Paul Mansfield -- a photographer, a writer, a lover.
Born in rural Southern Ontario (that’s in Canada), books were his escape. His escape from the mundanity of life in a village dominated by the white bean and stupidity. Yes, the lowly white bean was the lifeblood of his hometown, and he hated beans. With only three television channels available, all broadcasting The Farm Report, Paul did what any sane person would do. He took refuge in the written word.
Books were his saviour until he got the hell out of that town. He then took refuge in the burgeoning London, Ontario punk rock scene, cheap booze, cheap women and other anti-social behaviours. Stumbling through university, he managed to receive a BA in English Literature from the University of Western Ontario. He also finished top of his class in Business Information Systems somewhere else.
He dedicated the next thirty years of his life to high tech, hard rock, and a petite bourgeoisie lifestyle. Digital imaging for engineering, smart phone technology, medical imaging, computer algebra — none escaped the benefits of his visionary approach.
And then came calamity. His wife passed after a valiant struggle with cancer. The disillusion of age also settled in. He responded with a “Fuck all, y’all” and retired from working for the system.
Now, his choice was obvious. To become the artist that destiny demanded he become. He chose the written word and the digital image to bring his misunderstood vision to light.
He now spends his time reading, writing, looking after three cats and one dog, and his ninety plus year old mother. Plus more anti-social behaviour.
An update since I first wrote this — Kasey, the chubby dachshund, developed a liver tumour and has crossed the rainbow bridge.