Fresh Faces, Broken Dreams And Hope

If you live in Dundee, you can't miss it - the signs are everywhere, however if you are outwith the town, then:

'Here Ye! Here Ye!"

For it is time for that ragbag of hope, dreams, talent and waffle; of concerned artists and total art-speak psueds . .

Yes folks it is none other than time for Duncan Of Jordanstone College Of Art's Annual Degree Show!

Drunk N'Disorderly was where I was 'educated' in all things arty and whilst I came to loath handling pencils and gouache, I actually think that now I received a really solid education. So, I thought well, I effectively self-publish FB, why not do a nice thing and promote it.

Because, strangely, despite a working life not spent being an artist, here I am, 30 years down the line from that fresh-faced fellow, still creative, still making images, and definitely more of a concerned 'artist' (alright you regular F'ers, you can take the imagined 'piss-' off the front of that) than I have ever been.

I left college in the mid-80's, with a degree in one hand and the wish to become a fine art photographic printer in my heart - I knew I could do it, but unfortunately this was the end-time -  Thatcher's Britain of the '80's and I didn't have a bike - so whilst I was enthused, there was simply no employment for work like that in a tiny little place called Dundee, let alone in a a seemingly tinier place called Scotland . . nope it was London or nothing.
Not having the wherewithall, gumption, the aforementioned bike and especially funds to head to t'Smoke, I hunkered down, set up camp and ended up drifting into music retail . . and (incredibly to me) that's what I still do.

So those were my dreams broken-up like so many stale biscuits and swept under the carpet of evil reality.

OK, stop sobbing at the back.
There's no need, because with the wisdom of age, I am now of the opinion

Was it such a bad thing?

Typically me, it is a perverse thought. However when I really think about it, I think that the disillusion and pounding contact with reality was actually a boon.

What's that at the back?
Pardon?
Why?

Why?

Well (backed by I triumphal trumpet refrain) I can relate a story of triumph!
I am my own man, of independent finances, so I can commit my time (the most valuable commodity in the world) whenever I feel like it.

I can print whatever and whenever I want to - there are no deadlines, no angry customers, no rent, no worries of financial downturns, none of the normal distractions to creativity.

I can do what I want, when I want to.

I have my own darkroom - it's a mess, but it is MINE. It contains my 2 enlargers, 5 lenses and decent supply of paper, chemicals and negatives.

I can have fun and pleasure in the dark (stop sniggering) and emerge with results I am happy with.

Yes of course it's selfish, but it is my selfish.

But let's rewind for sec,

baaaaack,

baaaaaaack,

to a time of tight trousers, big hair, angular guitars and pints of snakebite . . .

After College, my dreams languished in the doldrums . . it was a total pisser, but what could one do? So, in a light-bulb moment, I totally put photography aside in favour of trying my darndest to play the guitar at a (hoped for) semi-pro level . . .

Oh the laughter . .

I did try though, really really really hard, practising for hours and days and months on my own initially, and then with my bandmates Mr.Charles Black Esq, and Sir Donald of The Currie . . or just plain, Chic n' Currie (geddit?) for short.

We had fun, we made monstrous noises, we deafened ourselves permanently.

We spent the equivalent of the GDP of a small African nation on gear!

But it was for naught.

The ghastly efforts can be heard here but please be warned - it isn't easy listening - it's also rather embarassing, however though you will have heard better, you've probably heard worse too . . .

And then in 1991 something truly significant happened to me - I met my wife, Alison.

I know that people poo-poo the 'it was meant to be' thing, but honest, it was.

We hit it off like a mouse and cheese, and it was this total realisation that there really was something more to life than practising the guitar, that led me to shut up my guitar cases pretty much for good . . . there was just simply so much more in the world than 6 strings and a plank of wood.

After a semi-legendary gig at Dundee Uni, Chic n' Currie (and Dr. Steve Gurling - our 'newish' singer) and me sort of felt like salmon in the upstream moments of life, and our little band fizzled out like a fizzly-out thing. We'd rocked, we'd created and someone (one person) had danced . . that was enough for us and we rode off into the sunset leaving behind altered minds and a changed musical reality.

We're still friends though (though no Gurley . . where are you?) and drink and laugh together on semi-regular nights out,  so all was not lost

In the meantime, Alison and I made a life together.

We did up an incredibly ramshackle flat, had a child (Alec Turnips . . just search the blog . . he's there), loved, laughed, talked, drank wine, got enthused, moved into another house no one else wanted, did it up slowly, laughed more, got even more enthused, drank more wine and generally LIVED.

And I was still a creative creature.

I might have been up to my eyes in 14 foot drops of lining paper, with a paintbrush behind my ear and a curse on my lips, but the olde creative rumblings continued.

I initially diverted them (by accident) into short story writing . . which, whilst I enjoyed it, wasn't really enough. I didn't think much of them to be honest, they were alright, but . . . and then one day, as often happens, out of nowhere during a conversation with my brother this statement came out:

"You used to be good at photography Phil - you could have done something with it."

A massive light bulb exploded in my head - of course!

Photography!

The thing I used to love.

The thing I still did badly on holiday with an original Olympus MjU, the results being processed by TruPrint (! - honest).

As if by coincidence, at the same time, my pension provider went belly-up.

I had some money in the bank which was aside for my pension . . I spoke to Alison and in typical fashion she said 'Go For It.', so I did.

A couple of weeks later, there I was with a 1960's Rolleiflex T, a Gossen Lunasix S and a roll of Neopan 400! Ready to rumble.

