Showing posts with label Caravans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Caravans. Show all posts

Monday, March 02, 2015

New Lands, Sleeping Bags And Big Cameras Part Four (Go On . . Pull The Trigger Now)

Well folks - the Karavan Khronickles is back!
Wot's that Sheephouse? I hear you cry
Blimey - haven't you been paying attention? 
Oh, you haven't have you. You dozed off didn't you (and I don't blame you actually, because I did too . . . and I was writing it). 
If you want to bore yourself rigid, you can read the lead-up to this one here, here and here.

This Khronickle though is a little different (and you had better be wearing a stout pair of rubber pants, because the tale I am about to tell is faintly** hair-raising . . and if you aren't particularly scared, then it's OK to take the pants off and pass them onto someone else, just remember to give them some talcum powder too - they can get awful squeaky as we well know). 
** Oh go on then . . . it isn't remotely hair-raising in the slightest

Anyway, as a famous man once said 'Enough o' me shite . . onwards!'
Right, as you'll no doubt now know, I spent a week on holiday, making 5x4 photographs . . . 20 of them. 
Fortunately for me, there's was little lugging of gear for miles . . I was able to stroll out in my wellies and have the camera set up in under 20 minutes - this was pure luxury
And as you can maybe see from the two stitched digi-things below, I was lucky with the lie of the land - this was a two minute walk from where we were staying.





Yes I know they don't fit the frames . . but they were too small otherwise



In the top photograph, you see the uprise of land with trees on it at the left-hand side? That was my destination, and whilst there I encountered something, how shall we say, unusual
The second photograph is what it was like on the top of that piece of land - certainly its loveliness gives little away to the depth of feeling that lurked in the surrounding tonsure of ancient woodland..
Now if you're looking closely (and of a curious mind like me) you might be thinking there is something rather strange about this parcel of land. It isn't obvious from the wide-angled nature of the stitches, however it is entirely walled off from the surrounding country with proper dry-stane walls of approximately 200-odd year old heritage.
Doesn't mean anything to you sitting in a Starbucks with all the world has to offer at your fingertips?
Thought not, and understandable, well let me explain: despite the fact that the rest of the surrounding farmland is lush and well-cultivated, this piece of land has been blocked off. It's a no-go area and it is very unusual these days to find total wildness. Land is too precious, farmers like to have it farmed.
What you can see in the first panorama is a true mix of ancient bog and wood, and I would say little unchanged (obviously apart from growth and die-back) for millenia - the trees are small and grubby, stunted by poor soil and the bog itself is a mish-mash of proper peat and ancient tree roots. I suppose that is maybe why it hasn't been upgraded. However, its isolation picqued my curiosity and made me want to explore. 
The land rises from right to left in what the Scots call a 'shank' . . yep . .a leg. And it's like that, a leg of land heading upwards. 
So suitably prepared for adventure with a Wista and all my gear I set off to ascend via The Shank, however my travail was stopped dead pretty quickly by the sheer amount of difficult walking - gorse and dense trees, stones and boggy bits - in fact it was so dense that I stopped, turned back and skirted the walls instead.
Anyway, after a short, steady climb up through a mix of Oak and Apple and Alder and Beech I made it to the top. 
Now, according to my memorised map, this might have been the remnants of a Norman Motte, however it wasn't - for a start I was way off in my reading of the land and it was way too large. And secondly, it just didn't feel right.
I'm not sure whether you've stood on top of a Motte, but they are pretty much devoid of feeling - all history is gone, bar the massed earth of the footings. They are interesting places, but you can't get a true feel for the history of a place from them (at least that is my experience) - but this was different.
I place a lot of value on feelings and especially so in the countryside. My inner countryman comes to life and keeps me right and on the top, I was thrilled by a sense of peace and wonder, however that wasn't all - there was something tickling at my subconscious that I was initially entirely unaware of. 
The light was falling to a proper gloam, but it was a beautiful evening and very clear. I surveyed the top, thought about making some photographs, dropped my rucksack and tripod, scouted around a bit more and set up. 
There was still a reasonable amount of sun behind my back and I felt that I could capture some of the very real atmosphere that I was feeling. 
With camera set up and a suitable tree selected, image composed, light acceptable,  I paused for a moment from my pottering and tinkering.
And that was when it hit me.
If I could have voiced it, it would have said this:
"Begone!"

