Bigger, Better, Faster, More!

Morning folks - I hope you are well!

Today's FB has a title that not only quotes an album by 4NonBlondes but also, I think, is at the root of what is currently wrong with photography.

Oh I know, chuck your coffee at the screen, drop your phone down the toilet, etc etc . . I know.

You see, to cut a long story short, megapixels, print size, formats, fps, USAF resolution charts, pixel size, face recognition, blah blah blah, you know, all the bollocks that (apparently) define a current photographer . . it's all, well, mostly, er, bollocks.

That new Sony camera that stops motion blur being a thing? 

What's the point in that? 

Someone dig up Jacques-Henri Lartique and tell him his photos of racing cars were crap.

For that matter, someone tell the ghost of Michael Cooper, that his autosport pictures were crap too. He was a hell of a photographer, with nerves of steel, a Pentax and a steady eye. I met him many years ago (he was a friend of my brothers) - to be honest you've not lived until you've stood with someone like Mike OUTSIDE the crash barriers at Brands Hatch on a F1 day . . . 

Anyway, back to the real meat and potatoes.

My friend and erstwhile blogger, Bruce Robbins of the Online Darkroom, has surprised me recently. Due to an overwhelming amount of 'crap' in his darkroom (OK, he has two dogs . . go figure) he has been unable to print anything. 

Fair enough. 

When life gives you crap, get the doggy poo bag out. 

In this case though, it has been the resurrection of his ancient Nikon D700 - a camera that is nearing prehistoric in digital terms - introduced in 2008; well regarded at the time, but still laughable in today's terms at a mere 12 MP. 

Even my Sony A6000 (which I have no fondness for) is 24MP . . read 'em and weep big boy!

But the thing is, as they said back in 1939, "'T'aint What You Do, It's The Way That You Do It  . . " because, to my eyes, with that and his cheapo Epson printer, he's producing prints that are every bit as good as what I am producing in the darkroom from a set-up that in current terms is around twelve times the price of his! 

Add into that, material costs, and, well, you don't have to be a brain surgeon . . . 

Yep - full print, borders and all.
Ilford's MGRC 'unusual' size.

Of course that's a gross simplification. I use my set-up because I love it. 

I love the fact that I really am limited to a roll of film. 

I love the fact that I can go and stand in a red room for a few hours and work away. 

I love printing. 

I love photographing with film. BUT, for how much longer can this continue?

I was saddened to hear that Newton Ellis the famous camera repairers in Liverpool will be shutting their doors this year. Wow. There's really not that many people left who can deal with repairing these lovely machines we still lug about. 

Yes, I know electronics can go on 'modern' cameras, but mostly camera electronics are pretty (relatively) reliable. 

Can you find anyone willing to have a go at your beloved Contax II from the 1930's these days? 

NO (or at least not very many who understand that camera). 

It's a big thinking point.

Allied with this, we have the cost of materials - yes I know it is all relative - as longterm reader and FB friend Julian said recently:

As I was a-meandering through my paternal plan chest, I came across a Silverprint catalogue, dated 2002. In it so much stuff we can no longer buy. And Silverprint - whither went they? Sniffs and gazes rheumy-eyed into the distance.

The cost of a 100 sheet box of 8 x 10 Ilford Multigrade IV RC then...

(including VAT @17.5%) is given as £38.04 crossed out, or, to you guv, £27.26.

I think the crossed out price is probably RRP and Silverprint could offer a good discount.

Putting that through the mills of https://iamkate.com/data/uk-inflation/ to compensate for inflation:

We'd expect that to be £82.17 full price, or to you guv £56.88

There's the small matter of VAT now being 20% and I really can't be bothered with the calculation to find out that it adds a couple of quid!

Going into ilfordphoto.com and checking their prices for Multigrade RC, 100 sheets of said paper comes in at £84.09, which is surprisingly close to the crossed out price with a couple of quid for the extra 2.5% VAT. Nowhere near the "to you guv" level sadly.

So basically,  Ilford MGRC is currently probably bang on the money with regard to inflation and so on. BUT, does that make it affordable? 

Well that is hard for me to judge as someone who has come to the end of their 'usable' working life - I don't earn a wage, so I don't know. 

What I do know, is that in pocket money terms, it is a huge consideration.

Bruce pointed out that Ilford Portfolio in postcard size costs me approximately 70+pence per card - that's quite a lot of money; an average session with postcards elicits 12+ images . . a not inconsiderable  amount of money for a morning's work. 

Were I to inkjet them on 'premium' Hanemuehle postcard paper I'd be well under 50p; use a different paper and I would be considerably less. 

It's quite a thought, because with my costs, stack them across the numerous film formats I use and differing paper sizes, chemicals, storage, time (and also the sheer outlay in cameras and lenses) etc, then I really am living up to that term "Luxury Photographer".

Maybe Luxury Photographer, should be replaced with Financial Masochist. 

And not just financial either as I am about to recount. 

Again that thorn in my side Mr Robbins has shown me a different side.

We recently had a mini-road trip to a setting we've been to before . . however this time is was dreich. And I mean proper Scots Dreich. 

Misty; damp; warm and cold at the same time; humidity levels through the roof; constant rain - not heavy, but a proper Scots Soaker (believe me, you need to experience it to understand that it is quite different from just 'getting wet').

 

I had the 500 C/M and 40mm Distagon; an A16 back and Panoramic Mask set . . on a tripod . . with my old Gossen Lunasix 3S and a cable release all housed in a giant shoulder bag. 

Fortunately, I had the rain cover from a Think Tank Urban Disguise on hand, for without it, my camera would have melted away to nothing. 

The large rain covers often supplied with most bags, are not pieces of annoying shite (as I used to think) but actually superb at stretching over a really large camera set-up.

