The images were made on the west side of Quesnel, a part of town physically and socially shaped by the divide of the Fraser River. I returned there throughout the summer and fall, making frequent weekend trips, allowing the work to grow slowly through repeated encounters with the place and the people who inhabit it. The park sits along a small creek, tucked into a quiet pocket of the city, and has become a kind of holding space for people living through homelessness, addiction, and various forms of instability. Many who gather here are deeply fatigued, often isolated, and moving through their days with a mix of caution, fear, and routine. They are not a “group” in any unified sense; rather, they are individuals occupying the same geography while living very separate emotional and personal realities.
During one visit, I spoke with two women sitting on a park bench with their dog. They allowed me to photograph the pup, and as we talked, they pointed to the makeshift memorial beside them: a simple cross, a black hat, and a handful of small personal items placed at its base. It marked the spot where their friend had been found dead in the park a year earlier. They spoke about her life, their memories of her, and the fear that shadows their own days. It was an unguarded conversation, filled with grief, love, anger, and a constant awareness of vulnerability. Encounters like this shaped how I approached the work, grounding the photographs not just in what is visible, but in the weight of what is lived.