someone is definitely haunting the grassy Calgary ravine where much of Graham Foy’s ambitiously

the elegance of his aspirations is quite done justice by the sometimes distractingly elliptical nature

is magnificently moody, but only intermittently moving

out during one of those empty yet paradoxically eventful days that we all had

about nothing and everything and dare each other to board down a steep grassy hillside

a dead cat in an abandoned building site, and with the kind of grossed-out fascination

when it seems there’s not much more to them than this idle boneheaded shuffling

and decorate a little raft and send its corpse off down the river like in

like them, these languid, loose-limbed lost boys

Jeffrey’s photography casts a dreamlike spell that makes the transition from woozy realism to