Now I know you're out there scoffing and stuff, but to my inner countryman it was a real command, enjoined with a feeling like I was being watched.
My hackles arose and I felt (from that bit of land you can see in the second photograph on the left hand side and to the right of the tree) a very definite 'presence'. 
That's the only way I can describe it. 
And I wasn't welcome.
I fumbled, inserted my film holder, called myself stupid and started to make an exposure, only to realise that I hadn't closed the shutter and was exposing the film whilst removing the darkslide! 
I HAVE NEVER EVER DONE THIS (not even after the time I nearly killed myself lugging a Sinar up a Munro). 
I always double check everything
Ergo, something had unnerved me. Not just unnerved me, but had downright made me break out in a bit of a sweat. 
I cursed, closed the slide again, reversed it and made a proper exposure and then, collecting myself and my stuff made off with haste into the oncoming twilight with my camera still affixed to the tripod.
The stupid thing was that I still had to photograph though, so I searched for somewhere as photogenic but with less weirding.
The thing is, no matter how much I searched, the feeling still came with me. 
You know when you feel like you are being watched? that was how I was feeling, and the more the gloam settled the worse it got. 
Frank Herbert's Bene Gersserit saying 'Fear Is The Mind Killer' came to me . . . I tried to talk myself out of my funk, but after surveying a massed collapse of ancient dried trees, and desperately trying to find the correct angle and then feeling it again, I settled to fate, took my camera off the tripod packed everything away as fast as possible and headed downhill as quickly as I could.
Reaching the bog at the bottom of the hill, I set up again and tried to make another photograph - you can see the shite results here (it's the fourth contact print down).
There was a real sense of time being erased in that bog - if a mounted horseman carrying a short sword had galloped up, I wouldn't have been surprised.
Panicking a bit more and stumbling off from the bog, I knew had one more chance to make a photograph that day, so in near darkness and using a small torch to check my focus (honest) I set up by a wall, composed (with extreme difficulty), took a meter reading, was astonished at the reciprocity characteristics and exposed for as long as I could (1020 seconds - 17 minutes to you and me was the corrected exposure - No Way Hosepipe, I thought . . so I opened up the lens and made it about 5 or 6 mins. Luck wasn't with me though - it wasn't nearly enough (and even selenium toning the negative hasn't raised the highs above their deep, dark roots) - the hundred or so sheep that were watching me must have been laughing all the way to their troughs.
As a crescent moon arose and the night settled in proper, I made my apologies (for trespass) and packed up with a quiver in my hands (no, not a quiver of arrows y'berk), thoroughly bristling hackles and exited as quickly as possible, only slowing may pace as I got into the caravan park . . but even then I didn't really want it to be known which van we were in . . .
Oh I know, you are laughing quietly to yourself . . but you know what . .when I lived in the middle of nowhere, some nights you could sleep with your curtains and windows open . . other nights you battened down the hatches and didn't look out till morning - the countryside can be a very weird place, but then again, inside my head is weirder still . . .


***


Anyway, holidays finished, back home and reviewing the results. I did the processing, did the stitching and had a bloody good think. That think has taken months actually, but I've come to a sort of conclusion.
You see in the second stitched photo, what you are seeing is a flattened hill top, with a circling of trees around the edges, Alder, Crab Apple and Oak. The top of the hill has at least two springs. (that I was aware of - they weren't rinkling tinkling ones either but big solid invisible ones - you knew they were there though).
You probably don't get where I am going, but the varieties of trees alone (and there were many and very old) suggested something to me.
Now I've thought about this (and I am not going to voice my absolute conclusion in public) there was a very definite feeling to the place that was both uncanny and protective, unfriendly and yet tolerant. It toyed with me. It rejected me with power, and yet when I returned during daylight the day after, I felt welcome. Well, not entirely welcome, but tolerated.
What ever presence I had felt was still there, but dozing . . that's the only way I can put it.
I was able to enter the grove from where I had felt something and make some photographs and as I explored the area and gave thanks for it's overwhelming peace and feelings of security (! really), I felt accepted and at one with the Earth Spirit.
There . . . done it now.
How is that for flying against rationale and reason?
Sounds fanciful?
Sounds like New Age Shite?
In a world where everything is known, where everyone is connected?
Fanciful notions from a middle-aged man desperate for quieter times?
You know what? the stone-age man in me says "Ug!"
We know what we felt - it was older than anything and demanded our full attention and awareness . . .
And we weren't the first - the trees and walls and land told that story. There was something here that I felt sure had drawn people other than myself over the centuries.
Having given it a good long thunk, our reverence remains unashamedly unabashed.
UG!
We're shamelessly unapologetic, so get over it.
(That's a lot of un's isn't it!)


***


And so the KK's comes to an end - to be honest folks, I have struggled to print the photos from that week - that has been a major delay in finishing this series off.
I can't figure why either - they're fairly decent negatives . . . OK, the pics aren't brilliant, but they (to my eyes) seem to have captured some of the atmosphere from that wonderful time.
I think the problem has been my ongoing love love/find difficult relationship with the 5x4 negative.
Printed at 10x8 it just doesn't look right - I daresay it would at 11x14 and larger, but nope - my standard size (10x8) just doesn't quite cut the mustard . . so to that end, I ended up contact printing everything on old Agfa MCC of approximately 5x8 size (a torn-in-half sheet of 10x8) and you know what? It fit. they work as contact prints.
They are funky, tatty, physical objects that invite handling and close viewing (they are small after all). they're archivally toned in Selenium too, so all I need is some sleeves to sort them out nicely.
Below is how they look and then cropped-in images to enlarge things a bit.
Hope you like them.




























