The 1960 Space-Age Time Machine

Morning!

Regular readers will know that a while back I bought a rather nifty old Canon 28mm f3.5 LTM lens. I was chuffed with said lovely piece of brass, chrome and glass and said so here.

Well, since then I've been bad . . nay . . not just bad, but neglectful . . you see I've barely used it, and I can't quite figure out why, because it's lovely to use and adds a certain air of early 1960's gentlemanly charm to my Leica M2 - they look the part don't they!

Tip Top - the 1960 Space-Age Time Machine.
(OK, so the Canon is a Type IV, mid-1950's model, but it didn't have the same ring to it)

I think my problem is, that up till now, I hadn't actually printed anything properly that I had photographed with it.
Notice I say printed, because although I had scanned some of the negatives made with it and had done a few initial crumby work prints on RC paper, I hadn't actually spent a huge amount of time in the darkroom with real quality photographic materials.

Well more fool me, because as such, I was entirely unaware of how fantastic the little Canon was for (how shall we say) . . ahem . . 'vintage tones'.

There, bugger it, that's all the remaining nice ones in the world snapped up by digi-twitchers in search of the unattainable. 

Oh yeah I can hear it now, "It's a bargain in current terms  . . . blah blah blah . . . impeccable build quality . . . blah bloody blah"

And you know what, for all that the world has progressed; for all that digital photography is the be-all and end-all; for all that all but a hard-core of junkie film users even pay attention to such things, I still think there's a hankering for The Golden Age.

You know, Eugene, HCB, Ansel, Wynn, Minor, Paul, Walker etc etc etc.

Their photographs have 'that look'.

"What's that Sheephouse?" I hear you cry .. "What look might that be man, and how does one attain it?'
Well, it's the look of liquid silver.
Of greys that shimmer with depth and airiness.
Photographs of timing and composition and skill made by people that relied on their innate human creativity and not the splurge of a billion frames a second in the cause of hoping to 'capture' something . . anything . .  worthwhile.

It's THE LOOK man, and if you need an arse like me to explain it to you, then you jolly well need your eyes tested!

In short (or long) it is nothing short of why I wanted to photograph in the first place and why I don't think I have ever really achieved my goal and go on searching. (There, how's that! I've hobbled any photographic achievements I have ever achieved). But it's true.

It's also a look I don't really see at all these days and I think the reason for this (apart from the obvious one of completely different materials from then to now) is down to a certain hiccough in the world of glass: coating.

An uncoated lens as you'll no doubt know delivers flare and often low contrast (caused by the flare).

A single coated lens will deliver more contrast, and slightly less flare.

A multi-coated lens has precious little flare, but tons of contrast. True, the little Canon is I believe multi-coated, but it's 'soft' (not physically, but visually) - there's no way you'd get the same look from a modern lens . . 

And then there's coating and coating - stuff that is so soft you could just stare at it and it marks, stuff that is so hard you can smash it against a brick wall, but all of it made with the thought in mind that contrast is better than flare.

(There's a stupid caveat to this too - I recently had the chance to handle and see the results from a couple of Lomo panoramic cameras . . and you know what . . they didn't have the look, even for their so-called 'lo-fi' cache . . . and actually, thinking about it, pinhole camera results don't have the look either  . . at least they don't to my eye. I experimented in pinhole years back and found it to be a faff for something that I just thought was so-so. If you want dreamy and out-of-focus, you'll have to go LF and back to the earliest of barrel lenses (or the misuse of close-up lenses) in my humble opinion . . . anyway . . that's another story!)

So what is the dashed lens bringing to the party, given that a pinhole has no glass??
It's impossible to quantify for me - maybe if I were to read Arthur Cox's Photographic Optics, I'd understand completely, but for now, let me say that the lens acts as a (oh goodness . . . here he goes again) sort of surrogate portal to a different reality.

Now if you could just hold on a min whilst I get the sleeves of this straight-jacket sorted, I'll try and explain myself. Think about it, it does. You're shoving a three-dimensional world, down a narrow piece of metal and glass, to work its magic on a piece of sensitized material and then you are chemically altering said material, and then you are bringing what was once three dimensions into the 2D spotlight of a piece of sensitized paper. In other words, you've stopped time, and transformed 'reality'!

Hah, bet you never thought of photography like that and to me, it is all the more incredible for it.

Your print is an alteration of reality. Yes it is reality (mostly) and yet it is far removed from it.