As a counter to this, Bruce had a tripod, his Ona manbag, the D700 and 2 lenses . . . and that was it.

His camera, is a bit weather sealed - not up to modern standards but good enough. 

He didn't seem particularly worried is what I shall say, whereas I was completely paranoid about trying to stay dry. 

As for my stuff . . well, when I got home this is what I had to do:

Lens off then take the camera apart: remove hood; remove Acute Matte; clean water marks off of mirror where the rain had funnelled through; thoroughly dry camera body including removing wind-on crank to remove water which had seeped behind it.

Film back: kitchen towel dry; remove film; remove insert; remove dark slide; pop whole lot in Ziplock bag with silica. 

Lens: kitchen towel off the worst of the moisture; remove hood; filter; dry threads of both; pop lens into large Ziplock bag with silica in it for four days . . . and twiddle thrumbs.

You get the drift. 

And of course the shoulder bag was soaked too with no cover. 

Tripod - saturated, so: set, fully erect in a warmish room for a couple of days . . . 

Finally, reassemble camera and lens only to discover that you've just fired the lens before mounting it on the camera and have encountered for the first time the Hasselblad lock-up.

Look up how to sort it - quite simple really with a good long screwdriver and some care.

Breath at last.

So, nothing short of a pain in the arse really. 

Although his lenses got wet too, I don't think they got quite a soaking as mine did. 

And I bet he didn't have to take his camera apart!

This being said, it was an experience and has given me a number of pointers to situations like that in the future. But at the end of the day I could have brought home the same bacon with his set-up.

That is quite a consideration.

The film was FP4+ developed in Pyrocat-HD. 

I printed the images on 11¾ x 8¼ paper; the image size is 10½ x 5¼". 

They look good and I am happy with them, but like I say, I could have achieved the same with much less. 

I will say (amazing what experience can teach us) is that the nominal 6x3cm image size of the panoramic mask using this film (and camera) combo, is probably as good as I could have achieved with a 6x12cm back on a view camera. 

Had I been in the same circumstances with just a field camera and a 6x12 back, I simply wouldn't have bothered getting anything out of the bag. It is as simple as that.

Anyway, here's the images.

Strangely, looking at them as scanned objects make them look better to my weird eyes.

But where does this lead me?

Remember what I said about bollocks up above?

Well, Bruce has proved to me that in modern terms, using something that is, in actual digital terms, as dead as a Dodo (and if you are careful and ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING) then you can produce work that stands up with anything. 

I hope he writes a post about this, because the prints are really good - I was impressed. 

As for l'il ol' me, well, despite the obvious merits and pocket money friendly benefits of squirting (inkjet printing) I shall probably carry on printing with gritted teeth. 

One thing is for certain though. I want to print a fibre-based archive and that means 10 x 8" WILL HAVE TO BE my maximum paper size. 

I simply can't justify paying £95 for a box of 50 sheets of 9.5 x 12". 

Of course if anyone would like to send me some larger fibre paper, I will happily receive it and send you back an archival Sheephouse print of your choice 😄 

As another aside though . . who prints 20 x 16" in fibre these days? 

Its current price is £256 for 50 sheets - that's a fiver a print, plus very quickly exhausted chemicals . . and the sheer space involved to deal with the prints.

If the shitake hits the fan as I think is going to happen, I can imagine that the larger paper sizes will go first.

There really can't be many people doing big ones now . . surely?

But if you are out there (and you're reading this) my hat is tipped to you - you're both brave and masterful (and either professional or quite a bit well-off).

Anyway, that's quite enough from me for another post - if you've been reading for as long as some of you have, Bless You. If you're new to this malarkey, Bless You Too.

I am now off for a haul around town, sporting (wait for it) .  . the Sony A6000 and 16-50mm OSS E kit lens. Bruce said I'd probably get more out of it, if I put as much care into using it as I do with a film camera. 

Personally I can't see it, but we shall see.

The older I get, the more I think, Feck it . .WHY NOT?

Over and Oot.

H xx

Deep Woods And Soggy Pants

Morning folks - well, decorating and DIY were put aside for a brief four days of holidays in the Borders (of Scotland). It's an area we know well and love very much.

The feel is very different to the West side of the South Of Scotland, which is quite wild with less obvious history. 

The East Borders are easily distinguishable by the mark the Romans made in trying to conquer Scotia, that is, lots of forts, earthworks and a series of roads which span millenia. 

The main of these is Dere Street, which stretches from York all the way to Edinburgh and was a proper Shanks' Motorway for hundreds of years. 

It is now partly called "The Pilgrim's Way."

You can get a fantastic idea of the post-Roman period in history by reading Rosemary Sutcliffe's (ostensibly for 'children') trilogy: "The Eagle Of The Ninth", "The Silver Branch" and "The Lantern Bearers". 

They're largely dismissed these days as being historically inaccurate and a bit twee, however, as a lifelong reader I can honestly say, of any of the billion books I have ever read, these throw you full-on into the dung and stench of the early, post-AD period; you can feel the pain, terror and sheer excitement of battle; the smell of woodsmoke and cooking fires; the wear of daily travail; the clank of armour coming over a distant moor - you get my drift - they're Time Machines.

A remarkable achievement by a lady who was wheelchair bound for all her life and could only wander afar in her imagination. 

Highly recommended.

Anyway, back to the main monkey-business - you wanna banana Choppers? 

Yooz got it.

I've often found on country holidays that the easiest way to get anything satisfactory, photographically, is NOT to go for The Grand View. 

Fuggedaboudit. 

No point. 

Everybody's doin' it, doin' it, doin' it.

Pickin' their nose and chewin' it, chewin' it, chewin' it. 

(Sorry, you obviously didn't go to the same school as I did where the aforementioned ditty was much popular in about 1969.)

To me Grand Views leave me as cold as anything.