OK - in hindsight I think I would use a little liquid lightning just to tickle up the highs . . . and if I could actually print as large as my enlarger can print (it's a DeVere 504, so can print really huge, but unfortunately I can't - no sink for trays, I just have them on small shelves, so 9.5x12" is my maximum!) I would print a fceckin massive print of the last one. That was made (as were all these images) with my Super Angulon f8 - it is an incredible lens, however just a tad dim on the olde GG, but failing eyesight is another story. 
Anyhow, to my eyes at least, it has captured the atmosphere of that late Autumn evening, as the gloam was falling on a special Scottish place, and the berk behind the camera found himself in a state of rising panic.

Well, that's it - you've done well.
Next time, less reading, more photos . . promise . . and yer Uncle Sheephouse says to remember to write to Aunty Bee and to keep taking the tablets.

Monday, November 03, 2014

New Lands, Sleeping Bags And Big Cameras (Get your rubber trousers on - it's Part Two)

Well friends hopefully I whetted your appetite, and even if I didn't I am going to persevere with this shite simply because I have to get it all down and out of my system.
So to recap the last Blog:

Caravan Holiday.
Film Maniac with Large Camera
Lots Of Film
No Darkroom

As you can maybe tell from the above, film organisation was always going to be a problem. 
I took 8 Toyo Double Dark Slides with me, holding (obviously) 16 sheets of film, all of which I had pre-loaded in the proper dark of my darkroom. However, 4 of those sheets of film were TXP 320 from a previous load and I only wanted to use TMX 100 for consistency, so that was 2 DDS's knocked out for a start, but I took them anyway. 
My intention was to work my way through the remaining 6 (12 sheets of film) and using a recently purchased extremely very large changing bag change the film whilst there. 
And herein lay a problem.
Have you ever used a changing bag? I mean really used one as in it is all you had to use? Go on . . admit it . . you've got one, but you've never been brave enough to use it have you.
Well that was the predicament I found myself in.
Oh how I skipped out that first night to photograph. 
What a joyous time I had!
And then when I got back, had washed up and thought I must really get myself organised immediately so that I could stay on top of everything, how bouyant and enthusiastic I felt!
Ah, the innocence of youth! The naivety of the amateur!!
I had my changing bag ready.
I had my empty film box ready.
I had my rocket air blower ready to rocket.
I had my little interleaving sheets of paper ready to place over that day's batch, thereby delineating the end of the day . . .
I was good to go.

***
BOREDOM ALERT - DO NOT LISTEN TO CALMING MUSIC OR OPERATE HEAVY MACHINERY WHILST READING THIS NEXT BIT.

A brief aside into my thinking about keeping exposed film organised:
OK - it's pitch dark, or you're in your changing bag or whatever.
Stack you darkslides in the bag (before zipping it) in the order in which you will be placing the sheets in the box. A lot of people have several boxes for N, N+1, N-1 exposures etc, however I feel that it would be too easy to lose place of which image is which so don't use that method.
So say you have the following:

Darkslide 1:
TMX 100/1 (from your notes you know this to be a good exposure)
TMX 100/2 (from your notes, you weren't really totally happy with the composition on this one and you aren't really bothered about it)

Darkslide 2:
TMX 100/3 (from your notes you know this to be a good exposure)
TMX 100/4 (from your notes, a possibly difficult exposure - shadows placed on ZIII, but highlights well beyond ZVII)

[Now imagine the card inner sleeve that holds film in the plastic or foil envelope in a box of sheet film (Ilford ones are best here, because they are a folded sheet, not two separate sheets like a lot of other manufacturers)  - open that wide, put [in my case] 4 sheets of exposed film in, and then lay an interleaving sheet on top - that says to you in the dark that below the sheet is the first day's film.
Just as a double check, you have written on the sheet the day AND ALSO THE ORDER IN WHICH THE SHEETS ARE IN THAT PARTICULAR STACK (Obviously you can't read this in the dark, however if you get a bit lost you can remove it, seal the box and have a skeg at what you've done).]

Anyway, say in example to the above, you want to process TMX 100/2 first just to get a feel for correct development times. Unload that sheet first, place the film in the cardboard, fold it back down over the sheet, then say you want to process TMX 100 1 & 3 next. Unload and place in the card in the same way, then TMX 100/4 - that's the one which requires the most attention so you are going to process that last. Unload it last and place it at the top of the stack and place the interleaving paper on top of that.
Before you started, you stuck a piece of masking tape on the outside of the box with Day and Stacking info on too and also that the sheets are the first day's shooting.
So your strip of tape should read something like:

28/9/14 (Top - next to paper) TMX 100/4, 100/3, 100/1, 100/2 (Bottom)

You're going to ask why I've placed them in that order?
Go on, you are aren't you?
Good.
Well it's because it is easier to take a sheet from the bottom of a stack of film in my experience. Simple as that.

For however many days you are shooting (in my case 5) just repeat the above. And just because it is hard knowing what you are doing in the dark, you can always tell which way up the stack is, because the sheet of film on the bottom feels like film and not that sheet of paper you placed on top of the last sheet which is the top of the stack.