Of course I could just be wittering a load of old shoite, but if it gets you thinking differently, then I am happy.

Ah, that's better, the tea is starting to kick in and whilst I've spilled half of it down the front of my nice new jacket, I can feel its calming properties . . . so, where were we? Ah yes, coating and contrast!
I think therein lies the problem.
The world simply isn't a contrasty place. It can be, but on the whole, no, it isn't, not really.
Same with your eyes.
Can you honestly say you see everything in razor-sharp, super-contrasty HD? Nope, me neither. Infact, centrally whilst everything is fine, peripherally, the world is a blur.

Stare at something backlit, and I have a low-contrast, flare-ridden mess with blur and my eyelashes take on sunstars!

Totally imperfect and that to me is what is lacking in most photography - that air that the world is imperfect and that light is transitory and always changing. I'm sorry, but the hyper-sharp, hyper-toned, hyper-coloured "reality" that gets toted as photography these days looks to me as fake as a plastic surgery disaster. 

It has nothing to do with how humans see the world and everything to do with the damned idealism with which we are encouraged to view everything in life. I mean, what happened to human frailty and mistakes?

You know, I almost hate "perfection", but I really LOVE real perfection.

To wit, I recently ate a Spanish vanilla cheescake at a tapas restaurant that was so good I started crying - it was perfection - you can ask Ali. Honestly - it sounds daft but it is true and gives you an idea of the sort of person you're letting inside your head with all these thoughts.
I'm thinking about it now, and I'm also thinking this picture by Mr. Edward Weston from 'The Family Of Man' exhibition and book, this too is perfection:

If there is one picture in the world that has made me want to sell everything and purchase a 10x8 camera, it is this. When I first encountered it in an original copy of 'The Family Of Man' book, I was gobsmacked - the composition and the tones, the artful 'looseness', the light and simply everything about it states "Master Craftsman At Work". It looks casual but is anything but; there's contrast, yes, but it's not too contrasty. You don't get the full measure from the screen, but there's suitable detail in the shadowed trouser area, from correct exposure, and there's also flare, but skillful processing and printing have rendered that a pleasing part of the whole - it's pure craftsmanship - the contrast is provided by the light and the processing, not the lens.

I wish I could make something as powerful

This by Mr. W.Eugene Smith, this is perfection too:

NYC Harbour. July 1956. Nun waiting for survivors of SS Andrea Doria

To me this is up there as one of the finest 35mm photographs ever made.

Look at is closely - it isn't sharp at all, anywhere, and yet, Oh Goodness - WHO CARES?!

It speaks to the soul in a way that is hard to define - pure genius.

Imperfections besiege us as photographers, and that is part of the fun to my mind. As I've said many times before, developing a film is like paraphrasing Forrest Gump 'you don't know whatcha gonna git', because your technique can be down pat and perfect, but for all that, there is still room for mistakes and wonder, for happenstance and joy. For surprise. For humanity and glitches and weirdness (like the reflections that I wasn't aware of in the third print below).

And so, sorry to say, it is on to me and my stuff, after all that's the whole point of these exercises isn't it . . me, me, ME!

These were grab shots off of two different films made whilst away in Edinburgh for a bit. Film was TMX 400, developed in 1:25 Rodinal. I reckon I was shooting at about 1/125th at f11 or f8 with the tiny Canon 28mm and the M2 combo.

Strange to say, I think they almost look made up, set up and contrived and yet these were as they happened and totally disassociated from each other. The only parameters being time and walking around in different places.

See what you think.

?

??

!

I might be marking my card here and putting myself up for criticism, but to my eye, they sort of have that look. Again, you are hard pushed to get it off the screen, but in real life handling the prints, the highs sparkle a bit, the mids are creamy and dreamy and the blacks contrasty, but not overtly so. I am happy with them, which I suppose is the main thing.
They were printed on some ancient 10x8" Adox Vario Classic - a variable contrast, museum weight paper that hasn't been made for a few years now - and developed in Fotospeed print developer and then toned in Selenium for archival purposes. It's a nice combo, and I've filed them away as a sequence in some archival print sleeves. I am a happy bunny.

Here's another print from the same films, this time made in (if I remember rightly) St Andrews - can't remember what the occasion was though . . . 

Hungry?

Again, this is filed away archivally - I am chuffed, and do you see what I mean about the look from the lens? I am delighted with it and how it has interacted with Kodak TMX 400 (a bloody fine film) and with 1:25 Rodinal. This is a seriously good combo - grain is remarkably well controlled and (with some judicious gentle agitation) very unobtrusive to my eyes.

