Knowing vs Understanding Choices

I have been working in darkrooms for almost 16 years and with a new found passion and motivation for over 9 years. During that time I have been influenced by many photographers, painters, musicians, writers... all sorts of people. I have gone through periods of emulating the printing style (and negative processing) of various photographers while trying to develop my own way of seeing. This, more than anything else I'd venture, has helped me learn the craft of photography (and the fact that I will never stop learning...)

For some time now I have observed and admired artists who work one "piece" at a time. That is to say that they come to each image, book, song, or painting anew. Yet in my own work I tend to worry about keeping things in line, wanting prints to match in color, texture and tone... considering my years spent experimenting with different styles it is probably needless to say that my body of work is NOT consistent in color, texture or tone.

So, while I've known that my photography does not need to be consistent in such ways and admired those who make individual works... it has still troubled me. Until recently. I'm in the midst of organizing and cataloging my negatives and prints and in so doing have been taking a trip backwards in time. And only through this process have I begun to understand that each new photograph presents its own unique set of challenges. And in order to solve those challenges we are faced with choices. It is what we choose that not only makes our work our own, but also, what makes each piece stand on its own. Limiting my choices for the sake of consistency will only serve to limit the scope and, ultimately, the evolution of my photography.

As I continue to sort through my archives and make decisions about what prints are acceptable and what prints are not, I now base those decisions solely on the merits of the photographs themselves. One at a time.

I also understand that this is personal and that there are those who impose limitations on themselves for artistic purposes. And that only through working within, and often times against, those constraints are they able to thrive.

But for me, there are more than enough limitations built into the process itself to struggle against.  This realization has been a long time coming and it is incredibly freeing.

When Square can be a bit... Square.

As some of you have been kind enough to remind me =) I have neglected the website and this blog since late last fall. I have not, however, neglected my work. There are many new photographs to post and a good bit of writing as well.

My Little Things project has been my primary focus lately and we will begin again with that. Making these 2 1/4 contacts has proven to be a real challenge, due primarily to working with the new to me square format. As the shape of the picture space itself is neutral, it provides no real movement of it's own - no entry point, no release, no direction - that is left entirely to the artist. Over the last couple of years I have become comfortable with this, though as with anything else, I've discovered it's not always the best choice. Some visual elements simply cry out for a horizontal edge or a vertical gesture.

I was made even more aware of this a couple of weeks ago while looking through a stack of 'small prints' by Paula Chamlee. When photographs are printed at such a diminutive size the structure of the composition becomes more evident and, to my eyes, even more closely related to the borders. My next step seemed clear enough, it was time to start making small rectangular prints as well.

The above image is my first attempt. While texture is quite obviously the most important aspect, there is a gentle flow across the picture space which leads the eye from the top left to the bottom right corner and back again. This is made possible not only by the darker threads' relationships to each other, but also (and maybe even more so) through their interplay with the elongated top and bottom edges.

As an exercise, and partly to prove a point to myself, I have tried cropping the image to a square several different ways and with each attempt have found the result lacking in comparison to the original. I'll no doubt be viewing the ground glass a bit differently now and while my final decisions are largely intuitive I've also learned that once something is seen it is not so easily unseen.

And if you must know, it's light emanating through a lampshade.

Visual Bias

For some time now I have had a sort of visual bias against certain subject matter. Be it a waterfall, sunset or nautilus shell these subjects have been photographed again and again. At the same time I have held the belief that visual relationships in the context of my own personal experience is the real subject matter of my work. In other words, it doesn't matter what is photographed but how, when, and by whom it's photographed.

So, carrying this prejudice against cliched subject matter around with me not only conflicts with my most fundamental beliefs as an artist but also interferes with my ability to openly and honestly interpret the world around me. Photographically speaking, I aim to become an equal opportunity seeker of beauty and whether I'm focused on the fungus laden interior of a decaying stump or the powerful grace of a woodland falls, what's important is being open to the possibilities they each present. Both have been photographed before, but not in this moment, and never by me.

Wanderings

“The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep”. Paul Strand

This idea is central to my work and a constant source of inspiration as I explore the visual relationships of my immediate environment and their subsequent physical and emotional manifestations. After all, art is more than just something to be sought, found and presented. Art is something we create from inside ourselves... and if we're diligent about the work it begins to flow out of us naturally, revealing layers of our subconscious we're simply unable to express any other way.

