ocean, but the ocean remains its lifeblood, carrying it along on invisible waves. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1526243777895-DEP5U0MINU9LKBQHU97T/image-asset.jpeg Driftwood - Driftwood, Kinetic Installation Adam collected the eponymous object featured in Driftwood from the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Newfoundland, his family’s homeland. In this kinetic installation, a microelectronic system controls the driftwood’s movement. This system receives transmissions of live data from a buoy located in the Atlantic ocean off the coast of Newfoundland. The electronics translate the data into motion, enabling the driftwood to respond in real-time to the movement of the ocean. Though we don’t see the ocean, the installation evokes it: the driftwood moves rhythmically through the negative space, just as it would in the water. By separating the driftwood from its original context and presenting it as sculpture in a stark gallery setting, Adam draws a parallel to the Resettlement Acts that took place in Newfoundland after it became Canada’s 10th province in 1949. Resettlement entailed the relocation of people from remote locations with few economic prospects to areas the Canadian government deemed to have more potential for growth. As a result, the people from the resettled areas left their communities and their land behind to start over in new locations. In Driftwood, Adam examines the notion of displacement, questioning the changes that occur when something—or someone—is uprooted from its native environment. Here, the driftwood is geographically distant from the ocean, but the ocean remains its lifeblood, carrying it along on invisible waves. https://adamsim.ms/cloudberry daily 0.75 2018-09-09 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936990827-ZDT7ZJ3F8GW5YWDA94F9/Simms_8.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - December 22 at 11 AM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936990827-ZDT7ZJ3F8GW5YWDA94F9/Simms_8.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - December 22 at 11 AM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936987676-XL5TVGDE190SA7H9LWAW/Simms_1.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - August 22 at 10 AM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936987757-JT2O6G62T7X3G6UTD7HU/Simms_2.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - August 24 at 8 PM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936988716-ZLWUYO55LSRFUV6DS6K3/Simms_3.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - September 1 at 2 PM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936988793-DBFVVDMMOWSA0SJQRMNV/Simms_4.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - September 9 at 3 PM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936989952-7ZVPTZB6DUP4O49S5I2J/Simms_5.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - September 15 at 9 AM, The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936989863-PJZVMSKR22X25DCHN1YE/Simms_6.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - October 4 at 7 PM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936990696-RT1XQLJS17CAMEGZVA7Z/Simms_7.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - December 18 at 12 PM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936991255-DXR5LPMCPA4W049DFMMB/Simms_10.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - December 20 at 11AM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528936991111-8BCZCUNASVAKR3J5DS07/Simms_9.jpg Cloudberry - Pinchard's Island - February 27 at 4PM The simplicity of the Cloudberry photographs belies the complexity of the solar-powered camera system that makes them possible. A camera affixed to Adam’s family’s cabin on Pinchard’s Island takes the photographs continuously throughout the day and uploads them to the internet via cellular network. Able to control the camera and access the images from anywhere, Adam uses technology to maintain a constant presence in a place that is inaccessible most of the year. In capturing a view that recalls the experience of looking out the cabin’s window, the camera stands in for the photographer. Thus, these photographs constitute a political act: they allow an uninterrupted foothold on a place that was effectively erased when the Canadian government resettled the area shortly after Newfoundland became the country’s 10th province. Comprised of thousands of photographs, the enormity of the Cloudberry project has inspired Adam to explore a new aspect of the sublime in his work. While other projects have focused on the pursuit of a single majestic photograph, Cloudberry inspires awe through its abundance of quotidian images. The title itself parallels this shift: while it may at first evoke the vast Newfoundland sky, Cloudberry in fact references the indigenous wild berry—colloquially known as a “bakeapple”—that flourishes on the seemingly inhospitable land. The Cloudberry photographs are at once static and dynamic: though the frame remains exactly the same, the landscape is constantly changing. The enormous variety in the images recalls series of Impressionist paintings that show the same scene in different types of light, in all seasons, and throughout the day. The sky, the ocean, and the terrain in the photographs seem to change more readily than the immutable rocks, but even their appearance eventually transforms as the seasons change. Though Cloudberry highlights the specificity of this particular landscape, it also manifests the familiar desire to connect to one’s homeland not as a relic of the past but as a place that is alive. http://www.pinchards.is https://adamsim.ms/cabin daily 0.75 2018-12-25 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501836098-FWR3Q1CCBMON77LL8Q11/INTERIOR-1-STRAIGHT-DAYLIGHT-01.jpg Cabin https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501662826-COLCEPTJQZTW2GB8IPFR/INTERIOR-1-STRAIGHT-DAYLIGHT-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501663922-Y8NQXLI2W1899K3CDFP4/INTERIOR-2-DAYLIGHT-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501665046-PU0JVHYYBMLJL6AHA5X5/INTERIOR-DETAIL-1-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501665505-WM2EBMX6D5RZ2HEA6RQU/INTERIOR-DETAIL-2-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501667650-2YIUGYGY57QETGFAJQ1Q/INTERIOR-DETAIL-5-02.