What I like about this photograph and print is the silveriness of everything and also that the machine by the door of the 'van, looks like an abandoned robot from the 1960's. It was probably made at 1/125th at around f16 (the exposure you fool . . not the robot). Detail is great too so I am asking myself why am I not using this lens more?

Well, I suppose the 90mm Elmar supplanted it (having been bought in haste at a bargain price) and I have really enjoyed using that, but for now and maybe into the Summer, I am heading out with the Canon. It's a testimony to the quality of Japanese engineering.

Happy days!

And that's it, so till next time, take care and get yourself out and take some photographs, and if you can, if you truly truly can . . please make some prints on real 'wet' photographic paper. 

You might well get a surprise.

A Foggye Daye In Olde Dundee Towne

Morning Folks and a Very Happy New Year to you!

I am sorry yet again if you've come along expecting more Caravan Chronicles . . it hasn't happened yet . . however this is just as exciting . . possibly more so really, so without further ado, here we go.

Admit it, if you're a traditional wet process photographic printer, we've all been there. The sheer temptation of all that lovely old paper, rotting away in darkrooms long abandoned by grab and squirt photographers (don't worry, there's no digital rail coming here). 

There's TONS of it, seemingly everywhere, free (if you know someone nice); at super tempting prices on eBay or Gumtree; car boot sales; Craig's List .  . whatever . . but it's out there. 

Like you, I have found the prospect of saving a large number of quids stocking up, a very easy and tempting proposition. 

Why not?

Paper is fucking expensive (for what it is) and given you can happily consign a healthy percentage of that £90 box of Ilford Galerie to the bin as wastage, unless you are super careful, then much cheapness is a very nice way to go.

BUT . . .

You knew that was coming, didn't you. 

It is all well and good opting for this route, and for a lot of times, it can be fine, however time and again for me, one thing raises its ugly head:

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT HAS BEEN STORED.

Yep - it's no surprise to learn that in common with all photographic materials, temperature and light and chemical ingress, but especially temperature can affect paper. For all you know, that lovely box of 11x14 Ektalure that only cost £10 has been stored in the photographic equivalent of a blast furnace. Even worse, very few darkrooms can be considered to be kept at a consistent cool temperature - they're up and down and all over the shop.

I recently received 2 boxes of Agfa MCC from a kind friend at Scottish Photographers - nearly 100 sheets of 10x8, and 50 sheets of 9.5 x 12. Lovely!

Now Agfa MCC was a fine paper, so fine that when it died about 6 years ago, it was resurrected by Adox and is still in production.

So that's my first point - the boxes I received must be at least 6 years old.

I was delighted though - for the cost of postage I had got loads of paper to go with my already ageing stock - Benzotriazole I thought, and Online Darkroom Bruce happily supplied me some.

I tested the paper - it was sort of fine (the 9.5x12 being a lot better than the 10x8) there was some fog, so my developer was suitably Benzoed and the fog sort of dealt with, however results were and are inconsistent.

Notice the use of the words sort of .

I've done a bit of research (och well, put my feet up with a cuppa and a copy of 'The Print') and discovered that had I just read first I would have realised that adding Benzo-T brings its own problems: extended development, loss of paper speed, colouration of the print. 

It's a bit hit and miss. 

I could also have used Potassium Bromide, however I have none of that, or even a commercial fog-reducer, but again I have none of that . . . so what do I do with this wealth of paper? Well, print with it of course! So I did.

I've had the following sequence in my head for a long time - it's all fairly simple stuff and a homage to a photographic hero of mine - John Blakemore (if you've never read his 'Black and White Photography Course' book . . why not? It is one of the most strange, wonderful and informative photographic books ever written). 

All of the negatives were made with Kodak TMAX 400 and 100, and developed in Rodinal (1:25). The camera was my Leica M2 and the lens a humble 90mm f4 Elmar-M (one of the most universally disparaged of all Leitz lenses). 

I think they work. 

See you on the other side.

Sequence 1.1

Sequence 1.2

Sequence 1.3

Sequence 1.4

Sequence 1.5

Sequence 1.6

OK - that is that out of the way. 

These are all prints made by me on 10x8" fibre paper, scanned for the purposes of this at 600 Dpi and if you study them (well you don't actually need to look hard) you'll notice something about the first 5 prints . . FOG. 