They're just foul interpretations of the immense beauty of nature. Granted it is hard to stuff all that wonder into a small lens and thence onto a sensor or film, but tbh, they've been done sooooooo many times, is there really any other point to them other than to prove you were there?

I think the Grand View really dilutes the power of Landscape Photography.

You have to feel a place before it can talk back to you.

My solution?

Immerse yourself in what is literally just outside the door of your cottage, caravan, hotel, tent, whatever.

Check the Ordnance Survey map of your locality. 

Bing Maps Aerial Views are pretty good too, but to my mind an OS can make sense of features you haven't got a scooby about.

See something interesting? (in the case of my recent holiday, an Iron Age Earthwork on a promontory on a very minor river) find it and photograph it and its environs.

It is far more satisfying to be able to say to yourself:

"I doubt anyone has ever taken a picture here before!"

Honest - try it and see.

So there I was, after an afternoon of really heavy, thundery showers, desperate to get the tripod and camera out and get out for a small photograph.

We had an earlyish tea, I donned suitable outdoor gear, and out I went. 

Full sundown was around 8 PM and I was out about 6.30.

I think I have described the gloaming before - it is a wonderful Scots word for that time when the world is just nestling down into darkness. 

It, to me, also encompasses the brief period before sunset when things start to quieten a lot. 

Birds set themselves down; small mists lift themselves free of grassland; rivers take on a loud rushing which is totally different to normal daytime. 

You can feel the peace coming on.

It is my most favourite time of the day to take photographs. 

Light changes quickly; aside from everything getting darker, you need to take into account that pretty much every frame will be different. 

You also need to work quickly and methodically. 

No farting about. 

Know Your Onions (as my Dad used to say).

Jane's Wood 1

As you can see from the above, despite the sun star, the light was falling fast - what you can still see of the sun was just cresting the woods on the other side of the gorge and literally I had minutes before the whole place settled itself into deep gloom.

I am happy with the print - it is hard to capture soft light like that without being underexposed or printing too heavily - you need a measure of low contrast just to keep things down a bit.

Film was FP4 developed in HC 110 on Dilution B. I printed it in Ilford MGRC. 

My camera was the Hasselblad 500 C/M and the lens was the newish and totally wonderful 40mm Distagon. 

Compared to the Biogon on the SW, it captures the same amount of detail (which is vast - easily the equivalent of 5x4 if not more so) but is slightly contrastier and doesn't have the same 'air' that the Biogon has.

I put this down to the coating and also that it is more than 10 years younger, and of course a different design. 

I love it though and for landscape it is far easier to compose with than the Biogon.

Jane's Wood 2

The small, overgrown path down to the gorge passed an iron age fort (as mentioned above - it was sited in a marvellous and easy to defend position) and entered a wood called 'Jane's Wood'. 

It was planted in memory of a young woman, Jane Thornton, who died in 1984. 

It is all small Oaks, though obviously they're growing, and the place has an air of total peace. 

Jane and I would be of similar ages, and I wondered to myself how she died. I also, felt entirely humbled by the fact that someone would plant a whole Oak Wood in her remembrance. 

What a beautiful tribute to a life cut short, and weirdly, it was almost as if her spirit imbued the place with a certain something. 

Of course that could just be donkey shite on my behalf, but I actually truly think I stumbled upon that spirit of place I always look for.

As she had been raised on one of the nearby farms, I assume she must have loved the place too. 

The route down, was, as they'd say "A Well Ken't Road" as, at the bottom, there are the remains of a truly ancient bridge - I'd put it back to 17th or even 16th Century. It's tumbled and gone though.

I got to the bottom of the gorge and managed to finish off the rest of the film in difficult circumstances. I've not included them here because they don't have the same soft, gloamy feel.

I was pretty much soaked to the skin and deeply sweating too (it was quite a climb down through slippery wet vegetation) but being next to a river at dusk is just about my favourite thing in the whole world and I got the feel of this small, yet quick river, deep into me.

Certainly near where we were staying there was plenty of camera fodder, but in being careful and using maps and intuition to explore before setting out, I got lucky and chanced upon a feeling and an unexpected place I shall never forget.

God bless Jane, and thank you.

The above print, was another difficult one and I had to print on Grade 4.5, as, even though I'd compensated for reciprocity in my exposure, the light was outrunning that factor if you get my drift.

Again FP 4 in Dilution B and printed on Ilford MGRC.

And tha-tha-that's it folks - be good and watch out for those tripod ruts.

H xx

Fun With Rocks (And Mist)

Well, I think fun is stretching the michael a bit, but combined the two are kind of interesting to me.

Let me explain myself - I've got screeds of lengthy stuff coming up, but haven't even started writing it yet, so consequently, recently whilst looking through some prints for Bruce and Omar (yes, I haven't forgotten!) I rediscovered some prints I'd made years ago from a couple of really rather lengthy hillwalks.

If you've ever done a hillwalk you'll know two things - mist is often inevitable, and there are lots and lots of rocks. OK, stay on the beam, I'll get there . . .   

When a good mist comes in, there's really nothing quite like it, because it is disorientating and fast, often thick, cold, wet and blanketing. All external sounds are draped and you become acutely aware of your heart and the noise of the bood in your ears and your breathing. It makes you stop in your tracks sometimes - it's that surprising. The world looses all colour and becomes completely grey - even the brown upland grasses and heathers loose their colour and if you are really unlucky and haven't taken rough bearings things can start to deteriorate pretty quickly. I call it brown-trouser walking, because believe me, losing your bearings for even a few minutes is incredibly worrying. But that's why people carry a compass. Or do they? It's incredible the number of people you meet on the tops who are dressed in jeans and trainers, no obvious map or compass, a lot of times no rucksacks . . .really amazing! 