Yet sometimes it's just nice to blow the dust off and head out with nothing on our minds at all. To respond to new and exciting surroundings in a completely intuitive way. It's been a while since I've done that...

Time in a 3-Ring Binder

These exposures were made in McConnells Mills over the holidays and are among my last prints from 2008.

I've been keeping my negatives in plastic sleeves and 3 ring binders marked by year since 2004 and I can't help but think that as each year passes, so passes my opportunity to add to another set of binders.Each year's work becomes fixed in potential. With these thoughts comes the urge to try and make up time, to take one last shot at creating something from the passing cycle... Of course that cycle ends whether we're ready or not.

Thankfully, the new year brings with it another beginning. Unknown sights, discoveries and experiences await as well as a new binder, empty, yet full of possibility. Tonight I added my first group of negatives to it and printed 2009 on the spine in black marker. A wonderful feeling.

Starbucks Tour '08

I'm back from several days on the PA highway system, traveling primarily to attend the opening reception of the Project Basho: Onward '08 show in Philadelphia. The place was packed and the space looked great. I was impressed with the diversity of work selected by the juror, Andrea Modica; the hard work of Tsuyoshi Ito and company for putting everything together; and most of all the gorgeous weather!

My print was well placed and allowed the viewer to get his or her nose right on it as I intend. The work is scheduled to hang through February so if you're in the area I highly recommend stopping by for a look (and grabbing a few pints of Sly Dog Dry Stout at the Standard Tap a couple of blocks away).

For two days before the show I was able to spend time photographing in the riverfront area of downtown Harrisburg and will be posting some of the results in the near future. Rain forced me inside for a morning which I put to full advantage working in the 150 year old Presbyterian Church on Pine Street. Later that afternoon I was given the gift of sunlight which immediately began burning off the haze and I made several exposures along the river and City Island.

I was lucky to return with more than exposed film. I picked up a wonderful hand made print box from my buddy Joe Freeman when we met at the event in Philly. I gave him his choice of the prints I had brought with me and felt like I was stealing! It sure beats the hell out of carrying them haphazardly in the back of my car and offers considerably more protection.

I also picked up my copy of the new Brett Weston Portfolio series being published by Lodima Press from my friend Richard Boutwell. He was kind enough to show me around his area of Bucks County and we were able to photograph for a few hours in some wonderful light before I started the drive back and my race to beat Sunday night's snowstorm through the Poconos. I didn't but the roads were quite passable, at least until I made it home.

Friends and family had loaded me up with Starbucks' gift cards over the holidays so I fueled myself with coffee practically nonstop. The chain seems ubiquitous in Harrisburg and isn't far behind on the toll road to Philly. I needed the extra caffeine as I decided to bring only my 8x10 camera after a summer spent working primarily with the 4x5. I'd forgotten how freeing it is to compose a photograph on the large ground glass as well as how heavy my big ass tripod is! No complaining though, I've already developed two of the large negatives and can't wait to get printing...

December Rain

It's been some time since I came to the realization that good photographs can be made in almost any lighting conditions. As long as you're not object oriented you will find it's always the right light to photograph something. Well, I have been somewhat object oriented lately but now that I'm through with the shooting end of my pond scum series I've been longing to just go wandering with the camera again, looking for something without knowing just what...

It's now early December in western Pennsylvania and if that means anything it means clouds and rain. The clouds didn't scare me off but the cold rain sure did. It did until I began to think about some of the incredible photographs that I've seen which were made in the rain. While my bellows don't like to get wet any more than I do there is no reason for them to get soaked. I decided to venture out before work and during lunch breaks (bean burritos travel well) to find some dry places to photograph from during the showers.

My first stop was at a local park and I hurried to the large covered decks of the Buhl Casino. It took me almost no time to find a photograph and just like that the showers were no longer a hindrance. In fact, they forced me into new places which allowed me to work in quietly beautiful conditions when I might otherwise have just stayed inside. No big surprise, a rainy day has a certain mood and charm all it's own. What did surprise me was the fact that I am not alone in my new found appreciation for precipitation. There were by no means many people at the park with me yesterday but it certainly wasn't deserted. People were walking with umbrellas, driving slowly in their cars and some were huddled on benches gazing out into the damp air and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Those brave, foolish or smart enough to be out in the weather tended not to regard me with the typical "what the hell are you doing with that strange camera" look that I usually encounter. Instead I got smiles, nods and passing hellos that seemed filled with understanding and a mutual admiration.