It is entirely obvious to me, and despite the presence of the correct dilution/amount of Benzo-T in the developer, the age of the paper has rendered the highlights with a dull thud.

Indeed I got so fed up, that at the end of the session I printed print number 1.6 on some fresher and stored properly (though still ancient) Adox Vario Classic.

Prints 1.1 to 1.5 were all printed several times (and all treated with heavy bleaching in Potassium Ferricyanide and then toned in Kodak Selenium) whereas print 1.6 was a single print, with just a light toning in the Selenium.  It took approximately two thirds less time to make and has a lovely airieness about it which is devoid from the other prints.

And this I guess is my point.

What a fucking waste of man-hours those first 5 were.

I shall have to print the sequence again for storage on properly fresh paper - I have spent a number of hours and utilised printerly skills and efforts on this and all for naught really.

Old paper might seem tempting, but in reality it is probably a waste of time. 

(This being said my one caveat to this is that proper Graded paper lasts considerably longer than Multigrade - I have some Grade 2 Galerie that is heading for at least 8 or 9 years old, stored in the coolness of my cellar/darkroom [sounds posh . . it's a cupboard with a stone-flagged floor] and it is still really fine.)

So, before you all go crazy and buy up the languishing stocks of lovely, tempting old paper, stored in yer Uncle's Baby Belling stove or on a bookcase in his sunny living room, think twice. Unless the vendor can guarantee that is has been stored correctly, fridged or frozen or at a consistent coolness, then to be honest I wouldn't bother.  

Life is too short!

Trust me, when that lovely glistening print is exposed to the cold white light of your darkroom and daylight you'll see that there's nothing enjoyable about it . . actually, you'll realise you've wasted your time.

Indeed I recently purchased a box of Fotospeed RCVC off eBay from a guy who said it had been stored properly for a couple of years - saved myself around a tenner, and that's foggy too.

So, Caveat Emptor!

Spend a bit more if you can. 

Buy fresh paper and store it carefully - the manufacturers need your money. 

And you!

Yes you!

Can you really afford the time to waste? 

Nope, thought not . . 

Me neither.

Over and out.

Oh, and lest I forget - Je Suis Charlie too.

The Nature Of The Complainte

Morning folks and apologies to you if you were expecting Part 4 of the torturous Karavan Khronikles, however I have been beset by a modern problem . . lack of time. C'mon, Christmas is nearly here - what do you do when you have a few spare weekend hours . . yes you go and do normal things with the family, not lock yourself away in the dark and curse . . .

So, to that end, and being of the mind that I wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas anyway, I thought I would provide a reflective theme for the end of the year.

Cap'n Bruce (Robbins) of the Online Darkroom fame and I have been having on/off emailed discussions recently - he's complained of little time and a wish to slim down his vision to something a bit more simple; I have expressed a desire to purchase yet another camera, or failing that, get something like a 50mm Summicron for the M2 just to see how far I can exploit the 35mm negative. Quite a difference!

To excuse myself a little I will say this - for many years I have wanted a Hasselblad - simply because they are beautiful and the lens quality is superlative, however they are not a cheap camera, and actually when I start to think about it, can I go back to ye olde square again? I've spent years making square photographs with the (currently in need of a service) Rollei T - I have beaten the format to death - can I really dedicate a huge chunk of money to it again?

Besides I find I like a more oblong format these days, however (besides 35mm) I do actually have two options in my arsenal with regard to that shape - the Koni Omega 6x7 and my Wista 5x4. "Great" you're thinking, "lucky bugger to have two nice cameras like that," however (and here is The Nature Of The Complainte) as a photographer, one is never satisfied! 

Weird isn't it? 

There's always a hankering for something else; these being, in no particular order:

Quality Of Negative

Quality Of Lens

Ease Of Use

Sharpness

Out Of Focus Characteristics

Fun Quotient

It's terrible really, because I believe that rather like that itch under the plaster-cast you got when you broke a limb at the age of 14, this photographic hankering is an un-scratchable thing.

Go on. How many photographers do you know who own just one camera and one lens? Is the HCB ethic of one camera/one lens really alive and kicking these days? I sincerely doubt it, and I am open to someone pointing me in the right direction of someone who does do it.

Bruce wonders whether he could just slim himself down to a rangefinder (yeah I know, they'll have to bury him with an OM2, so I can't see him getting rid of them) and a couple of lenses. He's even talking about selling his SL66 . . . and you know what? I can't see it - the man loves cameras!