As I can attest from the photograph below, your surefootedness can quickly turn to "Oh shiiiiit!".

A Cautionary Tale

You see, for some reason, I'd spotted this rather dull rock, which had a nice patch of permafrost running away from it, so I left the path I was on and walked the 50-or-so yards over to this to see if I could  make it look interesting. Those were the days when all I carried were the Rollei T and my Slik Baby-Bambi tripod.

Now I was stupid moving off the path without first looking round, because I would have seen that things were closing in rapidly, but oh no, a stroll over to the rock and whammo - Mist-out! Right I thought, no problem, I marked a heel gouge in the grass and told myself I'd come up to that. No problems, just go back exactly the way you came and you'll be fine, but take the photo first. Duly taken and things packed away, I searched in vain for my heel gounge and could I find it, could I fecundity! So I went to the rock and thought, well if I move like a spiral around the rock, I am bound to find my mark. So that's what I did - clever thinking thought I - and the further out I got, the dimmer the rock got until I realised that the rock was the one sure thing in the whole world of mist I was encompassed by. No gouge was to be found, so I headed back to the rock in panic.

At times like that, clear thinking very much takes a back seat and it really is only through a force of will that you come down to straight thinking. It is bloody difficult though, because every ounce of your being is saying, "This Is It - You're Lost, You Stupid Bastard!" Visions of the old yellow Mountain Rescue helicoptors stooping over my emmaciated corpse weeks hence were very real!

I hunkered down against the rock and tried to calm myself down. Oatcakes were eaten, water was sipped and then I realised a friend was to hand - my map and compass.

I roughly knew where I had been before the mist came down and could see from the map that the path should be approximately due North from my position, so in an act of daring-do which I have never repeated, I let my compass do the talking, got up, and headed into the unknown, with only a slip of magnetised plastic between me and oblivion.
You see that's the weird thing about mist - it utterly removes you from the normal world.
I must have walked for a good 15 minutes on that compass bearing; I sweated buckets; every hump and drop of landscape was some new torture. But I held as true as my bearing and eventually stumbled out between two hillocks onto a path.

It is a Sheephousian Truism that "it might look no far on the map, but it's further than you think on the ground".

I can see where I went wrong now, it was a Sheephousian triangle I was on and I ended up heading on the long edge of that . . . but I got there in the end and I suppose the thing I learn from this is that I really should brush up on my compass skills!

Near Broad Cairn

And as is so typical of the mountains, I stumbled back to safety and the mist lifted and this massive big puddle lay before me, so I celebrated photographically as it were. Bambi held the Rollei safely and I lived to fight another day. The misty horizon encompasses the whole of Broad Cairn (998 metres high, and on OS sheet 44) a massive, stone-strewn lump on the Mounth Plateau (for those of you of a geographiocal bent); the heady drop down to Loch Muick is on my right. I have never actually made it to the top of Broad Cairn simply because every time I tried . . . yep, you guessed it . . mist. I've wandered very closely to it though, just never actually climbed it proper as it were.

Anyway, onwards, so there I was, about a month earlier (yeah, weird eh? - no permafrost or snow in the above ones!) - it had been a wild sort of morning, with mist clearing to a wonderful crispness. The big snows of Winter hadn't yet started, but the permafrost was starting and new showers were coming in and the ground was hard as iron, smattered with new snow and the air was as sharp as a knife. I was climbing a well-known Munro and I was nearly there when I spotted this rock on the horizon. Had I not been footering about and observant I could have easily missed it, but it looked interesting and I took a detour, and discovered what I will call (and have ever since called) "The Watcher".
I think it's quite something and who knows what it (HE? almost certainly a he) has seen in the last 11,500 years since the glaciers tumbled him there!
You get that a lot - improbably gigantic boulders, I mean some of them are larger than a modern detached house, just sitting on a hillside minding their own business, waiting for time and more time to wear them down.
Anyway, back to the photo - this one is made with something I never use . .  Acros 100. The Acros was shot at box speed and developed in 1+50 Rodinal - you see the power of those notebooks - it was the 26th of October 2003 and this was the 3rd frame, shot at 1/60th and f22 . . . no tripod.
I've always liked this, but for some reason have never made a decent print of it.

The Watcher

Coo, all this walking has drummed up a hunger - I'm STARVING - now, where's the dumplings? Anyone got some? And follow that with a heavy dob of mashed potato and maybe even a deep fried pizza and a white pudding supper.
Full yet?
No? Well satisfy your gums with this stodgy, heavy-handed feast.
A true vintage Sheephouse print!
After hours of searching it seems to be the only one I have, sadly.
The thing is, the negative is gloriously tonal, and I know I can get a decent print out of it . .watch this space.
It was made with the Rollei T in 645 (or 16-On as it is known) mode!
Wonderful, because you are using most of the central portion of that lovely Tessar.
It also features the glorious tone of Ilford's FP4 and the Rollei Blau filter!
You know what, the older I get the more I think FP4 is just about the perfect film for tones. It seems to have them in spades, and whether that's because it's an old skool, medium speed film or not I don't know, but I like it.
Developer was 1+50 Rodinal again and this was made in October of 2003 - I seem to have done a lot of walking that year.
It wasn't really a misty day, but you can see that it wasn't exactly crystal clear either

The Cairn On Mayar

And now our last serving of carbohydrates.
It might not look it from the print below, but mist definitely stopped play.
This is where I carried a Sinar F, 2 Lenses, Linhof Twin Shank Tripod, Gitzo Series 5 head, 8 Film Holders, Loupe, Dark Cloth, Glasses, Emergency Gear, 2 Litres Of Water, Lunch and the heaviest 4 season boots I had (nearly 2kg a pair) up to a coll in an attempt to scale a Munro on a misty day.
It took me three hours to climb something that normally takes an hour and a half, but I got to the top of the coll and the bloody mist came in and draped me in doubt.
Memories of previous brown-trouser walks swept over me, so I retreated, rather than thinking it worth going on.
In truth I was utterly knackered and nearly dead by the time I got back to the car, and the one thing I learned from this is that you don't need battleship stability to make a photograph.
And yes, if you are wondering, there's no trickery involved, the path does ascend that 45 degree hillside.
 Details from notebook: 15/11/2009 - film foma 100 ei 80, 1+50 Rodinal

Shank Of Drumfollow

And that's it folks - in truth this is just a patch job - I've been taking loads of photos of stuff over the Spring/Summer along with my usual Summertime DIY projects (oh joy!) but rest assured, normal printing will resume as soon as possible.
And remember, if you pick that scab again it isn't going to heal . . .

