Growing up in rural Canada, something that will always remind me of home is baking, especially pies and butter tarts. Sugary treats are what keep us warm through the long winter months.
All of my grandmothers baked, and they would always have tasty treats ready and waiting for us when we visited. My mum learned how to bake from her mother, and her mother had learned from her mother, etc. One thing in particular that was passed down was how to make the perfect pastry.
I have not picked up this skill myself; baking has never really been my thing. But I have grown to appreciate the art of it. I listened to my mum talk about it, how when she makes the pastry, it's meditative and brings back memories of her mum. I’ve watched her perfect her craft with pride. I also watched her find her own creativity in it when she started adding art on top of the pies, turning the pastry into trees, apples, and leaves to decorate the top.
I decided that I wanted to contribute to the tradition in my own way and take some photographs of my mum while she made pastry.
So, one snowy Canadian spring morning, she tied her linen apron around her waist, put on some music and started mixing, pressing, shaping, and cutting. It was then that I witnessed and tried to capture the art of making pastry.