Me? Well a new camera is always a rather nice prospect, but do I need one?

And here folks things get weird, because you will be hard-wired into my thought processes and it isn't pretty:

- = Bad
- = Confused

OK, so the pocket money is beginning to mount up nicely . . what do you fancy buying?

Well, the M2 is the one camera I could never get rid of, but one lens?

Bloody difficult. You couldn't live with just the 1934 Elmar, or the 50's Canon 28mm and 50mm f1.8. And superb though it is, could you really spend the rest of your life just photographing with the 90mm f4 Elmar? I think you know what the answer is.

OK . . M2 and 90mm Elmar . . that's a given.

Well, yeah, it's a start, so a 50mm Summicron? Would that satisfy things? Oh and on the wide side, a 35mm Summaron or Summicron?

You see what I mean?

It is impossible to be satisfied.

And then I go from there to:

Well, for all I know I moaned about it (a lot) but the Pentax 67 had a fantastic selection of lenses - maybe I could get one of those again, but wait a minute I've already got a 6x7 in the Koni and that is great.

But you haven't got a wide for it!

Yeah, a wide . . maybe a wider format would do the trick, maybe 6x9? 

Well yeah, so how about a 6x9 back for the Wista? 

Too cumbersome really, and I want something I can walk around with easily.

OK, so a Fuji 6x9? yeah nice, but a fixed lens - could you live with a fixed lens?

 

Nope - deffo couldn't, well the only option would be a Mamiya Press - you get a few different focal lengths for them.

Yeah, nice, but didn't Bruce say they were a little 'agricultural'?

He did, but those photos of his taken with them are really nice, and then there's John Davies and his UK landscapes, and also Don McCullin.

You've got a point there - stick it on the list. Of coures, the real deal would be AN ALPA!

Shit, yeah, an Alpa! But isn't that more expensive than a house?

Well, nearly, but you've got two good kidneys, and you can just survive on one apparently.

Go for it!

And I leave for work, bouyed by the thought that in a couple of years with one less kidney, I'll be traveling around taking amazing photos with God's gift to the photographer, The Alpa

However, this conversation is replaced a day later by:

You know, 6x12 is a bloody interesting format isn't it?

Too right. Are there any decent cameras out there? And how about a 6x12 back for the Wista?

Too cumbersome.

OK, so it's Linhof, Horseman or bust?

It certainly is, but then don't you think 6x17cm provides a greater sense of space?

Hmmmm - yeah, too right.

OK, so how do you feel about a Linhof or a Fuji . . or how about a Hasselblad X-Pan? You wouldn't need a bigger enlarger for that!

Anyone got a scalpel?

To be replaced a day later by:

You know I really like the look of those Eisenstadt New York photos he made with the old Rollei Standard.

Beautiful aren't they - and they're pretty cheap too! But then again a Zeiss Ikoflex is another option.

Yeah, I'd forgotten about Zeiss . . well how about a Super-ikonta? You can get them in 6x9 too!

You're brilliant, but of course you realise that the Voigtlander is more highly regarded, especially with a Skopar . .

Oh FECK, I forgot about that . . .

And that is The Nature Of The Complainte folks - it is a never-ending circular conversation that questions the use of every format and the quality of every considered camera. I even found myself discussing 645 and Sony NEXs with Bruce and that shows you the madness.

Basically every photographer wants to spend money on new gear and make that one photograph that, when the relations come to clear their house out, might cause someone to pause and say "that's a NICE photograph" before everything gets chucked in the skip.

We, as photographers, are afraid of death (to paraphrase Moonstruck) and we want to be remembered, and only by spending as much money as we can on gear, can we go some way to assuage our subconscious that indeed, our travail on earth as captors of light hasn't been a total waste of time!

Leica M2, 50mm f1.8 Canon

Leica IIIf, 1934 Leitz 50mm f3.5 Elmar

Olympus Trip, 40mm f2.8 Zuiko

Rolleiflex T, 16-On Kit, 75mm f3.5 Tessar

Rolleiflex T, 16-On Kit, 75mm f3.5 Tessar

Rolleiflex T, 16-On Kit, 75mm f3.5 Tessar

Rolleiflex T, 75mm f3.5 Tessar

Rolleiflex T, 75mm f3.5 Tessar

Rolleiflex T, 75mm f3.5 Tessar

Pentax 6x7, 75mm f3.5 Super Takumar

Pentax 6x7, 75mm f3.5 Super Takumar

Koni Omega 6x7, Super Omegon 90mm, f3.5

Agfa 6x9 Box Camera

 

Wista 5x4, Kodak Ektar, 203mm f7.7

Wista 5x4, 150mm f5.6 Schneider Symmar-S

Sinar 5x4, 90mm f6.8 Schneider Angulon

Sinar 5x4, 90mm f6.8 Schneider Angulon

All of the above are physical prints, printed by me - and blow me, can you see much difference?