Stumbling Into The Light

You know there's that thing called a Preternatural Glow that can precede dawn (so long as it isn't overcast)?

Well, as a long-time very early riser, I can confirm that there is - it's my favourite time of day too and often brings to mind the best photograph I've ever seen in my life.

Well, at least it might have been the best photograph I've ever seen in my life, had I had

a/ a small tripod

and

b/ a loaded camera!

My Dad used to have this great saying: 

The Things You See When You Haven't Got Your Gun 

It's a great saying and in my case could easily have been applied to my photographic unpreparedness.

I was driving along near The Caterthuns in Angus - they're two iron Age hillforts outside Brechin and my goodness the view from the top is astonishing. Anyway, it was pre-dawn, really dark, and I was bumbling along a lane in my old Nissan Micra and there before me (outwith the reach of my headlight beams) was a spread of land that opened out from the high country I was in, for miles and miles downwards to the Eastern horizon and the North Sea.

It was like the land had been cut away for my pleasure and wonder and I had this downward slope of immense landscape to bask in; and there, huddled together in the field beside the road, was a smallish herd of cows.

I like cows - you know where you stand with a cow, anyway, this lot were all lying down, cudding away, and to a cow, were watching the dawn coming on in the same way I was.

The light was so faint it only lit them gently, but they all had a look of utter peace on their faces.

Cows appreciate the unusual and art - did you know that? It's true - whenever my Mum used to hang washing on our whirlygig washing line, it always attracted a herd of interested moos who would stand and watch for ages until they'd eaten all the grass nearby in the adjacent field and then wander off murmuring appreciatively. .

Anyway, I digress - I stopped the car on the tight verge, switched off the engine, rolled down the window and listened. There was a massive silence gently filled with warm cow sounds (no not that Jenkins . . . report to the headmaster immediately) and a sense of all not only being right with the world, but also a sense of peace which literally did pass all understanding.

It was incredible and had I a camera that could have frozen the moment, I would have done so and astonished people, but sadly, that was not the case, and so the scene is forever only imprinted in my memory until I shuffle off to the immortal skip . . .

But that was the glow, the preternatural glow. It softened and made so very beautiful the faces of the cows and draped itself so gently over the world that it turned the astonishingly ordinary into something otherworldly and timeless.

It was a herald of good portents for the day and lifted my spirit to soar upon the morning breeze (yes you've got to feed the inner caveman sometimes) and this is what it did.

Photographic, Silver Gelatin prints can have that glow too. 

It's a rare thing but does seems to be do-able. 

I've seen it in real prints from the masters at exhibitions, I've seen it in a wonderful book on the Maggie's Centre in Dundee, by Peter Goldsmith and I've also seen it in some incredibly early Photogravures from the pages of Camera Work. 

Incredibly to me, I've even sometimes seen it in my own prints . . . but it's rarer than rocking-horse shit, however sometimes you just stumble upon a combination that works.

In my case, it was FP4 rated at EI 80 developed in 1+50 Rodinal (well, R09) at 20C. 

The resulting negatives were printed on ancient, long-expired Agfa MCC at Grade 4 (100 Magenta on my DeVere head) - I've had to use this equivalent grade to bring the paper back to life - anything less and the paper is mud - my goodness though, I wish I had a dozen or so boxes of it.  

The prints were developed very ordinarily in Fotospeed developer, Kodak stop and Ilford fix and given standard Selenium toning for archival purposes. And that was it! Incredibly exposure was standardised at 16 seconds at f22 on my Vivitar lens, with a tiny (and I mean tiny) bit of burning judiciously applied here and there. 

There was no Split-Grade Faffing, no Wizard-Cape Theatricals, no Snake Oil - just straight printing. 

I often wonder with the screeds of books written about the darkroom dark arts, how much of it is snake oil. Get the exposure right in the camera, and printing should just come down to either expansion or contraction of contrast and a modicum of artistic license in the form of dodging and burning. To me, printing should be like that marvelous recipe your Grandmother passed down to your Mother - simple; any amount of tarting up just takes away from the utter simplicity of the original thing.

Anyway, scans below. Of course scanning can never duplicate the physical presence of a print, but you can get an idea - believe me, they do, on the whole, glow.

Please feel  free to comment - I am quite proud of these - they're printed about 8.5" x 8.5" on 9.5" x 12" paper and obviously I've cut the borders off to accomodate the image area in scanning . . . . 

Bruce Robbins reckons the look comes from a combination of light, surroundings and circumstance, and he could well be right. I'd set out to photograph some shoreline, but this being Scotland, it started pouring and I ended up getting stuck in the underpass bit of a certain well-known road bridge near me. It was really chucking outside, but inside it was weird and reflecty and damp and photographic! 

And yes, I know the third one has rendered me as a Brass Rubbing . . I quite like it. 

And I also know there's a bit of squintyness in the form of converging verticals - it was pretty dark in there.

Film as mentioned was FP4 - I like the look of it so much I am thinking it would be good to standardise on it - a truly great film.