Now incredible as it may seem for someone who had studied photography, I was incredibly nervous, both in using that first film and in processing it . . so after I'd used up all 12 exposures, what did I do? Yep - I outsourced it to a local processing company, for the grand charge of £5 (this was about 2002 - that was a lot of money) and I didn't even get a contact print. The film was pretty poor actually, but I could see the potential, and became determined to do it myself. This I am afraid folks has given way to the process monster who writes for you these days. No step too fearsome! No film/developer combo too daunting!!

Fortunately I still had my Paterson tank from College days and also had a larger Paterson which I had bought for the grand sum of £2 at a car boot sale.

I quick visit to Jessops bought me a bottle of Rodinal, Bromophen, Ilfostop, Hypam and Ilfotol, 3 8x10 trays, and 25 sheets of Jessops RC - I was good to go.

Now of course all I needed was an enlarger . . however, because of our financial impunity that wasn't to happen for another 2 years!

Can you imagine- all these 120 films and only contact prints? I tried contact printing 6x6cm negs on 6x7 paper for a while, but again, not a great idea at the time!

I learned to be a bed-fellow with frustration - I've been used to scrimping and saving all my life, but man, that wait for an enlarger was super-frustrating.

The enlarger (a Meopta Magnifax) arrived the day of our 10th wedding anniversary - and it was nirvana, happier than a pig in you know what as I flexed my muscles in trying to carry the massive box somewhere I could assemble the contents.
I coupled this purchase with a blowout (courtesy of my ever-understanding missus) on a 80mm f4 El-Nikkor, a battered, bruised (but still good) Beard easel and a Scoponet.

I was ready to go.

It was hard though - those early days of re-learning all the techniques and skills I'd learned in college were difficult. All I had to judge my efforts was my eye and my heart - no handy aesthetic judgements from Mr.McKenzie; no Sandy (the erstwhile and highly knowledgeable darkroom technician) to advise on dilutions. No Safelights (!) Nope it was me and me alone . . oh and my dog-eared copies of 'The Negative' and 'The Print'. But it was funny - I wonder do any of you lot ever get a feeling of spirituality whilst printing? Just asking really, because I quite often do - you can almost feel the ghosts of all the darkroom toilers of years gone by, clinging to the fabric of your darkroom, willing you on, guiding your instincts, blessing your efforts because you (and the precious few left like you) are the last-ditch defence against the loss of key craft skills. When we're gone, we're gone my friends.
I was speaking to a print-maker and photographer last weekend and she said that the darkrooms at DCA (in Dundee - a public art facility with exhibition space and workshops . .and darkrooms) seem to be little used these days - bloody sad! I often wonder whether I am the only living darkroom in this small City on the East Coast of Scotland.

Anyway, yet again I get sidetracked - back to the real meat and potatoes - my early efforts. I've still got most of the prints - they're pretty dodgy with the occasional gem thrown in, but they were produced by me, for me and nobody else - they were pleasurable to make.

As I've said before, darkroom work is fckecking hard. There's simply no easy fix and if anyone tells you otherwise, they're not being truthful. But you know what, with persistence, and a bit of faith you can get there.

For me, having an incredibly understanding family and remembering the feelings I had in my old college-days about printing and the making of lasting images, helped.

I think I have sort of got there. I say sort of, because one is never finished with making prints.

I like images like this where reality is distorted.

So how does this tie in with all the fresh-faced hopefuls stumbling out of creative institutions all over the world clutching their little bits of paper, with hearts full of optimism? And it doesn't matter whether they've studied photography or not . . in the case of DJCAD not as film is no longer taught there . . .

Well, some sage advice, not that anyone will be reading this, however this is my island in the internet sea so I can say whatever I like:

To be a total creative creature you have to make sure that it is an immersive thing - it truly can be a hobby and not a profession, but it still has to be done with every bit of juice your body can muster.
This isn't easy. You have to love what you are striving to do.
You might well come out distraught and dazed, because a lot of those self-same institutions are like the mincers at the end of the promo film for Pink Floyd's Another Brick In The Wall . . people in, but you just get mince out.
For myself, I encountered nepotism, hierarchies, dictatorships and down-right laissez-faire at DJCAD.
It turned my (up to that point) lifelong love of drawing, into something which I haven't done since . . it was that bad.
And yet, a refined sense of the creative process, and a love of being able to create freely was awoken in me too - it's a weird juxtaposition, and I can't help feeling that it was actually good for me.

So, if you are a fresh-faced young fellow of either sex, please bear this in mind - you might well not become employed in your chosen creative endeavour . . you probably won't make a bean from it . . . however, isn't that exciting.

You (young, creative person) are FREE!

***

The following is a short program from the Ministry Of Truth And Freedom.

It's a dull little exhibit that will probably be of little interest to anyone, however, we, the boffins at the Ministry believe it is an egg-on example of someone making images they are quite happy with, with no constraints on them whatsoever. Moreover, in the case of two of the images, it is an example of determination in the face of a squinty printing easel. 

The chap who made these images is apparently vastly happy, chooses what he wants to photograph and print and produces them accordingly. 

We tip our tifters to him in the obvious face of his inability to produce a photograph of anything even remotely interesting

 We suppose that's the spirit of the thing.

Isn't it?

.

Winter Tree - Water Of Saughs

Battling a squint Beard Easel, our hero overcomes all, to rise triumphant. 