I hope this makes sense. It is a bit convoluted, however it worked very well for me apart from one cock-up in the stacking department, but I'll put that down to blind panic as detailed below.

***
IT'S OK - NO NEED TO CRY ANYMORE - DANGER IS PAST
 GO ON. GO AND GET YOURSELF A STIFF DRINK - YOU DESERVE IT.

Anyway where was I?
Oh yeah, bouyed up on a wonderful film-exposing evening, that's where I was!
All too ready to don a knotted hanky and raise a jaunty salute to anyone who might be passing.
I got everything organised as detailed above and with some trepidation and shaking hands (after all I had invested time and artistic effort into making these exposures) managed to unload my DDS's and get the film organised and sealed away into the box.
BTW - the picture of the tree from the last post, was from that initial batch of film.
Bongo I thought, job done (though it was getting a tad warm and sweaty in the bag [I am going to call it that from now on - The Bag - there, I've done it.])
So I pulled my arms out of The Bag, turned the light on, unzipped The Bag and got everything out. I was chuffed - it had seemed to work well.
I got my Rocket blower (essential if you ask me) and jetted out any bits of dust from the DDS's and organised them for loading, placed them back in The Bag alongside a box of lovely TMX 100.
Curiously I turned the light off (!), zipped both zips on The Bag, shoved my arms up the sleeves and prepared to load. 
And herein lies the problem with changing bags and DDS's - SWEAT
After I'd shoved my hands in I realised that for some unknown reason I was ramping up more moisture than a half-backs' Jock Strap. Are there such things as breathable changing bags? 
I've looked around and can't find them, but man it needs it, that and a small framework inside to stop the fabric draping itself over your hands at the drop of every hat. I know there's the Harrison tents, however one has only to look at the retail prices of these to realise that whilst they look totally the part, they are beyond the means of most enthusiastic amateurs . . ie ME.
In The Bag, the more frustrated I got with the cloth falling everywhere, the harder my fingers sweated. It was terrible - so much so that guiding the film into the slots in the DDS resulted in the film actually sticking to the plastic of the holders . . what a fckecking palava! 
It was a real nightmare and took me about four times longer than loading film normally takes. Allied to this, I didn't really know whether I'd ruined the film by getting moisture on the emulsion and said emulsion getting ruined by all the shite that was going on. 
I cannot emphasise enough how truly awful the situation was.
Several times the film stuck tight only a handful of millimeters into the slots in the holder and I had to scrabble with fingernails and swearing to free it, only to try loading it again, for the same thing to happen. 
The air was blue, and Ali wondered what the hell was going on.
After every sheet loaded, I put the film back into the box, took my soaking wet hands and arms out of the sleeves, unzipped The Bag and looked at the sheets of condensation which had formed inside The Bag's  material - it was like a greenhouse window on a frosty morning!
I then had to rocket air this to dissipate it, so I could carry on. 
I have never experienced anything like it, but I got there (in the end). 
And you know what, I knew I had to change tack, simply couldn't go through the torture again, so after a bit of thinking, the following two loads were made in conditions which most people would laugh at - they involved the following:

A bed.
A changing bag
Twilight/Night
A sleeping bag

Yep, I waited till it was pretty dark.
Shut the curtains (they were pretty much non-light-tight though).
Put The Bag, folded, on the bed (as a clean and easily made dust-free area . . well it was better than using a mattress that goodness knows how many people had slept in wasn't it!)
Laid out my film box and holders.
Draped a LARGE ex-army sleeping bag over the top.
And proceeded to unload exposed film and reload unexposed film into the holders underneath this makeshift tent. 
I had no idea whether the film would be affected, but I couldn't go back to The Bag alone. 
And you know what? It bloody worked! 
The sleeping bag was capacious enough to not keep draping itself all over my hands, but also of the right size to provide a nice light-tight seal where my arms entered underneath it. 
So all I can say, is if you ever find yourself without a darkroom, but with say a large coat and a darkened room, it is entirely possible to load and unload film. Of course you have to be careful, but it can be done! 


Schneider 90mm f8 Super Angulon, TMX 100, 1+25 Rodinal, Fotospeed RCVC
Hackneyed Cliché or Valid Artistic Statement?
Personally I'd go with the former


You have no idea how hard it was to make the above photograph. 
It was a cold and misty morning, my camera (lenses and ground glass) was doing its best to act as a condenser for the vast tracts of atmosphere surrounding me, as were my glasses and loupe. It was damn near impossible to see anything. Allied to this I knew there were several sheets of film in the holders that were totally fecked. However, needs must when the devil drives and this was one of those moments. 
Knowing that the film was possibly in a ruinous condition didn't help, but I had to use it - I couldn't just consign it to the junked sheets of history pile. 
And how do you think it has turned out?
Obviously apart from the composition (which is total shite) not half bad.
You can see there's a small mark about a quarter of the way up the print on the left side . . guess what . . that's it. For all my sweating and the film sticking tight, that was the only damage out of four sheets of film. 
It just goes to show that modern film is remarkably robust stuff. Bomb-proof is what I'd say. 
Oh and before I go, I'll also add that the combination of TMX 100 and 1:25 Rodinal doesn't get spoken about much, however it is as near grainless as a Warburton's bread factory!
Anyway, on that note, till next time I'll love you and leave you. 
It's deep into the lands of processing next time, so make sure you've got some fresh rubber trousers on, because I attempt something with regard to paper grading that is both foolish and interesting. However I'll try and make it a bit more interesting too and not all techie
TTFN and thanks for reading.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

New Lands, Sleeping Bags And Big Cameras (Oh No! . . . Part One?)