And that's it really - I had a fantastic time photographing these and an even better time printing them.

TTFN and remember, pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold, pease pudding in the pot, nine days old.

P67 - The (Model) Number Of The Beast . . . (Unless You Count C330F Too)

Morning m'Dearios. 

This week your Cap'n has been reading about the terrible tale of the Somerset Nog. A horse (half Suffolk Punch/half Dachshund . . well, it gets very foggy on the moors) so long and overburdened that it snaps in two and founders along with its cargo of day-trippers in Ganderpoke Bog. They do say though, that if 'ee passes Ganderpoke Bog at midnight, you's can still hear the two ghostly halves of the Nog singing a lament.
It fairly wrings your withers to read about it. 

So let that be a lesson to you all:

Don't overburden your Nog.

***

My apologies to you all in advance, but this weeks FB is pure photography all the way, so hold onto your hats, tighten your belt and make sure you've got a pair of flat shoes on . . .

It will bore you to hell unless you like talking about cameras. Normal, less techie, service will be resumed next week.

When I started taking photographs seriously again, after a hiatus of about 15 years, I resumed using what I thought would give me the best quality (as our American friends would call it) bang for buck. 

I eschewed restarting with 35mm because I had used it fairly extensively at college and wasn't really wanting to go along that path again. 

At college, I had actually had the most photographic enjoyment at the time using The Beast - a Mamiya C330F. This is a camera so heavy it requires a team of sherpas to move it about. I think back in the '80's a large number of them were seen in use by the members of the Russian weight lifting squad at the 1988 Seoul Olympics . . . .

Sherpa Ten-dzen transports a Mamiya C330F to secret Russian training camp circa 1987

Honest, it feels like it weighs about 20 gravities, but it produces very nice quality photographs, and is actually about the cheapest way you can get into interchangeable lens medium format photography without selling your kidneys.

Having fond but painful memories of the Mamiya though made me search in another direction, namely Germany and the Rolleiflex. They were light and beautiful and the camera of choice for lots of well-known photographers. I couldn't afford a 3.5 or 2.8 F model with their exceptional Planar and Xenotar lenses, so I opted instead for a Rolleiflex T.

It wasn't cheap, but neither was it a fortune. What it was however was a stunning piece of 1960's engineering with a range of accessories that worked and fitted beautifully. In other words it was the bees knees.

I have spent many long hours wandering near and far with my Rollei and despite a few teething problems to start (film transport going funny) it has served me well (and still does actually). They are a very adaptable camera - portraits, landscape, pretty much anything you can think of a use for a camera for, and with a bit of free thinking, you can get there. 

However, as time went on I started looking seriously at the likes of Wynn Bullock and Ansel Adams and wondered whether upgrading to a larger format would make some of their vision rub off on me (it didn't by the way). So after much thought, I decided I was very hungry and needed a bigger doughnut.

Enter The Beast # 2. 

I saved up all my pocket money (and Christmas money too) and bought a trip into larger format heaven - a Pentax 6x7.

This camera looks and handles like the fat boy brother of the largest 35mm camera ever made (a Nikon F2s?).

Smuggled prototype photograph from Pentax HQ, showing proposed sizing of the original Pentax 6x7 (with new Mk II lens range) in proportion to average human being size. You can clearly see a plan for world domination here.

The Pentax is solid and heavy, has the loudest mirror slap you have ever heard and the shutter flings itself across with such violence it will actually torque the camera even though it is secured to a tripod. In your hands it can kick like a .22 air pistol. 

It was widely used by fashion photographers (Mario Testino and Bruce Weber are two who come to mind) namely and for that if you are using fast film, or flash, but definitely in the higher range of shutter speeds, I can see it working, but for quieter landscapes it is quite a proposition. The incredible thing is though, that for many it is the landscape camera of choice . . or was, in those heady days of using film. 

Personally, I found it difficult and I had to adopt a totally mad method of taking photographs with it.

Apologies if you love and use your P67, the following might tickle your funny bone . . . 

Note: if you are using the Pentax for anything other than hand-holding it at about 1/125th with the lens stopped down a couple of stops, then try this method of using it on a tripod . . it works. 

So here we go - Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tips.

Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tip Part 1: Firstly you fix it to your tripod like you are expecting rough weather and phone 999 (or 911).

Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tip Part 2: Compose your photograph - I recommend the waist level finder actually, because you do not get the full frame when you look through the prism finder. Make sure all emergency services have arrived and are ready and on standby.

Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tip Part 3: When you are happy, zip up your flash suit, make sure you are in eyeball contact with emergency coordinators and then LOCK THE MIRROR UP AND SET THE SHUTTER TO B. If you do not do this then you will not get a sharp photograph.

Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tip Part 4: Use your lens cap the way they used to be used - in other words keep it in front of the lens. You can actually use your hand too.

Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tip Part 5: Hang on to something immovable and release the shutter. This is difficult to do - I found a bicycle chain around my ankle and then secured around a bollard or tree quite good. A cable release is essential, however I have used a pencil. Ear defenders are recommended. The shutter noise will scare birds and small children so sand-bagging the camera can work too. Don't worry though - the emergency crews should be in place to deal with any mishaps.

Rogers' Pentax 6x7 Tip Part 6: Remove your lens cap, but still keep it tightly in place until you are sure there is no movement or vibration from the camera. Very gently move the cap out of the way for your timed exposure. Count off your exposure. Place lens cap back in front of lens tightly and quickly. Release cable release to close shutter and unlock mirror.

Denouement: There you have made a nice photograph with the Pentax.

Kindly ask emergency teams to stand down, but remain in field radio contact with them as you have another 9 frames to use up.

I simply had to adopt this method because it was easier than that well known P67 tip of forcing all your weight down on top of the camera whilst it is tripoded to stop the torque ruining the photographs. I had had to do this a number of times until I came up with the method above believe it or not. It didn't half get some funny looks!