The photograph was made on a Pentax 67, which I no longer own; is printed on Grade 2 Ilford Galerie and is heavily Selenium toned.

Summer Tree - Glentrool

In a punch-out between age and physical ability, our hero lugged a very large camera bloody miles to make this image for you. 

The lens was a Kodak Ektar, film Kodak TMY2 400. 

It's printed on Adox MCC, which was from a faulty batch.
Yes it is fairly boring, however it pleases me, and isn't that the whole point?

The Pool

Again, the old Pentax 67.
What I like about this is the distortion of reality.
I filed it away for years, but encountered it again recently and rather like it.
Paper is Grade 2 Galerie and it is Selenium toned.

University Building

.

I would never have made an image like this at DJCAD . . the creative process to make it took years to distill, but I got there in the end. 

The camera was my Rollei T with the 16-on kit. Film was Foma 200, and it is printed on Grade 2 Galerie, but untoned. 

This was made as part of an exercise suggested by John Blakemore in tonality. 

I like it. 

A lot.

Over and oot!

Old Lenses And Long Stories (Part Two)

Greetings folks! I trust you haven't scratched a worry-patch into your hair with waiting to see how I got on with the Canon 28mm f3.5 lens and pushing film.
Phew, that's alright then.
Well, yes, it might well have been a worry, however worryeth no more, for Saint Sheephouse is here to asuage your ills and make all well with the world, whilst the meadow of your life is filled with happy bunnies, beautiful flowers and an endless supply of your favourite film.
Oh yes, there's precious few that get to revel in the golden glow of Saint Sheephouse's bounteous gifts, however today is your lucky day, because I decided last week that if the Pope could canonize people then so could I - so I canonized myself and hence my new title.
I mean no offence by this (honestly, I don't) it's just I feel that maybe we should all be a bit more Saint-like in all things . . y'know, just try and live better and happier and be kinder, more thoughtful and respectful of other people . . it isn't difficult y'know.
Besides, just to prove to myself I did the right thing, Saint Sheephouse has rather a regal ring to it dontcha think? I like it, but I don't think I'll be signing anything with it just yet.

Anyway - the premise for this weeks post:

1950's 28mm, f3.5 Canon Rangefinder Lens

1960 Leica M2

Kodak Tri-X, pushed to EI 1280

Using Garry Winogrand as inspiration.

I'll confess to you now, the last thing didn't work

You see for all my good intentions, there are a few factors which come into play. Firstly, making photographs in a small city like Dundee is difficult. People are deeply aware of you photographing them and it looks a little odd. Allied to this, I simply don't have the balls and lightning reflexes and proper gut-instinct, that Garry must have possessed. I don't know how he did it, I really don't - he moved like greased-lightning, made people smile and took great photographs.

However, I'll chalk this up as a possible new learning experience, as it's always good to do new stuff, and I also discovered during a conversation with a bona-fide ex-police dog trainer last week . . . ta-da:

YOU CAN TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS!!

Oh yes, that old chestnut is off the cards now, because dogs can be re-trained apparently. The bloke was fascinating and it would be nice to think he could help me with my reticence and lack of confidence in approaching strangers (I am only reticent with a camera . . not in general conversation) - but as I say that is for the future. In the meantime and for the purposes of this Blog, I took pictures my way and of objects I enjoy photographing.

So where to start. Well, here's some detailed pics of the lens, so that if you are so inclined, you can make some executive decisions about it and then go and politely ask your partner if it would be alright . . .

This isn't just a wide angle lens . . it's an 'Ultra-Wide'

                                    

Suitably  'Space-Age'

Front View Of Aperture Blades

Rear View Of Aperture Blades

Slight Distortion Of Viewfinder

View Through The Oblong/Curvy Window

And there you are - beautiful isn't it - I especially like the fact that the rear view of the aperture blades seems to resemble a machine-made version of Hokusai's masterwork 'The Great Wave Off Kanagawa'.

  

See what I mean? I wonder if that was intentional, seeing as the original name of Canon's rangefinder lens line was Serenar (apparently named after the Sea Of Serenity on the Moon) . . if you think like that, mix in a bit of zen-like happenstance, then you can sort of see where the designer might have been coming from.
Its handling it is a little different to yer bog-standard, normal-sized, muckle-fisted lens; it is very very small, and quite difficult to use quickly, but I've found that because of the great engineering and with the aperture and focus being really smooth and really positive, its smallness is no detriment.


So here we go then, film loaded, adventure trousers fully-primed and ready for whatever the world might throw at us!

1/1000th, f8

Well, it was a bad start as this was only time in my life I've been tutted when photographing.

I thought to myself I know I'll snap these two and try and go a bit Winogrand . . as you can see I failed dismally and was tutted to boot - that really put  me off, so I thought fceck it . . I'll do things my way . . so I did.

1/1000th, f5.6

This is more like it - definitely my sort of photo - incredibly this eyesore has greeted rail and road visitors to Dundee's Centre since Christmas 2013.

I've made lots of photos of this hoarding before and it has had a number of fantastic and vandalisable posters on it . . but this I think sums things up. Yes we have upmty-tump millions being spent on the V&A being built and the whole waterfront getting done up, however at the end of the day, you can't stop the vandals! 

Oh, and in the Canon viewfinder the edge of the hoarding was hard up against it's left edge optically, so I got a surprise bonus bush and a mental to-do note about approaching the finder in a Gumpian manner . ..