Nope, me neither - truth be told, for the maximum print size I can make in my tiny darkroom (11x14 at a push) any format will suffice, and yet The Nature Of The Complainte dictates that I should still hunger after a camera/lens combo that is satisfying, sharp, easy to use, high quality, capable of capturing light with a unique signature and all round FUN TO USE, when in actuality, I have any number of them already!

Elsewhere it is known as GAS (Gear Acquisition Syndrome) - I'll just call it MAD (Mental Acquisition Dither) because nothing seems to satisfy that need for more gear. 

I genuinely thought that when I bought the Leica M2, that would be it, but it wasn't . . same with the recent late-manufacture 90mm Super Angulon, a lens so perfect that it makes you want to cry . . . I've barely (sic) scratched its surface and I am already thinking about something else. 

Those rare beast photographers with refined vision and a sense that more cameras means more responsibility, are lucky, for they have no chains to bind them to the earth and can fly into visual legend, but in reality, do they really exist? Do you??

For the rest of us toiling away at the coal-face, the need for more stuff pretty much dominates the hobby. And why not. There's something about a camera, especially a mechanical camera that says This Is It. Mankind's ingenuity and engineering finesse distilled into one perfect machine. A thing to be admired, acquired and used; to be loved and loved again. 

In short it's just about perfection, and a desire to render the world in a perfect way. 

Aside from just snapping away at any old shite as the majority of photography seems to be, surely as a concerned and dedicated photographer half our ouevre is to render an imperfect world in a way which hopefully serves as a reminder to the rest of the herd that (under the right circumstances and with the right machine [and ultimately under our control]) the world can be a perfect and visually beautiful place. 

Like some lost ancient tract, impossibly discovered, a good and symbiotic camera can be that key to the kingdom we all desire.

And so folks for the New Year I fear the search, like some Biblical quest, will go on. But in the meantime, may I take this opportunity to wish you the best for the season.

God bless and thanks for reading. 

New Lands, Sleeping Bags And Big Cameras - Part Three (The Insomnia Special)

Well folks, it is back into the fray again!

Now, I am leaving a packet of pep pills, some matchsticks and a "help yourself to free recharges" jug of piping hot black coffee at the side of your screen, simply because we are entering the land of the dull. Well, it is dull if you're not into it, and look, I am into it, and even I find it dull, so like I said, help yourself to a coffee, get the matchsticks ready for your eyelids and pop some pills. Make sure you're not sitting too comfortably as well.

Right here we go.

Remember in the last installment I was going on about organisation? No? well you'd better go and read that first . . . .

There, that's better isn't it.

OK, well my organisation worked pretty damn well actually, with only one cock-up in the stacking department I was chuffed, and seeing as developing 20 sheets of 5x4" sheet film one sheet at a time isn't for the faint-hearted, I decided to break it down into 5 developing sessions of 4 sheets at a time.

This is all I can handle without going slightly mad.

And yes it does take a long time, but if you don't think about it too much then it's fine. I find the best thing to do is to imagine what your results are going to be whilst whiling away the long hour or two.

I use a metronome for timing in the total dark (as I am developing in open trays). The metronome was a cheap one, but it keeps good time, and at every sixty seconds I say aloud the time "One minute" "Two minutes" etc etc . .

Why aloud?

Well in the dark time takes on a curious dimension and one can honestly lose oneself completely. At least if you have heard the time aloud, you can keep a check on yourself.

Anyway, just to fly in the face of convention (but mostly for the wonderfully [relatively] short development times) the developer for this project was Rodinal, or Adox R09 as it is now called. I've come more and more to appreciate just what a versatile developer it is - it is VERY agitation dependent, but temperature wise, it isn't nearly as fussy as say the likes of HC110.

Dilution for this lot was 1:25 at a temp of 21° C.