Unfortunately for me, because of my financially necessary photographic bottom feeding, the Pentax I had bought had probably been done to death by its previous owner(s).

It's reliance on batteries was also a pain and proved to be part of its downfall in my eyes. At about -4C, and a number of miles away from anywhere, it just refused to work. I was livid. It is no joke removing a small battery with freezing fingers and shoving it into your pants and clasping it tight in the crease where lower groin meets leg to get a little life back into it. This does work very well by the way, but I wouldn't recommend it if you are photographing in a city . . .

After that trip into the depths of a Scottish late Winter/early Spring I had a wonderful time with a few films being exposed correctly with a perfect frame count all the way through (10 frames on 120 film) and then it started misbehaving again: missing frames and locking completely, resulting in a blue darkroom fog of unloading the partially wound film, respooling it and starting again (!)

Enough was enough and I returned it to the vendor for a refund - they were good enough to do so after my 6 months of using it. I often wonder what happened to it. Knowing the secondhand market, it is probably still around with the problems of the transport still unresolved. 

Old and knackered cameras rarely die, they just keep getting shipped around the country.

For all that I seem to be criticizing the Pentax, I actually think that the problems of the early 6x7's were partially resolved in the later rebuilds - namely the Pentax 67 (see what they did there) and the Pentax 67II.

The superb photographer Steve Mulligan regularly uses a brace of P67II's for aerial photography and I simply don't see how they could have sold so many if they were rubbish.

There is a small whining voice inside me that says, I would love to own one again, simply for their sheer heft and the quality of the lenses. This being said, the lens I had (and could afford) was an early 75mm f4.5 Super-Multicoated-Takumar, and I thought it was a tad soft (there seems to be a concensus of opinion that it is one of the sharpest in the range, so maybe I had a not so good example). 

If I were to go for one again, it would be as late a model as possible with either the 90mm or 105mm lens and the 55mm wide angle. But then again, I would still face the same problem of not being able to see 100% of what I am photographing - a point which annoys the hell out of me.

My notes from when I returned the Pentax read as follows:

Basically no matter how good looking and likeable the Pentax 67 system is (and it is) - never get another one!!

The flaw of the system is the shutter (which is ridiculously loud and heavy in action *

If you want a 6x7 go for a RB67 or Fuji or something but not Pentax.

* The camera will torque no matter how much effort you put into restraining it. Only the lens cap/mirror up method works, but then we were let down by the lens.

The madness of bigger doughnuts did sort of resolve itself from this. The money I got back from the Pentax and lens and all the doo-dads I'd bought for it - strap, UV filter, waist-level finder, plus a trade-in of a nice little Petri rangefinder, enabled me to take a giant step forward.

I got the Supersized lunchtime special doughnut; a camera so large and bulky and yet so wonderful that I still own it. A Sinar F.

It is so much a character of his own, that he will have his own dedicated FB sometime soon.

But back to the Pentax, why does that niggling voice keep going? 

Why would I want to get another one when the original proved to be so unreliable and challenging to use? 

I think it could well be, that I like the idea (but maybe not the practicality) of having one again. Yes it was difficult to use. Yes it wasn't a ready companion miles away from anywhere, and yet, it was a character all of its own. A camera that you had to deal with on its own terms and not your own. A struggle to use, and yet a pleasure too. I hope he is still around out there, giving some bargain hunter pleasure and not pain!

The photograph below was made with the Pentax, at a place called Mossburn Ford in the Scottish Borders. The path Alec Turnips and myself were on passed through someone's garden, before meandering away and up a hillside. In the garden were some overgrown sheds with this incredible collection.

The photograph was made on Ilford FP4 at EI 64. I metered it with my Gossen Lunasix S meter (a totally wonderful light meter) placing the top left corner on Zone V. Exposure was 2 seconds at f16.

It was developed as per Barry Thornton's instructions - basically Ilford Perceptol at 1:3 and 20C, for 14 and a half minutes.

The scan does very little justice to the print, which somehow manages to 'breath' in the greys with a luminosity that is always very difficult to get a hold on.

I call it 'Grandfather's Chair', because of that old candlewick bedspread draped over the chair. 

It looks to me like a figure is sitting there - possibly the ghost of someone's Grandfather, still clinging to the unloved remnant of his favourite chair. 

Allied with the movement from the weeping Willow, and I think an air of strangeness has been imparted to it.

Of all the photographs I have made, it is the only one I have framed and on the wall in my study.

(Ab)normal service will be resumed next week.

God bless and thanks for reading.

Drink Entire Against The Madness Of Crowds

Greetings m'Dearios, for 'tis time to straddle your nadger and prepare to gallop across the bacon counter . . . yes, another Weekend FogBlog is upon us and in an unashamedly commercial manouevre, I am going to urge you all to purchase a copy of Ramblin' Syd Rumpo In Concert.

This album of greatness from the 1960's meant one thing in the Sheephouse household . . . Fun.

And yes that is Fun with a Capital F, because such is the genius of it, the sheer eloquence and power of the English language contained therein; the oppulence of innuendo and the mind-bendingly weird words quothed, that should you not laugh at all upon hearing it, you are officially dead.

Remember, this is the record that circa 1965 (as far as I can work out) gave the word GRUNGE to the English language .

It is one of the things that has made your Ol' Uncle Sheephouse who I am today, and I will "tether my nadgers to a grouting pole, because the old grey mare is a grungin' in the meadow" such is my pride at being associated with it.

    

(To the right of this page you'll find a 'Sheephouse Approved' item. I am sorry to put a blatant plug on something like FB, it is an experiment really . . . for the price of a pint in these parts, you can experience what I am talking about. Ignore the terrible, shameful cover, also I urge you to ignore Track 17 onwards, as they are just supposed vfm add-ons. Up to Track 15 you have the whole album and it is pure comedy Gold.)