Greetings folks - well, I am (just about) finally back in the land of crazed blogs, comparisons of the action of photons on sensitized materials, expensive pieces of glass, mechanical marvels and all round madness . . . yes, you've guessed it, it's photography time again! And not only that, I recently buried myself so thoroughly in all things photographic, that I have only just been discovered by a rescue party who were off looking for a lost tribe along the deepest, darkest of wilds of the East Coasts of Scotland . . .
Oh yes, hard, tough, epic, but above all fun.
I'll blame my wife, because it was her idea whispered into my drunken brain that made us book a caravan at one of our favourite locations as our main holiday of the year, and boy was it perfect.


Leica M2, 90mm f4 Elmar, TMX 100, Rodinal 1+25
Ali in a quiet forest on a wet day - we were surrounded by a sea of mist. 
Leica M2, 90mm f4 Elmar, TMX 100, Rodinal 1+25
Line across centre of photograph courtesy Epson 'Perfection' V300 - GRRRRR!


When I started planning it, I got all excited like a small puppy and instantly thought "Oh boy! Oh boy!! 6x7, 6x6, 5x4, 35mm!!! Woof Wooof Woooof" and ran round and round in a circle until I was sick on the carpet, which was pretty stupid really. After I'd calmed down, and after a bit more thought I realised I had to make a stand against myself and rather than be led by the excitement of different formats, just take a leaf from my own words and limit myself. 
So I did.
Two formats only: 5x4" and 35mm - and even this was limited further with regard to lens choice: 90mm f8 Super Angulon and 203mm f7.7 Ektar (for the large stuff) and (God bless him - there he is at the back hauling his bones up that hill) The Right Reverend Ernst Leitz 90mm f4 Elmar-M (for the 35mm stuff).

I'll admit that I did take the 50mm 1.8 Canon Serenar too as back-up, after all it is scary heading off into the unknown without being prepared, and I suppose were I being really hair-shirted I could have slimmed it down even further from there, but I wanted to have some fun too - it wasn't meant to be all about self-flagellation, so the cat 'o' nine tails was safely left at home and after giving myself a stern talking to, I got everything prepared.
Ancilliary-wise all I carried besides the cameras and lenses, were 8 Double Dark Slides, a cable release and (boxes!! of) film, a light meter (Gossen Lunasix 3S), my ancient Gitzo Series 2 Reporter and a similarly ancient Leitz table-top tripod, oh and a large changing bag.
I would say this was fairly modest in real terms - I've often travelled with a LOT more, however, because of the need for bulky 5x4 film boxes (Kodak) for putting all the billions of sheets of film I was planning on exposing in, the whole lot took up THREE camera bags! 
But what did a little set-back like that matter to me - fortunately on this holiday there was only going to be the two of us as Alec Turnips has now started University and is in the midst of the longest hedonistic drinking spree you could ever imagine, so we had room and plenty of it in our venerable old Honda.
So, everything packed, we left with thoughts of coming back a week later to a smoking, vomit-stained pit in the ground . . and more on this later. 
And that was us, out first holiday properly alone for 18 years - it was exciting! 
And where did we go? 
Well, you know I am going to keep it to myself (selfish eh?) simply because I don't see the point in telling the world where it is. If you recognise it fine, well done, if you don't, well I guess holidays are what you make of them. To be honest I don't think anyone at mine or Ali's work would regard a caravan as an exciting prospect, but that's where they're wrong. A modern static caravan can be a luxurious experience and you haven't lived until you have experienced a full-on rain storm whilst being cosied up inside one. Remember when you were young, and it was pouring and your Mum or Dad let you put something like an old raincoat over your head and stand outside whilst thick, thundery droplets splattered off the top of it in loud torrents? Well, it is like that, except you are centrally heated (this IS Scotland after all) and can sit and read and drink tea and look smugly at the rivulets tearing off to eternity. It is (as they say in Yorkshire) Chuffin' Fantastic, and I dare the naysayers to experience it for themselves. 
There, that's my propaganda on behalf of the Caravan Club over and done with.


The Goode Captain Sheephouse on a particularly brutal day - it had been raining for nearly 24 hours straight.
Sometimes only the craziest garments will do - this poncho hides not just me, but a camera bag, Leica M2, 90mm Elmar and Leitz table-top tripod.