"Life With The New Canon Is Like A Box Of Choclits . . You Don' Know Watcha Gonna Git . . "

1/500th, f16

I've made it a semi-mission of mine to take pictures of Phone Boxes before they disappear altogether. Can people even remember back 10 years when they were everywhere? I like them- they're interesting and often vandalised. This one was in the University of Dundee Campus, and it contains no phone, just lots and lots and lots of poetry! It is hard to make out from the scan - as I said, a print would transform it, however I haven't had the time to make any.

1/500th, f5.6

Again, Dundee Uni Campus to the rescue. I initially thought this was a man acting all enigmatic, however I soon discovered it was a cardboard cut-out! Hard to make out from the scan, but again a print would sort it.

No idea who he is though . . .

1/250th, f11

Gumpian slip - that is my camera bag in the lower part of the frame. I just like this and I don't know why.

1/1000th, f8

That 'La-La Crew' have been super-busy of late. I really like this as it has the tonality I have been looking for for a while. It reminds me of Wynn Bullock and Paul Caponigro and Walker Evans later work.

1/60th, f8

This delightful looking piece of concrete is an abandoned building on the Uni Campus. I've made tons of photos of it and have never got tired of photographing it either. . however now, it will no longer be a grounds for inspiration as it is being boarded up after a particularly spray-heavy attack. That's progress!

I'd love to get inside for a few hours.

1/30th, f16

I have photographed these doors many times and I think this is almost the definitive photo of them - I'll be sad to see them boarded up. The tonality on this is outstanding to my eyes - there was a massive tonal range and the lens and film combo has done its best to capture it in a hard-edged way that I rather like.

1/30th, f4

Them doors again - the creativity of the spraying is quite something - I think a lot of these guys would be decent artists if they didn't limit themselves

1/30th, f5.6

Another Sheephouse Shpeshull. Just the sort of shot I enjoy making. The white stuff is polystyrene beads . . they used to be outside the doors but somehow made their way in over a long period of time.

1/30th, f4

Yeah . . me too. 

More details from my favourite corner.

1/30th, f4

It's refreshing to find a lovely unmodernised close in a tenement building and this is one of them. At one time, back in the days when secure entry systems only existed on posh flats, this was par-for-the-course in Dundee. Honest, when I first came here in 1980 it was truly the arse end of nowhere - everyone wore flared trousers (or seemed to); very real violence existed because of its teenage gang culture (gun-free of course, more a solid battering from about 20 pairs of boots); there were derelict buildings all over the shop and it's staunch working-class history was writ large everywhere. It was tough, and I felt like a right old softie.

It's greatly improved these days with a hard-edged charm, and soon to be mucho-improved with the addition of the V&A (hopefully).

1/15th, f4

It's hard to imagine anyone leaving a pram anywhere these days isn't it, yet here one was and nice little line of baby-things drying in the back closie, so I quickly nipped in, snapped my snap and nipped out again with a smile on my face.

1/500th, f8

This is weird isn't it, not least for the fact that the two guys on the 'Whizzzz' poster were looking my way. This is the sort of shot I love taking because it is unclear as to what is going on. The Canon has done a sterling job in cramming as much 'stuff' onto the frame as possible . . well done little chap!

1/500th, f8

The combo of underexposure and over-development has achieved a nice photojournalistic effect.

1/1000th, f8

Same as above - This is a little homage to Walker Evans - I have tried to photograph this setting in this way for as long as I can remember, but I have finally achieved it with the 28mm . . now I can rest!

1/1000th, f8

World's worst selfie!
Och well, some you win . . this is underexposed and not developed enough, so I have had to pump the lightness of the negative a bit so it looks pretty shite doesn't it. I should properly print this with some selective bleaching - that would work. I like the vignetting on the sky - reminds me of David Bailey's 60's stuff . . but poorly executed . . .

And there you go - the eagle-eyed amongst you may have noticed from all of these that there's vignetting on just about every one, however moving to f11, f16 and beyond it vanishes, so if you are trying to use this lens in a wide-open super-fast 'street' manner, bear that in mind. For myself, I like the vignetting - it will mean I no longer have to 'set' a print into its field by adding extra exposure to the side parts of every print - fan-bloody-tastic!

And now a word on processing:

OK - film (Kodak TXP 400 . . Och . . Tri-X then) was rated at EI 1280. It was developed in a small tank, in Kodak HC 110, Dilution B at 21° Centigrade. 

I gave the film a 3 minute water-bath prior to developing and started with gentle constant agitation for 30 secs, and then gave 2 very gentle inversions every 30 seconds up until 12 mins. At 12 minutes I gave it 4 gentle inversions and then left the whole thing standing still until 16 minutes. 

Stop, fix and wash were all bog standard.

You would think that 16 mins in HC 110 Dilution B would result in extreme overdevelopment but it doesn't - I think I got it about right actually.


Right so lets abandon the scans and do some stuff that film was invented for, namely making prints.
I had a good session with this lot, though didn't make as many as I wanted, however these will suffice.
They're all printed on Ilford Galerie, Grade 2.
Developer is Wolfgang Moersch's Eco, which is a very slow worker with most papers, but we're hitting the three and a half minute mark on Galerie; it is a lovely developer though and lasts for ages, so it is worth the effort.
They were fixed in 2 baths of Amfix, untoned and washed in my old Paterson Archival Washer.
Air drying gives Galerie the most incredible gloss, which unfortunately you can't see.
I'd be happy to exhibit any of these, not that that will ever happen, but one can dream.