Anyway, commercialism out of the way, basically the above had a huge influence on my love of language. I pinched my brother Chris's copy when I was about 8 and never looked back. At that tender age, I couldn't believe anything could ever be as funny, and you know for all the 'sophistication' you supposedly get as you get older, personally, there's still a wee boy happy to play this on a hand-me-down Dansette and listen to it again and again and again, laughing out loud the whole time.
There are still people in the world today who would consider Syd to be too risqué!
Really!
So I urge you to laugh in their faces before hitting them on the grommet with a wrought-iron splunger.

***

This aside into the well-tilled earth of childhood is a way of leading you into the main point of this FB. Basically, a myriad things make up you as a person, but one of the deepest (besides a knowledge of yourself) is a sense of place and it is something we as modern and mobile citizens of the 21st Century have almost lost.
Having lived for so long in a city (and truly being a country boy at heart) sense of place means more to me now than it ever has. It has led me in my photographic adventures to try and find small, quiet places that have a sense of depth to them. That depth of feeling from such places has become a substitute for a longing which entirely takes me back to living in an ancient old cottage in the middle of nowhere with my Mum and Dad. The cottage (and I'll give it its full original name - Three Wells Cottage) was on a site above a steep drop down a riverbank. There were three natural springs on the bank as well as a river and (to me) there was a feeling about the place that it had long been a stop-off point for thirsty travellers. The water from the springs was sweet and good and there were well-trodden paths down the steep incline. I was incredibly lucky - I had a riverbank of some 2 miles to play along, I could walk and talk (to myself) and above all watch and listen. That powerful solitude (and it was incredibly lonesome at times) formed a deep well-spring of feeling for nature within me which I have never lost.
Being city-bound though, it is difficult to fully experience the country life (to say the least!), but as they say, where there's a will there's a way, and in my own inquisitive way, I have discovered places both nearby and further away which sort of have that same quiet solitude to them.
Maybe you are fortunate enough to have discovered such places in your life. They are to you (in a way) secret. It could be a room where you can be alone or a small corner of a field, an old graveyard or a mountain, but wherever it is, it is yours (for a while). It feels good doesn't it!
(Now the following little bit will take us away and on a slightly circular path . . but don't worry fearless FB'ers . . we'll get back on the main path in a minute!)
It was quite the thing in our ancestors day to travel little further than the fields surrounding the village. Some daring souls risked the next town on a market day. Long treks were considered gruelling and dangerous and populations generally stabilised themselves to certain areas. Obviously this all changed with the advent of the Industrial Revolution, and though the said change was inevitable it wasn't necessarily for the better, because something was lost.
I've never read about anyone thinking this way before, but it's my opinion and I'd love to know what you think:
Back in the mid-1990's I started thinking about my ancestors* and how their lives might have been and I realised that with all the movements and upheavels of modern society something incredibly important has been lost to modern man - namely . . .wait for it . . . the hearth.
Now that to you dear reader will sound totally bonkers, but the use of the word hearth doesn't just encompass the actual physical fire-burning centre of homes for millenia, it has become in my mind a concept which encompasses home; the feeling of being at home; somewhere with a rich loam in which one can root one's soul; and, vitally, one's family. My hearth is my family: my wife and my son, they are where I want to be, but strangely and contrary to this too is the feeling that before I die I have to live once more in the countryside, which is where my true roots are. The countryside is also hearth to me.
So, whilst my family and I have to live in the city for work and education, when we escape the hamster wheel we go to quieter places.
One day, God willing, we will uproot ourselves from the city and find somewhere quiet and with a sunny aspect.
But for now, we have to make do and make the efforts to find places that are brimming with solitude.
Places that could be called hearth.

***

Having a love of hillwalking I have lugged photographic gear to many different places, some barren and wild with no trace of any feeling at all and then, some that are extraordinary.
One of these is below.

(My notebook says: "This is the weirdest most secret place on earth. Can't help feeling that in wading in, I violated it - there is a strong presence to the place that is haunting. I did say thank you though!")

I simply would love to tell you where this is, but you see dear reader I am being selfish, and I cannot. It is not far from where I live, but it is a convoluted journey. Wending your way along quiet and ever-narrowing lanes you really feel like you are heading into the depths of nowhere. The crazy thing is, it is a popular destination for visitors of a Vibram wearing persuasion**, and yet I wonder how many have actually seen the place like this.
I have visited it in all sorts of weather, from bright sun, to mist and slight snow, hard perma-frost, to high white cloud cover, and every time it has looked different. It is a very secret place. To me I can well imagine it being a spot where the spirits of nature were worshipped in ancient times - it simply has that feel to it. Being there in the early morning, and hearing the sound of rushing water, it is quite easy to be carried back millenia.
The photo was made with my beloved Rolleiflex in early October. I was knee deep in icy mountain water but I didn't care. The Rollei was on a tripod, and the tripod took days to dry out properly, but it was worth it. I had no towel with me so ended up removing my trousers and drying my feet on them!
I think the spirit of the place has been captured sufficiently on a humble roll of Ilford FP4+.
It is a full-frame photograph, no cropping and the FP4+ was rated at EI 64 and developed in 1:3 Ilford Perceptol.
I wish I could use FP4+ more often these days as it is an incredible film, and especially so with Perceptol.
The print is un-retouched and was made on Grade 2 Ilford Galerie, developed in Moersch Eco print developer.
WYSIWYG!


* Inspired by a marvellous short story from the Master . . Mr.Frank Herbert.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_GM_Effect
If all you've ever read by Frank is Dune and the billion awful follow-ups to the original genius novel then I highly recommend reading his other books!
** Hillwalkers