I always do a water pre-bath of around 90 seconds for every sheet of film, which as you can imagine is fun, especially as, given the very limited space in my darkroom, the water tray has to sit on an entirely different shelf, well below the level of the shelves where I can fit my 5x7" trays . . and yes, I HAVE dropped one of the slippery buggers, emulsion-side down too . . .

As for agitation, well I use the 'Kodak' sequence for trays: Lift the middle of the tray, set back, right corner, set back, left corner, set back. That is the equivalent of one conventional 'tilt' if you are using a daylight tank.

With Rodinal, I do a whole minute of constant agitation, in that centre, right, left, centre, right, left, repeat etc etc sequence, and then one 'sequence' [centre, right, left] every 30 seconds. Now most people seem to agitate in a stupidly heavy-handed sloshing motion, and if you do this with Rodinal, you'll end up with heavy grain, whereas, if you are very gentle, you'd be amazed at how grainless it can be. And this is what I did, for on average a development time of 5 minutes 30 seconds - there were some variations, but the coffee is running out - I'll not detail them here, oh no, that would be too kind . . .

Anyway, here's a little light relief - the Wista with the Super Angulon in the thick of things - this was literally 200 yards from the caravan - it was a real pleasure not to have to lug my gear for miles.

OK. Ready? Good - slurp your last free cup of coffee, put the matchsticks in your eyelids  and listen to some pounding Doom Metal, because here we go - Instant Soma!

The wee scans below are nothing more than my exposure records (made, curiously, at the time of exposure) and my development sheet (kept, curiously, every time I developed some film). The reasoning behind this lot is simple - it provides a handy cross check to see what you did wrong and more importantly, what you did right. I would heartily recommend making as many notes as possible - it really helps.

1 & 2 First 8 sheets of film, exposed in two lots of 4 at different dates.
Note use of Zone system nomenclature. date exposed and date processed.

3 & 4 Second 8 sheets of film, exposed in two lots of 4 at different dates.

5 Last lot of 4 sheets

Development record.
The circled numbers correspond to the reciprocal ones on the Exposure Records, so you can sort of plan and know the why, when and wherefore of your developing process. 

As you can see from the above I've made a number of comments like 'Misload' and 'Lots of condensation' and my favourite 'Pulled slide without shutter closed'.

Why have I written this?

Nope, not nuttiness, but because it all helps as an aide-mémoire - the old brainbox never hangs onto everything.

Couple this with detailed descriptions of each day, written in a Moleskine notebook at the time and you have a fairly complete record of what you did. It can make amusing reading years later!

"Trousers caught fire after bad curry"

"Bellows infested with snails."

"Pink tracksuit attracting too much attention . . ."

That sort of thing . . .

Anyway, here's an example of how the negatives look in the .  . er . . negative:

Looks contrasty don't they.  They're actually nothing like that - I am afraid the scanner has not made a great job. Also, you get no idea of resolution, but you see the top left negative? I would say it is the most 'resolved' negative I have ever made - the detail goes on and on and on, it's also the most tonally balanced of them all.

Anyway, after a whole WEEK of developing, the results are below.

I know, I know - they look shite and I agree, but that's because I took another chance on the contacts . . I printed them at Grade 0, and gave them less exposure than they should have had.

Why? I hear you screaming, Oh God, WHY???

Well, I am fed up of chalk and soot contacts - I like to see the potential of a negative, and some of these are on the cusp of underexposure (I rated all films at EI 100 . . box speed . . call it a brain fart) so opening up the negative so you can sort of get an idea of what is on the negative seemed like a good idea. However, as you can see, they just look truly awful and utterly lacking in contrast and crispness. But I've made my bed and all that . . so even at the risk of embarrassment to myself, they are below.

Some of the frames are truly terrible, but there's a few photographs there that I think will print wonderfully.

1

2

3

4

5

I always find with contact sheets, if you put your computer on its side, you can get a better idea

So, until the next blog (Part 4 . . I know!!), I shall leave you to carry on snickering and pointing.

Next time, will be an exploration of my photographic methods and why on earth I took the frames I did, alongside a genuine (to me) tale of terror (well, it was a bit scary).

Till then, take care and keep taking the pills.
Oh and by the way, I forgot to add that due to some massive spamming, I have disabled comments, so if you like what you see please offer up a vote for any of these just to let me know someone is out there!

Bloomin' Eck! (0) By Gum! (0) Ecky Thump!! (0)

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

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

So to recap the last Blog:

Caravan Holiday.