So where do we go from here? Well, to be honest, there's a lot more writing to be done, and the whole trip has to be cobbled together from snippets of crazed memories, drunken haze, the pleasures of quiet countryside, un-nerving experiences, rain storms, mist, curry and books!
So although I know you're thinking "not another of those crazy posts that spread over weeks and weeks and are dull dull dull", well, yeah I suppose it could well be. Sorry about that, but you know what? I'm going to read it, infact I've got a feed to my work so I can read it there too, because folks (and you'll either get this or you won't) I found the whole thing damn exciting - I was well out of my comfort zone of having a darkroom to do all the dark stuff and was operating on the edge of guerilla photography, loading sheets of 5x4 in semi-dark rooms, rolls of 35mm in sopping wet conditions, and the worst of the lot, trying to keep a logical track of the (ahem) 20 sheets of TMX 100 I did actually expose - that was a challenge all of its own . . but more of that to come. 
So do yourself a favour, don't get all excited about the forthcoming blogs and rush around like a puppy and be sick on the carpet . . you might well get yourself banned for life. No, take it easy, put your feet up and let your intrepid Captain do all the hard work for you!
So, just to whet your appetite (and hopefully keep you interested enough to follow up on this initial part) here's an example of what you can do with a 60 year old lens, a film that seems a bit 'Knightrider' these days, and a developer that is older than all of us . . . . .
Oh, and some exhausted Selenium toner too.

Kodak 203mm Ektar, TMX 100, 1+25 Rodinal, Fotospeed RCVC
Kodak 203mm Ektar, TMX 100, 1+25 Rodinal, Exhausted Selenium Toner (Unknown Dilution).
Fotospeed RCVC paper, Selective Pot-Ferry bleaching.

Interesting eh?
Basically I FUBAR'd the development and was left with a well-exposed, but fairly thin negative, and then a flashbulb went off!
Hadn't I read in 'The Negative' that you could expand the upper Zones of a negative by giving it a bath in Selenium? 
Yes I had, and so I did! 
And it worked. 
It's a weird technique, but the dark bits of the negative get even darker before your very eyes, resulting in a very nice 'vintage' expanded feel. The light bits (of the negative) remain the same, so you end up with lovely rich blacks and an expanded upper range - gorgeous.
The print was made on some ancient Fotospeed resin coated, developed in some even more ancient Moersch Eco tickled up with some Benzotriazole (thanks Bruce!) to overcome any fogginess in the paper. Grade was Grade 3 and I further enhanced the contrast by using a brush and Pot-Ferry bleaching on the highlights.
As a certain dead meercat used to say 'Simples!'
The one thing I would say about this negative is that tiny individual pine needles are totally visible and sharp, oh and that this was a limb off an Oak that must have been over 1000 years old - the old Kodak Ektar is an extraordinary lens and one of the real bargains in LF photography.

And so folks, on that note, I shall love you and leave you till next time - a dark and ghastly tale of poor contact sheets, sweat, changing bags and dust, oh and a real terrifying experience which had your author packing his Wista in double quick time and legging it as a quiet Scottish gloam descended on the land. Till then . . . TTFN.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Nice Weather For Ducks

Gargh.
Well, that's 16 stone o'snails consumed, and now we're back on the seas of ether!
Oh yes mates, that was a tough week.
Sheephouse is still sorting out his negatives, but in the meantime, he found time to write a little ditty about a Capn's favourite subject - Weather!
It's been bad, but it's going to get worse.
He's a sage old soak is Sheephouse, but me and Mog like him . . .
Even though he eats snails.


***


You know what - this FB has nothing to do with photography.
I know, I know, but get over it.
I have been conducting many amusing and interesting photographic exploits for your edification, but they will appear later.
I just had to get this off my chest.

The title of this week's FB alludes to the marvellous track by Lemon Jelly - you should listen to it - it has a jolly sound and a good beat, and I wholeheartedly recommend it.
But in typical FB offroadness, here we go in another direction.
The baldy (but excellent drummer) Phil Collins once, in solo guise, intoned the following lyrics:

Though your hurt is gone, mine's hanging on, inside
And I know, it's eating me through every night and day
I'm just waiting on your sign
Now I, Now I wish it would rain down, down on me
Yes I wish it would rain, rain down on me now
Yes I wish it would rain down, down on me
Yes I wish it would rain on me