Bike Shed. Dundee University, 2014

Self Portrait. Abandoned Building, Dundee University, 2014

Abandoned Building, Dundee University, 2014

Whizzzz. BT Phone Box, Dundee Waterfront, 2014

800 DPI Sectional Enlargement. Ilford Galerie Grade 2.

You can see from the above enlargement that the Canon is none too tardy with regard to detail - bear in mind this is Tri-X pushed to EI 1280 and developed in HC 110 - grain isn't half as bad as you would expect, and the texture of the backboard has been rendered nicely. Result!


And that's it. Hope you've enjoyed this half as much as I have in making it.
My hat is firmly tipped to those Japanese designers of the 1950's who got the backs of Leitz up so much that it set them about designing one of the world's all-time great lenses . . the Summicron - and if anyone out there wants to lend me one (a Summicron that is) I'll happily set up a shoot-out.
Until next time, look after yourselves, take care and keep taking the tablets.

Old Lenses And Long Stories (Part One)

Morning squirls and tots . . well, what can I do for you today?

What was that at the back? Speak up lad. I cannae hear ya!

Ah yes, another piece about trying to emulate a famous photographer's technique like wot I did with Ralph Gibson?

Yes, well that sounds interesting.

And what?

What?

Call it the Garry Winogrand Experiment?

Well, maybe not, but then again . . .

Regular FB'ers . .or just plain ol' F'ers (you don't mind being called that do you?) will know that I dedicate all my spare spending money for your delectation and enjoyment; in fact, I would say that I selflessly buy myself all these things just to please my readers who are a knowledgable lot and not a little bit inclined to enjoy my purchases just as much as I do!

It's your fault that I spend days and weeks staring at pictures of Hasselblads. Your fault I dissect the relative merits of every single 35mm lens that would fit my Leica . . and dammit, it's because of you lot that I lost my resolve and chunked my Hasselblad fund in favour of a 1957 (or thereabouts) 28mm Canon f2.8 rangefinder lens (and finder) to fit the M2.

Damn you all. But I just couldn't take the pressure.

I could feel it on me all the time. Buy. Buy. Buy . . .

So I did.

And the relevance of this lens to everything?

Well it is none other than the same (not the same, no not his, but the same type) used by Sir Garry of the Winogrand during his formative years in the early to mid-1960's, before he used Leitz lenses.

It is an interesting lens - the fastest of its type when first made, and nowadays, though considerably a cult lens, generally considered an also-ran in terms of sharpness, fall-off, vignetting, use, etc etc.

So why the chuffin' 'eck did I buy the useless thing then?

Well, apart from it being all your fault, I already own another Canon lens - a really nice, late Blackbelt 50mm f1.8 and being totally impressed with that and its wonderful build quality, I succumbed.

Add to this that, to be honest, I have become a bit bored with everything being 'normal' visually as it were and getting a really decent price on the deal  . . well, what can you do, except go a little crazy every now and then!

The Sepia Glow Of Memory
Leica M2 & Canon 28mm f2.8 Lens

And there you go - that's the little beauty resplendent on my M2 . . they go together like cheese and toast don't they. I especially like the finder on top too - it all looks incredibly space-age and just so 1950's-NOW

However, before we get all excited and dash around like mad schoolboys on a humbug bender, I will halt this reverie immediately - you see one problem arose when I made my initial quick inspection of the lens - it had separation on the rear element . . In the words of someone who regularly drinks Yorkshire Tea . . "By chuffin' 'eck. What a bloomin' nuisance missus an' that's no mistake!"

In case you don't know, it means that the elements of lens glass cemented together with Canada Balsam were becoming uncemented. It never gets better, and basically is a time-bomb waiting to get worse, or not worse . . so, despite falling immediately in love with the lens, I contacted the vendor and we arranged a deal on a near mint 28mm f3.5 Canon that he had in stock instead.

It isn't quite the Winogrand special . . . however it is of the correct era and only a stop slower (and by all accounts sharper than the 2.8). So lets sit by our letterbox with the elephant gun and see if we can pick off the postie from this distance . . .

The Cold Light Of Day
Leica M2 & Canon 28mm f3.5 (Type IV) Lens

There, that's better . . so what do you think of the camera now? 

The lens is about mid-1950's and is a solid piece of exquisite craftsmanship - it is surprisingly small and surprisingly heavy and very beautiful. Peter Loy (the vendor) was right in his condition description (as he always is) - the glass is as clear as a bell, focus is smoother than a knife through butter and the aperture is easy and positive. All in all, it's hard to imagine the lens is that old and has seen a useful life. In fact, were I of a nutty mind I could stand on a street corner with my M2 and one of these on a short strap, with a trilby on my head, and pretend I am working for Life Magazine!

The design was the fastest wide angle in the world at the time of original production in 1951, and I can see why Leica were worried - it is a beautifully made thing. I've trawled through lots of Life photographers biogs and photos, and this looks to be one of the lenses favoured by them at the time, as well as being a stalwart of the Korean War. . so that can only be a good thing, can't it.

And you know what? I would be more than happy just to sit here and look at it all day, but that's no good . . To be honest, I am steadily dying (as are we all) - entropy is catching up with us - life is moving quickly . . someone might just be pulling a perfect monkey pose on a pelican crossing whilst a real monkey is actually crossing in front of him . . . in other words - THERE'S NO TIME TO LOSE!

And this folks, is how you should approach you picture making . . like the greatest thing is out there.