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501667833-KN6TE3B152TVCDD3PMXJ/INTERIOR-DETAIL-6-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501666695-PU40K5XWWZ1AVKJ3CVI6/INTERIOR-DETAIL-4-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501664545-ZBCO3XEVSCZ2CCHI9A5S/INTERIOR-3-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501666335-ET5HFQBEQBL5D98C31E3/INTERIOR-DETAIL-3-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1536501662463-E350ZY0W8OAQ3UE1E97A/EXTERIOR-1-01.jpg Cabin 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. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528939073879-1XJL8GDU37DN3P0QYNCL/01.png Cabin https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528939076505-AFHHOOEUTQDIVYKNYFSE/02.png Cabin https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1528939083063-W0JCVKRTNI02C9IP8IPV/03.png Cabin https://adamsim.ms/mug-up daily 0.75 2020-07-29 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545949051515-U9JFKFDD0Y4YRNNWFFGE/image-asset.jpeg Mug Up, Little Bay Islands - Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545949051515-U9JFKFDD0Y4YRNNWFFGE/image-asset.jpeg Mug Up, Little Bay Islands - Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948712670-HBQDPYRJUAV7EK659NI1/L1010467.00_00_32_20.Still001.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545949044775-HDXNKS8ODW6XJPLF9OBI/image-asset.jpeg Mug Up, Little Bay Islands - Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948714488-QD4FTZQDE7OYMQOM5TGW/L1010467.00_00_53_23.Still002.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948729467-W3W0SH7UHMQ4DADHJ5OS/L1010467.00_02_24_12.Still004.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948731454-VJRCQTK0YXBI1K0GMDDW/L1010467.00_02_32_02.Still005.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948745567-F3ZAANNSN6MBGVXUJP2O/L1010467.00_02_38_26.Still006.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948745751-9SFS9JCP16U9WAZEW9D8/L1010467.00_07_23_27.Still007.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1545948753709-KLO8FI8CMF2ZBYHQXLIA/L1010467.00_07_33_25.Still008.png Mug Up, Little Bay Islands Mug Up is a video and sound performance piece in which Adam isolates aspects of traditional Newfoundland culture and dialect from their original contexts. A traditional Newfoundland mug up consists of tea and a snack consumed between meals around the hearth of a Newfoundland home, a space that the family reconfigures throughout the day to suit the task at hand. In this project, Adam releases the mug up from its traditional setting. Instead of being confined by the architecture of the home, the ritual transpires at an outdoor table seemingly positioned at the end of the earth. The performance takes place between Adam and his grandmother Doris in a community called Little Bay Islands; no other signs of human life are visible. The Canadian government is in the process of resettling this sparsely populated area in an effort to cut the costs of providing services to the remote location. Similarly, Doris was resettled from Pinchard’s Island in the 1950s, along with inhabitants of several other remote islands, to places with greater economic prospects. Though its proponents have framed resettlement as a win-win scenario—the government saves funds, the residents gain access to better services and more jobs—it is built on a foundation of loss. As a result of resettlement, many of the fundamental aspects of Newfoundland culture and language were uprooted, and some were forgotten entirely. In the video, the time and distance of the ferry rides to and from the island seem hard to gauge. Though the ferry is in motion, it feels quite still. The long camera shots and the calm of the open ocean lead the viewer to search for proof that the vessel is indeed moving. The rhythmic motion of the water and the white noise of the engine create a sense of monotony, but a swatch of sunshine moving steadily along a bench makes time appear to elapse more quickly than it should. On both legs of the trip, Doris looks out at the horizon. Besides shifting occasionally to get a better view, she barely moves. As Adam and Doris and arrange the tea, biscuits, and place settings, the only sound comes from the water lapping at the shore and their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Once the mug up begins, the soundscape changes: a conversation about resettlement practices is erased, but the vestiges of traditional Newfoundland dialect—specifically the inhaled affirmative yes—remain. In the piece, Adam documents uprooting the mug up from the hearth. He also looks at the question of which elements of the Newfoundland dialect have been lost and which remain, though perhaps barely noticed by the people who use them daily. The sound aspect of the piece emphasizes those particular cadences and idiosyncrasies, bringing them to the forefront. Like the process of resettlement, Mug Up also has an undercurrent of loss: time sped up rather than savoured; a hearth-based ritual separated from the home; an entire conversation reduced to a single element of the unique Newfoundland dialect. https://adamsim.ms/light-house daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1615315821745-410N4D4CU9S5S31SCU3L/Screen+Shot+2021-03-09+at+1.49.46+PM.png Light House https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728043530390-5K7L1XWZYA2XGGJXGI0V/light-house-preview.png Light House - Light House Light House references the image of the floating house that recurs in historical photographs of resettlement, which has been a touchpoint of my work. Like a traditional lighthouse, the lighted structure acts as a beacon, helping seaborn vessels navigate their way to a safe landing. Here, the vessels at sea are the “ghost houses” of resettlement, or those that set out on barges for their new locations but, for unknown reasons, did not arrive. Light House provides a resolution—an afterlife—for the ghost house’s unsettled nature, and memorializes their loss. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1615390602909-4MPRJWZ9JND1Q72OFK4Y/loop.gif Light House - Light House Light House references the image of the floating house that recurs in historical photographs of resettlement, which has been a touchpoint of my work. Like a traditional lighthouse, the lighted structure acts as a beacon, helping seaborn vessels navigate their way to a safe landing. Here, the vessels at sea are the “ghost houses” of resettlement, or those that set out on barges for their new locations but, for unknown reasons, did not arrive. Light House provides a resolution—an afterlife—for the ghost house’s unsettled nature, and memorializes their loss. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1596028766756-78OXTJYBTVNOIRHTINFB/image-asset.png Light House https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728040791782-OCNDSOMRCQ7U25RUIXA4/Light%2BHouse%2B%25281%2529.jpg Light House - Light House Light House references the image of the floating house that recurs in historical photographs of resettlement, which has been a touchpoint of my work. Like a traditional lighthouse, the lighted structure acts as a beacon, helping seaborn vessels navigate their way to a safe landing. Here, the vessels at sea are the “ghost houses” of resettlement, or those that set out on barges for their new locations but, for unknown reasons, did not arrive. Light House provides a resolution—an afterlife—for the ghost house’s unsettled nature, and memorializes their loss. https://adamsim.ms/adrift daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728043049800-TLSA7OKAE869PRXUUL0O/image-asset.jpeg Adrift - Adrfit Adrift elides physical and virtual space while challenging ephemeral notions of home. The digital structure floats perpetually on the ocean in response to real-time atmospheric data from a weather station in the Atlantic Ocean. As the viewer experiences the piece, the house drifts and turns as it would if it were floating in physical space. Adrift functions as a historical representation of my grandmother's experience, and by extension, all resettled homes. The house also acts as another form of resettlement to a third, imaginary dimension still influenced by its geographical context: whereby the image prevails over the thing it is an image of. The virtual space, linked to an actual place via data, becomes a third space of hybridity accessed by the window of technology. While technology allows us to access this hybrid space, it also challenges the real and actual, the near and far. It reminds us that neither a resettled resident nor their home can ever return to their origins. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728043049800-TLSA7OKAE869PRXUUL0O/image-asset.jpeg Adrift - Adrfit Adrift elides physical and virtual space while challenging ephemeral notions of home. The digital structure floats perpetually on the ocean in response to real-time atmospheric data from a weather station in the Atlantic Ocean. As the viewer experiences the piece, the house drifts and turns as it would if it were floating in physical space. Adrift functions as a historical representation of my grandmother's experience, and by extension, all resettled homes. The house also acts as another form of resettlement to a third, imaginary dimension still influenced by its geographical context: whereby the image prevails over the thing it is an image of. The virtual space, linked to an actual place via data, becomes a third space of hybridity accessed by the window of technology. While technology allows us to access this hybrid space, it also challenges the real and actual, the near and far. It reminds us that neither a resettled resident nor their home can ever return to their origins. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728043226290-HD6FLALH9VBQ59GVJ7AL/image-asset.png Adrift - Adrift Adrift elides physical and virtual space while challenging ephemeral notions of home. The digital structure floats perpetually on the ocean in response to real-time atmospheric data from a weather station in the Atlantic Ocean. As the viewer experiences the piece, the house drifts and turns as it would if it were floating in physical space. Adrift functions as a historical representation of my grandmother's experience, and by extension, all resettled homes. The house also acts as another form of resettlement to a third, imaginary dimension still influenced by its geographical context: whereby the image prevails over the thing it is an image of. The virtual space, linked to an actual place via data, becomes a third space of hybridity accessed by the window of technology. While technology allows us to access this hybrid space, it also challenges the real and actual, the near and far. It reminds us that neither a resettled resident nor their home can ever return to their origins. https://adamsim.ms/new-gallery-1 daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728045532203-0SLLLHHGVJ6LGDL0D32B/boat-three+copy.png New Gallery - boat-three copy.png https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1728045532203-0SLLLHHGVJ6LGDL0D32B/boat-three+copy.png New Gallery - boat-three copy.png https://adamsim.ms/home daily 1.0 2024-10-04 https://adamsim.ms/about daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1358097393893-O5DKU3GCSQNLYL9PXD85/73549_455062256895_2945838_n.jpg About https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/50e5fc10e4b0291e3b9b75c6/1573497044753-TTB2FPWPZVNXLB1I9XSL/image-asset.jpeg About https://adamsim.ms/resume daily 0.75 2024-10-04 https://adamsim.ms/intro daily 0.75 2021-05-12