Well Phil, it did and it does and it will.
I don't know about you lot, but I am looking at a future of wellies and ponchos, of web-feet and oily feathers.
If I were of a scientific bent, I would say that yes indeed, the sheer amount of water vapour in the air and a warmer planet can only mean one thing - more rain.
But as a man from a Darker Age (and I do count myself amongst these out-of-time individuals) I will say that the planet is angry. Very angry.
Whichever way you look at it, I think we're pretty fcecked.
But then again what do I know? I'm just a pleb at a keyboard who thinks a lot about things.
I do know one thing though, and that is that British infrastructure is entirely unprepared for the levels of rainfall we are experiencing.
So, apart from questionable flood defences is anything really being done?
Is it going to take armageddon-style rain, a spring tide with higher sea levels and the failure of the Thames Barrier to make people realise that this is serious?
Will people start to think when 20 million litres of backed-up sewage explode out of the manholes of the Capital?
Instead of mucking around with millions and millions of pounds of public money for this and that questionable social cause, why not direct it into a mass culvertisation of the parts of the country that need it most?
Massive unemployment?
Do a Roosevelt and bring in the likes of the PWA (Public Works Administration) ** and get these works moving . . and fast.
(I know that all sounds dreadfully un-environmentally friendly, but drastic times call for dreastic measures sometimes and to be honest it could be done properly.)
Back in the day when people in this wonderful old land lived closer to nature, it was entirely obvious that a flood plain was there for a reason. In Winter or Autumn when heavy rain upland loaded the river systems, the plains took the brunt of that water, flooding over and providing a valuable resource and fertile land. People didn't live on them because to do so would have been stupid.
But the world has changed again.
The almighty monetary unit has, I am afraid, greased more palms and lined more pockets. Despite seemingly draconian planning regulations, we've built on flood plains, shoved housing estates in where there should never have been any, grossly underestimated drainage capacity, ignored all the warnings from old guys leaning on gates saying:
"You don't want to build that there . . ."
In other words there never has  been much in the way of 'joined-up' (how I hate that expression, but it fits) thinking about anything that might happen in the future. And actually there probably never will be.
Yes we build next to rivers . . . it's a mankind thing, but the river is your friend and should never be your enemy.
Unfortunately though, most rivers are now unable to cope with their original vocation, and they are starting to flood. Regularly.
And what can we do, because we've melted the ice caps; we pump gallons of water vapour into the air from our reliance on condensing boilers; we've built on land that should never have been built on; we've paved over gardens; concretised green spaces; relied way too much on the benevolence of Victorian waste water systems; we've built and demanded and raped and dug and scarred and disrespected the one thing that we need to take care of - this land.
The bones of old Albion are in a sorry state these days because few care.
Instead of looking after that which gives us our everything (and remember this is a Prehistoric Man speaking, so I mean everything, place and soul too) we've become destructive and intransigent, which is a dangerous and self-fulfilling way to be.
We actually hold our own destruction in our own two hands. We are lifting that handful of earth which we've formed into our own god-like shape into the air, and we're passing it onto our children with no thought for them.
A recent holiday helped me experience the sheer change in the weather in a very obvious manner.
We've caravan holidayed for years and yes it has always rained - that is part of the fun. But these new-style pulsing tropical showers that the West of Britain now gets in off the Atlantic (we're sort of unused to them over here in the East of Scotland - though we certainly do get incredible rain at times)  were so intense and so sharp (rather like someone turning on a tap full blast for a short period of time and then turning it off quickly) that they were actually frightening in their severity.
The Prehistoric Man that is me, felt himself cowering against the wrath that the planet was unleashing.
And curiously it did feel like wrath.
They stopped as quickly as they started, and then started again. They were relentless and unforgiving. 
So can I only assume that these will get worse?
Planetary science is a complex and interlinked subject, but as far as I can tell, more ice melt, means more fresh water in the sea and higher sea levels. A warmer planet means greater evaporation  from that engorged sea. Greater evaporation means more water vapour in the atmosphere. Water vapour creates clouds. More clouds with more water vapour, generally means more rain.
If I have been too simple about this, then please feel free to tell me - I am an everyman science person. I was rubbish at the sciences at school, but I am still interested, and I walk around with an open mind and open eyes and ears.
Whichever way we look at it though, it doesn't look very bright does it?
Of course it is more than likely a natural cycle, but an accelerated natural cycle. There was a period in the Dark Ages when crops failed on a massive basis, leading to famine and war. This was possibly a consequence of the mass destruction of the forests and burning of wood (and they got through a lot of wood then - I know . . I was there!) combined with undocumented volcanic activity. I don't know, but what I do know is that the consequences of vast cloud cover were devestating.
Actually though, we are possibly in a worse position than our ancestors - for a start there's a hell of a lot  more of us with a greater demand on dwindling resources.
And secondly, here in the West we're also utterly useless when it comes to self-suffiency.
What was the old adage about society . . that it was three square meals short of anarchy? ***
It's not quite that bad, but it certainly isn't rosy. All this rain. All that cloud cover. Not enough sunshine.
Can you imagine the consequences of food shortages?
I mean proper food shortages - rationing, maybe even worse. Civil intervention to prevent looting?
I stood aghast in Tescos last night - I genuinly saw a squeezy bottle of Manuka honey for £13.99! Even ordinary honey has tripled in price in the last 8 years, simply because there are no bees. ****
Prices are increasing on everything because the crops have failed in such a way this year that it is frightening.
And what are you going to eat when the crops fail?
Are you stockpiling now?
Would you be prepared to defend yourself if someone found out about your horde and they were starving?
Could you kill to defend your collection of tins?
This does seem to be getting out of hand, but I am typing and thinking and musing so bear with me - I know a lot of you are probably sniggering into your mugs, but honest, society is that fragile.
And you there, whipping through pages on your phone or your iPad, don't even get me going upon the reliance on communications systems that can be destroyed by electromagnetic pulses . . is it any wonder the Russians relied on vacuum tubes for their Cold War communications? Can you imagine a failure of even one communications network?
There was a fantastic book written in the 1970's by the Italian sociologist Roberto Vacca, called 'The Coming Dark Age'. It should have been required reading in schools, but like most education, we're (to quote Ian Anderson) skating away on the thin ice of a new day . .
It provided a number of scenarios where parts of society collapsed , and I found it chilling and thoughtful and actually, very factually written . .
And that was back in the 1970's.
Imagine the consequences nowadays.