And you know what? It is, and the thing is you never know when it is going to be right there in front of you.

So where does that leave us . . well, back to the original tenet of the Blog - trying to emulate and photograph like a classic 1950's/60's 'street' (I hate that term, but for want of a better word) photographer.

So, Leica - CHECK

Reasonably priced (at the time) Japanese wide angle lens - CHECK.

I seem to have forgotten something . .

Oh yeah FILM.

Well, I've got that sorted out - some Tri-X that I've had nesting with the blocks of cheese in the fridge, so I'll use that . . . and . . . I am going to be doing the unheard of for me . . pushing it to unheard of speeds AND over-developing . . .

Yes, I know!

Look it's alright, I'll wait whilst you go and sort that mess out in your trousers . . . I must admit, mine are in a similar state too . . TERRIFYING isn't it.

See you in a min.

There's that's better - not sure how I'm going to explain a full-on brown-trouser moment to the missus, but I'll address it later on over a pot of tea . .

Anyway, bless me barnacles . . I hate to imagine how this is going to turn out . . . but sometimes you just have to go for things.

So, film? - CHECK.

Ready to go? Well, not quite, because thinking about it, my main problem is that I don't live in a vast urban sprawl, just a smallish city on the East Coast of Scotland (there simply aren't teeming hordes of people so preoccupied with their lives that they don't notice someone taking their photograph). If I were to achieve anything, I would have to approach this my way, or risk the long arm of the law again (a long story, best viewed here). So really, people snapping is probably out, which is just as well.

And are there any tips the pros can add to my excursion? Well, according to Joel Meyerowitz, who often photographed with Garry Winogrand:

" It's a difference in the ASA at which you're shooting. We were using Tri-X film pushed to 1200 ASA, whereas the normal rating is 400. The reason was to be able to shoot at 1/1000th of a second as much as possible, because if you made pictures on the street at 1/125th, they were blurry. If you lunged at something, either it would move or else your own motion would mess up the picture. I began to work that way after looking at my pictures and noticing that they had those loose edges, Garry's were crisp. (Robert) Frank didn't work that way. His pictures were much slower. You could see he was working at 1/30th and 1/60th and 1/125th."

Now there were several things about this statement that had me worried and scratching my head, so I grabbed my trusty light meter, pulled up a pot of tea and had a think

Firstly:

"We were using Tri-X film pushed to 1200 ASA"

Now maybe you're thinking the same as me . .1200 ASA? OK, so Tri-X's box rating is 400 . . . shouldn't it be 1600, and put the 1200 down to a crazy old brain recalling stuff incorrectly? Well, the more I thought about it, the more confused I got, and then, like a wet cod around the face it hit me . . of course . . they were experienced photographers, so they'll probably have gone for the fact that Tri-X's actual speed is nearer 320, so + 2 stop push that and you have 320, 640, 1280. That was as near a good enough explanation for me, 1280 it would be.

Then:

"The reason was to be able to shoot at 1/1000th of a second as much as possible, because if you made pictures on the street at 1/125th, they were blurry."

Now, to me there is a massive problem here - this is Scotland. There's often no way in a million years on a bog standard East Coast day you can achieve 1/1000th of a second and get anything useable. As you can see from the meter reading below (taken on the morning of my excursion) a reading for a rough shadow placement achieves an EV of just short of 12. Even at 1280 and using that as a placement for a Zone IV shadow I would be operating on f2.8 . . and as the more astute of you have seen, I no longer have that option.

Postcards From A Scottish Sitting Room

Man's Best Friend

So, basically I would have to forgo my usual Z IV shadow placement and fly by the seat of my pants on either a ZIII or even heaven forbid a ZII shadow . . och well . . life is interesting. I concluded from this that I could probably manage 1/250th at f8, or 1/125th at f11. This was starting to look a lot like:

The Garry Winogrand Experiment  

The Bog Standard Bloke With A Wide-Angle Lens Experiment

or even

The (Shit) Bog Standard Bloke With A Wide-Angle Lens Experiment 

Yep, things were looking more dire than a lone redcoat at Rourk's Drift. Well fortunately for me (and you) things perked up a bit by lunchtime . . the haar lifted and the sky was quite bright even though there was no sunshine . . come heading out time, I took a few more meter readings and came up with:

So that was better.

If I took chances and trusted my processing I could achieve a Zone IV, III or even II shadow placement and hopefully everything would work out alright.

Could it be your intrepid fruitcake photographer could achieve his goal of 1/1000th at f8?

Would he be able to grab shots of passers-by with a smile on his face and no fear of a bloody nose?

Well?

Well, now dear reader I am going to leave you on tenderhooks, because this has become far too wordy and boring and stuff, and I haven't even gone into the niceties of developers (oh boy that's a fun one - more fun than catching yer nether-regions on a barbed-wire fence I can tell you . . and yes . . I have . . .well nearly . . about 35 years ago - tore the arse out of my jeans and very nearly achieved eunuch-hood). 

So to that end (if you can bear the tension) until next time . . anon!

Och alright - you've twisted my arm - below is a scan from the negatives, so please excuse any artefacts like that faint horizontal line . . that's my flatbed at work.
Exposure was 1/30th at f16 and the film was developed in HC 110, Dilution B for 16 minutes.

I think it has the tonality I have been after for a long time.