The same held true again this morning when I made my way out to the old Erie canal area of the Shenango River Lake. Not many people but all friendly and enjoying the moody environment which we shared. I had no doubt I would find something to photograph on such days but I never expected to discover a group of people, albeit small, with a similar sensibility. If it's taught me anything it's not only to keep an open mind about my photography but to simply keep an open mind.

Fall at the Farm

While fall is undoubtedly one of the most temperate and beautiful seasons in western Pennsylvania it always brings with it a familiar sense of melancholy. Like spring the center of the sun may be passing the equator at a certain time but the real first days of autumn are unmistakable and never marked on the calendar. Those days came unseasonably late this year and with almost no gradation. The warm weather broke and the leaves seemed to suddenly burst into flame.

The chores of fall; splitting wood, painting the roof, cleaning the chimney, raking and grinding the leaves... they have a certain sense about them as well. Pumpkins are everywhere, gracing doorsteps, windows, the front page of the local paper almost daily and they even showed up in the beer at the nearby brewery. Farmers are in overdrive with the year's final harvest and the sound of the high school marching band drifts up the hill from town heralding the arrival of a new football season.

All of a sudden you're wearing a jacket, long sleeves and keeping an eye open for the first sighting of your long invisible breath. A weekend campfire becomes more than a novelty and place to toast marshmallows and it doesn't take long to find it's way to the wood stove inside. Chestnuts and pumpkin seeds are the snack of the hour and finding a silly Halloween costume (Ansel Adams this year) becomes a serious priority.

One of the more subtle signs of fall around Campbell's Farm is the recession of the pond scum and it has taken on a new significance for me this year. I've noticed that the algae has a way of collecting things on it's surface; helicopter seeds in the spring, grass from the mowers and weed eaters in the early summer, even goose feathers in late August and September. Now colorful leaves float whimsically from the overhanging branches to dot the green and dark waters like radiant constellations, brilliant against the Milky Way on the clearest of nights.

Tonight I loaded holders with the last 9 sheets of film I had dedicated to my Pond Scum Project. While there is still much printing, mounting, scanning, and publicizing to be done I couldn't help feeling a similar melancholy to that which fall brings with her. Of course it's mixed with excitement to realize the completion of my first major project but the mystery and unlimited potential of the unknown seems to be disappearing like those leaves hanging over the pond.

It seems the cycle persists indifferently, the air will continue to cool and the light to fade until the snow comes and with it a new set of happenings, emotions and photographic possibilities.

A Cup of Coffee, a Red Marker and 12 New Contact Sheets.

I've been making large format contact prints exclusively for a few years now and only recently picked up an enlarger and some new split grade printing skills. I had been shooting 35mm negs at night for awhile but hadn't printed anything which meant there was much to be done. I started picking through single negatives and making prints before I decided it would be easier to get my hands on some rc paper and start making contact sheets.

I hadn't done it for years but it's easy and I was able to bang out 12 prints before attending a friend's wedding on Saturday. I had forgotten how exciting it is to pour over a fresh batch, so many new images and possibilities to consider all at once! Throw one on the light table next to it's companion sheet of negatives and you can quickly discern what's going to make a good print and what isn't, or at least which ones are going to be a problem.

I'm now much clearer about what makes it to the front of the line and more eager to get them printed than ever. There's so much potential in a cup of coffee, a red marker and 12 new contact sheets.

"Do you paint your fingernails?"

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question... Since I started making contact prints I've been using an Amidol paper developer similar to those used by the Westons and Michael A. Smith. It's a disgusting brew that only lasts about 12 hours once you mix it. Its stains however, last much longer. Days on the skin, forever on your fingernails and trays or whatever else you happen to spill it on. I always made sure not to get my right hand in it so I could still shake without freaking people out. Then why use it you ask ...? It's redeeming qualities made it worthwhile - deep rich blacks, great mid tone separation and amazing highlight detail. For the past couple of years I thought it was the end all be all of paper developers and worth all the trouble.

Well, I decided to do a bit of research on the subject over the past couple of weeks and found several people who where using Ansel's old Ansco 130 formula and comparing it favorably to Amidol. The benefits beyond cleanliness were considerable, 6 month + shelf life once you mix your stock solution and even a couple month life for the working solution in a tray! That meant instead of mixing my precious (read expen$ive) Amidol only when I could commit to printing for several hours I would now be able to keep developer mixed and print when I only had a little time. Well, that was all it took and I ordered myself the chemicals and mixed a batch tonight.