 
The Portent Of Doom
Roberto Vacca's Masterwork




The whole downfall of society was touched upon by Terry Nation in his book 'Survivors' and the subsequent TV Series (and forget about the remake from a couple of years back . . what's that smell? Phwoeargh - utter drivel!). In it a virus is spread around earth with remarkable ease leaving small pockets of survivors who end up at war with each other.
There are two other books I can recommend on this subject:
First (obviously) 'The Day Of The Triffids' by John Wyndham - arguably the greatest survival book ever written.
And then a lesser-known but still incredible book 'All Fool's Day' by Edmund Cooper.
Both deal with this theme beautifully.
There were many other books which also ploughed this furrow back then (in particular John Christopher's 'The Death Of Grass') but if you are interested in that style of book I would say go with Wyndham and Cooper.






The Trimvirat Of Doom
Epic In Scale - The Chill Voices Of Seers



Anyway, as usual this is digression, but it is founded.
You know you sometimes sense there's things going on, but you're not sure what?
That visceral instinct of intuition?
Well I feel it, but I can't put my finger on it. It isn't a positive feeling though.
I feel something cataclysmic and dreadful is lurching into life like never before.
Our planet is angry with us. And that might be the Prehistoric Me speaking, but it is also the rational 21st Century man too. Hard to know where it is going to go really. We've been here before, and personally I have weathered the naysayers and doom-merchants till I am sick of it, and haven't said a thing, but now, this time, I think we're just over the crest of the hill and are picking up speed, heading downhill without any brakes.
I'm sorry that the tone of this FB is so negative, but I worry about things. I worry how my wife and son and neices and nephews would cope in a world where the worst has happened. You have to think about these things - they aren't just going to go away!
Anyway, just to cheer you up, here's a short film I made - I think it sums things up quite nicely.








Enough. Rant over.
You know I was just going to leave it at that and sign off, but somehow it didn't feel right.
The world is in big trouble, but it can be benevolent if you are open-minded and respect it.
I felt I was a tad critical of everything in today's FB - my rant had taken me along negative roads (can you see where I am going yet?) . . s'cuse the pun, but this is FB - it has to be negative, and sure enough just when I thought it didn't feel quite right this week, I thought and thought and realised that I could shoehorn in some photography. So here it is.




Ilford Delta 400 in HC 110




The above just shows what opportunities for photos turn up at the most unexpected times.
There I was wandering along enjoying a stroll, when I rounded a corner and came face to face with nature's bounty.
Storms and worsening weather can generally mean one thing in a forest - - upended trees. And sure enough here one is, but look at the naturalistic form that has been given to the roots.
I beat my chest and worshipped and gave thanks.
Prehistoric Man will always find gods in anything natural, and here was this wonderful profile just sitting at the edge of the path.
It was made on my newly acquired Leica with the 1934 50mm uncoated Elmar. It isn't a particularly sharp lens (despite what you might read elsewhere) but boy has it captured the spirit of this form.
As I move further along my photographic journey I realise that contrast is often overdone. Coating lenses might well have helped in colour transmission, but it somehow made B&W a bit too contrasty.
One thing you won't read about the Elmar is that it is better as a people lens. In other words it seems to work a lot better in the 3 to 10 feet sector. In that range it renders things deliciously smoothly.
As a landscape lens, it can be a bit difficult to use, as a lot of variables start to come in, like lighting and contrast.
But close-up, I think it is beautiful. And stunning.
And I don't know, but it felt right to render something like this with a lens that is that old.
The negative was made on Ilford Delta 400 rated at EI 320. It was developed in HC110 Dilution G for 20 minutes at 21 C.
It might well have been sharper had I used a more concentrated dilution, but there were a lot of differing scenes on the roll, and Dilution G it was.
So that's it.
Be open to the natural scene, listen to your inner Prehistoric Man and
Respect nature, please.
Remember, we've spent a lot longer living close to our earthly Mother than we have in our concrete and stone boxes.
Until next time - take care, God bless, and keep taking the tablets.



** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_Works_Administration

*** This appears to have been a bit of an urban myth being attributed to either Larry Niven (the SF writer), or Grant and Naylor the writers of Red Dwarf.

**** Possible solutions to the future of bees here:
I personally feel that the abundance of so many telecommunications masts has something to do with it too.