My little yellow companion wasn’t always such a bitter little mouth piece.  In fact, when I first employed the use of the little bath toy, it was simply to add a recognizable subject into my landscapes without using a human form.  I don’t particularly care for landscape images with people in them unless I know the person, but I do understand the appeal and wanted  to provide something for viewers to have “someone” to connect with. Enter the rubber duck. 

It began simply enough with a trip out to Airdrie’s Big Hill Springs park and a goal to photograph a static ducky midst the rushing water.  I tromped around searching for a suitable location and once I found it, I began shoving coat hangers and miscellaneous twigs into the bottom of the duck in order to hold its place against the water.  It was only when I was knee deep in a cold creek, holding an impaled rubber duck in one hand and a camera in the other while passersby gave me confused and concerned looks, when the rubber duck uttered its first caption.  “Rubber Ducky thinks the photographer is nuts.”  Yeah, Rubber Ducky, you’re probably right, now hold still while I grab my tripod.

I took quite a few more shots that evening, soaking my shoes, pants and sweater and gaining a fair bit of attention from park users in the process, a wild eyed grown woman soaking wet and wielding a tiny rubber duck in a public park isn’t something you see every day.  The bitter little Rubber Duck nay-sayed everything I did, acting as the voice of the sane person I had buried the moment I picked up a camera.  Since then, the duck has become the subject of a separate photo project and the voice of my own pessimism so I can be left to photograph in peace, but  "All Rubber Ducky Ever Wanted, Was a Warm Bath"