Abandoned Building. University Of Dundee, April, 2014

 

Art, Pain And The Eternal Struggle

Morning folks . . in fact, to coin a phrase from a friend of my Dad's, who was Welsh and not Irish 'Top o' the mornin' to you! Don't you just love it when the dawn beats you to rising . . my favourite time of year.
Anyway, enough of that, because we are about to talk about graft.
Hard Graft.
Damn Hard.
In fact, if you don't feel up to a bit of a solid workout, then you might as well give up now, because, and I'll say this only once:
"The Darkroom Boot Camp Makes Men."
There.
Now any of you solid young fellows that don't feel much like working, well, you can leave now, and take your dollies with you, because what we are talking about today is Man-Stuff.
It soon sorts out the wheat from the chaff, and if you don't feel up to it, you jolly well know what you can do.

It is really rather easy to see why hardly anyone bothers to print with traditional darkroom materials these days.
To put it bluntly, making a 'proper' monochrome print (on silver gelatin paper, using an enlarger and a negative) is fucking hard.
There, I've said it.
I can't say I have ever seen it put like that before (not even in the original proof version of Mr. Ansel Adams' Meisterwerk 'The Print').
But it is true.
And how can I say it?
Well, I have spent a large period of my adult life spare time toiling away in darkrooms - approximately 30 years actually, and whilst I consider myself a good and able printer, I am not sure whether I have ever even crossed that borderline into the legendary realms of the 'fine' printer.

Others might disagree with me, however (and this is where the tao of self-belief comes in) they're wrong. You see, my problem is that I tend towards self-criticism and a lack of self-confidence in all of my creative endeavours, and this leads to the rather unhealthy situation of being too critical of my prints.
I can print. Sure I can print well.
But I am not 'fine' .
See what I mean? That damn lack of confidence. Hoist 'pon my own petard as it were.
If I were different I'd be saying:

"Yeah, 30 years Analog (how I bloody hate that word) - man I can print up a storm. 

Split Grade? Yehay, piece of easy shit. 

Toning . . send on the selenium. 

Archival processing? Man, my shit will last longer than that radiation leak from Fukashima 

l'm ALL ANALOG man."

Or words to that effect.
But the proof of the pudding and all that - the object, is sitting there in your hand staring you in the face and it's either the cat's pyjamas or a total mutt, because you see, there's no glossing over things with printing.
You are holding the truth in your hand, and it is either being held with an archival cotton museum glove or feverishly clutched in your nicotine-stained hand whilst you shake your other fist at the sky. There's no escaping the truth.


I spent a reasonable amount of time this morning scanning through tons of old prints for the first time in months and months, and maybe the break has done me good, because I was clearly able to see the rejects and the also-rans, the winners and the sure-fire pleasurable prints. 

You'll find some scans at the end of this blog and see if you agree.

The thing is though (that apart from the total hounds) at the end of each respective printing sessions I loved most of the prints I had made, because that is the nature of printing.

It can be a pleasurable activity. 

You are crafting something of the three-dimensional world into the critical and narrow realism of the two-dimensional print

And sometimes, just sometimes, that 3-D world is transformed into a 2-D image of such passion and beauty it takes your breath away.

But a lot of the time it isn't.
You can't escape the truth.

It is though, an object; and an object you've made.
It may not change lives in the way say a viewing of Edward Weston's contact prints does. But it is you.

And if you've made the negatives and processed them yourself as well, it is all you, and stands or falls on your skills and vision.

It is (or can be) the culmination of a very complex process, a juxtapositioning of skill, eye, taste, ability, luck and craft.

And it is fucking hard.   

There's that 'f' word again.

I'm not labouring the point either, because darkroom work is mostly a solo activity.

Nobody else is around to see the eye-strain, the smells of spilt chemicals, the blue air, the messed-up borders, scratched negatives, dust, fevered dodging and burning, test-stripping, counting, airless-sweating, more dust and bad skin/chemical reactions, until you emerge from your not-so-secret bunker clutching a couple of pieces of paper, blinking in the cold daylight and shouting "AT LAST!".

Oh no - if you're lucky someone will say, "Hey, they're nice."
And that's it.
And as if this slaving away in the red room wasn't enough, then there's the masochism of  penury:
Penury?
Yeah, you know, that noun that equates to "the state of being very poor; extreme poverty".
Viz: "he couldn't face another year of penury"

Some synonyms are:
extreme/dire poverty
pennilessness
impecuniousness

impoverishment
indigence
need
neediness
want
destitution
privation

See what I mean - appropriate don't you think, because photography in general, has never been a poor man's hobby.
And in fact I can think of no other hobby (apart from say diamond collecting) that requires such an ungodly amount of cash to keep it going.

Again, no wonder hardly anyone prints any more . .
Why's that Sheephouse? I hear you cry

Well, to put it bluntly, it is fucking expensive.
You know, you can spend the best part of £80-£90 on a box of 100 sheets of 10x8" fibre paper.
Add in say another £20 odd on enough chemicals to get 50 or so archivally processed prints out.
And subtract from that 50 prints (of which maybe 5 to 10 are acceptable if you are being honest and of those, maybe 3 or 4 are truly things you love) the rest of that paper (approximately £40-odds worth in today's prices) which gets put away in old paper boxes, never to be looked at again!
So looking at that box of 100 sheets, you've maybe got 8 in total that you love; maybe 20 that are acceptable, and 72 that don't cut the mustard.

You see what I mean, printing is not just hard, but economically it's fucking hard.

I'll stop using the 'f‘ word to put my point across now - apparently it tells you (the reader) that I am substantially lacking in vocabulary . . make of that what you will . . .