I ended up making a finished print of one negative and it is washing as I type this. I chose a negative with tons of contrast, deep shadows, bright highlights and it even had the sun in the frame. The print came out beautifully and the developer was active enough to allow a slight contrast reducing water bath. Now I obviously need to see the print dried down and do a few more tests before I officially switch but things sure look promising and after a couple months of fingernail growth you might not be able to tell I ever used dirty old Amidol.

Keeping up with the Equipment!?!?

I haven't sat down and pushed myself to write an essay on using traditional photographic processes yet. It's important and quite frankly I'm not sure I'm ready to do the subject justice. However, something happened this week that got my wheels spinning enough to mention. I received my Summer issue/copy/whatever of the giant B and H Photo/Video catalog.

It wasn't that long ago that I myself worked at a camera store, then as a digital product and wedding photographer. I knew all the brands, the latest hardware and software, and usually what the next big thing was going to be. Here I am only a couple years removed from the digital scene and suddenly almost everything is new to me. Now, I could probably jump back in and work my way through the learning curve if I was so inclined but it makes me wonder about artists choosing to work in that medium.

History shows that many if not most great artists have worked for a time to become proficient with their chosen tools, feel comfortable with them, allow them to become an extension of their vision... and then use them to create. I wonder how one can ever really become comfortable with a technology that is so volatile and ever changing as digital imaging?

When I bought my last digital camera a newer, better and fancier model had been released long before I could claim operating it was second nature. I now use 8x10 and 4x5 view cameras that were made in the 1960s. I'm quite comfortable with their operation and am free to concentrate on art making. Sure, I could handle a few more lenses and film holders but nothing major and it won't be that long until I won't need ANYTHING else. Just film, paper and chemicals to create my photographs. As long as those materials are around I can focus on improving my art and craft and not merely keeping up with the latest technologies. Isn't that what's really important in art?

Now I realize there are plenty of people out there more intelligent than I is who can surely keep pace without breaking a sweat while others are simply different... to each his own and that's fine. I for one will stick with traditional materials, learn to use them intuitively and become a better artist for it.

Vernal Equinox

Tomorrow marks the first official day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere as daylight finally catches up with the night. It's always a special day for me as I look forward to warmer weather. The real first day of spring, however, usually doesn't fall in line with the equinox and this year was no exception. By real I mean the first day it feels like spring and not just to me... The first day a magical something in the air besides sunlight and warmth makes itself known.

It happened last Sunday in my neck of the woods. Fishermen were wading Neshanock Creek, Amish children playing in their yards and melting snow was quickly being replaced with mud. The local Dairy Queen bustled with the young and old alike, motorcycles and bicycles competed with cars for thier share of the road and for the first time in the new year winter's frozen grip on life began to weaken. Maybe the most notable effect of that first thaw is it's mellowing of people. Passersby smile and nod, some even stop to talk. Drivers seem to be more tolerant and there is a general feeling of contentment everywhere you go.

Whatever the magic it will linger for awhile, like the snow piles and ice but won't last long, certainly won't see April through. Slowly it will be replaced by summer or thoughts of it. Nobody really notices the transition, probably won't come to mind again until the next equinox. By February it will be hard to think of anything else.

Trees

While I generally consider my subject matter to be the visual relationships created by objects, light and perspective there seem to be some things to which I'm repeatedly draw. Chief among them are trees. Photographing trees in any manner is nothing new though trees themselves are always unique and changing from season to season, year to year and place to place.

Nothing in nature more eloquently reflects the passage and spirit of life. In trees I've found the movement of lightning, the wrinkles on my palm and an engaging symbolism in thier constant struggle against gavity and toward light and water. Patience, perseverance and power are represented well in trees. I've marvled in the rugged dignity of an acient bristlecone pine, played under the cool shade of a massive oak and stood under the still and quite branches of a snow covered evergreen. Each variety has it's own traits and each specimen it's own story.

Trees' visceral growth and stoic journey through time are a continual influence on me. I suppose connecting with something so vital to our own survival is quite natural. Trees are at once givers of life through thier production of oxygen and alive themselves, actively seeking thier needs in mulitple manners and directions. I'll never tire of thier visual qualities or spiritual manifestations.