So why, when this is an obvious case of pouring money down the drain do the few hardy souls left doing it, actually do it?

Masochism?

Blind Faith?

Insanity?
Well blind faith is close to it actually, and the pleasure of making art - you might only be scratching your shitty stick against a corner of a cave in the furthest reaches of the Lascaux cave system, but at least it is your bit of cave . .  the compulsion to make beautiful things is as old as mankind.
The compulsion to make something that might just last longer than you, is even older.
In one of my favourite films (Moonstruck), a man asks a woman why men have affairs, to which she answers "Because they are afraid of death".
Whilst printing isn't quite like that, it is in a way.
Aside from the conscious deliberation to make something that is pleasing to the eye, I feel the underlying urge is to make something that will be your little piece of eternity. Something to which massed hordes might flock and worship, in much the same way that true vintage prints by the greats of traditional photography provide the same attraction. You stand and marvel at someone's vision and soul scooped from light and form and writ large with passion on a flat piece of sensitized paper.
It is magical.
Almost as magical as those hand prints in Lascaux, though maybe not as archival.


I had the good fortune to view the touring Ansel Adams exhibition in Edinburgh a few years back - it was really extraordinary. Not just for the images, but for the quality of the printing, which was absolutely superb. The images breathed an air of unqualified precision of concept and untouchable artisanal skills - they were really special, and whether their totem-like qualities were helped along by the subdued lighting and the fact they were under glass and proper artistic OBJECTS I knoweth not . . all I do know is that they made such a deep impression on my wife and I that we went back to see them again. They were in their own way a photographic Lourdes . . where the outcome could be life-changing.
I left determined to be a better printer . . but haven't succeeded.
But back to that compulsion


I also like to think of printing as being rather like climbing a hill.
You are always trying to reach that distant pinnacle.
You might well reach one impressive top or plateau, but you can always see more tempting ones to head off towards, and each one of those is your image's potential,

But look!
There!
There, miles away!!
The most beautiful one!!!
Well that my friend, that could well be the best print you've ever made in your life . . .
But can you reach it?

It is going to be a hard slog, and incredibly daunting, and you might well fail.

Surely it would be easier to sit down here and take it all in
After all, you can admire those peaks from a distance. There's really no need to trouble yourself, because it probably isn't worth the effort to make it to those lofty snow-covered crags.
And besides, isn't it supposed to be fucking hard?

Well yes, it is, and a number of you will fall along the way and be content to rest your weary bones, after all, this craft stuff takes stamina, steely determination and downright grit.
But then this is your craftsmanship we're talking about. Are you just going to sit there and be content to munch your sandwiches and slurp your coffee on the great tartan blanket of also-ran printing, or are you going to pack it all away, hoist your backpack and get moving before the light goes . . remember, this is one life . . there's only so much light left to determine how immortal you'll be.
You have to keep moving, keep walking, keep taking in the sights and sounds and keep enjoying the journey, because despite the effort involved, remember it is (or can be) a pleasurable activity . .
So my friends, I'll remove my soapbox now and say:
Practice, practice and practice . .
Printing is like learning a musical instrument — you'll never improve if you don't practice.

And you never know, if you keep heading on to those distant peaks, maybe Ansel, or Edward or Wynn will be up there ahead of you on the trail, holding themselves back, just waiting for you with a nice refreshing draught of inspiration.

The snarlin' hounds:

It's a print Jim, but not as we know it. Totally lacking in any impact whatsoever.

Ghastly. Bad Grade Choice and the spectre of the film masking blade on the enlarger causing underexposure on the left of the print.

The photograph has real atmosphere, but the print is as flat as anything.

Even when you think you have a good print, things conspire against you. The black top right edge is a manufacturing fault!

The Cat's Pyjamas:

This is a little series called 'City Of Discovery' all made in Dundee. They're 35mm negatives made with my old Nikon F2 and the 35mm f2 pre-Ai Nikkor.
The pale edges you see next to the blackness of the rebate are adjacency effects from film development.
Paper size is 10x8" and they're nice as physical objects.

This is called 'The Pilgrim's Way' and it was taken on St Cuthbert's footpath, which follows the route of Dere Street in the Scottish Borders. I was so taken by the quality of light and the ethereal feeling I had whilst walking this ancient track that I had to make a photograph. It's probably boring to you, but to me it has feeling. The camera was my Rolleflex T with the 6.45cm mask inserted. The quality of the negative is very fine.

I adore this photograph and print.
The photograph was made on my Rollei T using Trix-X on an incredibly bright day. What you are seeing is shadow and reflection and the dehydrated remnants of water on a window in one of the hot-houses at St Andrews Botanical Garden . . one of the finest little botanical gardens in Scotland - visit it and buy some plants.
Paper was 10x8" Ilford Galerie and I would happily display this print anywhere and not look sheep(house)ish.

Believe it or not these two images were made on the same film and on the same day - they flowed together and all was right with the world.

However, even in my hour of triumph you'll maybe notice in the first print that spectre of the masking blade encroaching on the right side of the image. Still, it'll do for the moment . . should anyone ask me to exhibit these I would of course reprint.

Both are printed on untoned 8x10" Ilford Galerie.

Archival Storage. Silverprint Archival box and crystal clear polyester sleeves.

Donkey derby stables - that's about 500 sheets of fibre 8x10.

The print as a real object

Two more.

This one didn't scan well, so this is all you get.