Film Maniac with Large Camera

Lots Of Film

No Darkroom

As you can maybe tell from the above, film organisation was always going to be a problem. 

I took 8 Toyo Double Dark Slides with me, holding (obviously) 16 sheets of film, all of which I had pre-loaded in the proper dark of my darkroom. However, 4 of those sheets of film were TXP 320 from a previous load and I only wanted to use TMX 100 for consistency, so that was 2 DDS's knocked out for a start, but I took them anyway. 

My intention was to work my way through the remaining 6 (12 sheets of film) and using a recently purchased extremely very large changing bag change the film whilst there. 

And herein lay a problem.

Have you ever used a changing bag? I mean really used one as in it is all you had to use? Go on . . admit it . . you've got one, but you've never been brave enough to use it have you.

Well that was the predicament I found myself in.

Oh how I skipped out that first night to photograph. 

What a joyous time I had!

And then when I got back, had washed up and thought I must really get myself organised immediately so that I could stay on top of everything, how bouyant and enthusiastic I felt!

Ah, the innocence of youth! The naivety of the amateur!!

I had my changing bag ready.

I had my empty film box ready.

I had my rocket air blower ready to rocket.

I had my little interleaving sheets of paper ready to place over that day's batch, thereby delineating the end of the day . . .

I was good to go.

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

A brief aside into my thinking about keeping exposed film organised:

OK - it's pitch dark, or you're in your changing bag or whatever.

Stack you darkslides in the bag (before zipping it) in the order in which you will be placing the sheets in the box. A lot of people have several boxes for N, N+1, N-1 exposures etc, however I feel that it would be too easy to lose place of which image is which so don't use that method.

So say you have the following:

Darkslide 1:

TMX 100/1 (from your notes you know this to be a good exposure)

TMX 100/2 (from your notes, you weren't really totally happy with the composition on this one and you aren't really bothered about it)

Darkslide 2:

TMX 100/3 (from your notes you know this to be a good exposure)

TMX 100/4 (from your notes, a possibly difficult exposure - shadows placed on ZIII, but highlights well beyond ZVII)

[Now imagine the card inner sleeve that holds film in the plastic or foil envelope in a box of sheet film (Ilford ones are best here, because they are a folded sheet, not two separate sheets like a lot of other manufacturers)  - open that wide, put [in my case] 4 sheets of exposed film in, and then lay an interleaving sheet on top - that says to you in the dark that below the sheet is the first day's film.

Just as a double check, you have written on the sheet the day AND ALSO THE ORDER IN WHICH THE SHEETS ARE IN THAT PARTICULAR STACK (Obviously you can't read this in the dark, however if you get a bit lost you can remove it, seal the box and have a skeg at what you've done).]

Anyway, say in example to the above, you want to process TMX 100/2 first just to get a feel for correct development times. Unload that sheet first, place the film in the cardboard, fold it back down over the sheet, then say you want to process TMX 100 1 & 3 next. Unload and place in the card in the same way, then TMX 100/4 - that's the one which requires the most attention so you are going to process that last. Unload it last and place it at the top of the stack and place the interleaving paper on top of that.

Before you started, you stuck a piece of masking tape on the outside of the box with Day and Stacking info on too and also that the sheets are the first day's shooting.

So your strip of tape should read something like:

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

You're going to ask why I've placed them in that order?

Go on, you are aren't you?

Good.

Well it's because it is easier to take a sheet from the bottom of a stack of film in my experience. Simple as that.

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

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

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

Anyway where was I?
Oh yeah, bouyed up on a wonderful film-exposing evening, that's where I was!
All too ready to don a knotted hanky and raise a jaunty salute to anyone who might be passing.

I got everything organised as detailed above and with some trepidation and shaking hands (after all I had invested time and artistic effort into making these exposures) managed to unload my DDS's and get the film organised and sealed away into the box.
BTW - the picture of the tree from the last post, was from that initial batch of film.
Bongo I thought, job done (though it was getting a tad warm and sweaty in the bag [I am going to call it that from now on - The Bag - there, I've done it.])

So I pulled my arms out of The Bag, turned the light on, unzipped The Bag and got everything out. I was chuffed - it had seemed to work well.

I got my Rocket blower (essential if you ask me) and jetted out any bits of dust from the DDS's and organised them for loading, placed them back in The Bag alongside a box of lovely TMX 100.

Curiously I turned the light off (!), zipped both zips on The Bag, shoved my arms up the sleeves and prepared to load. 

And herein lies the problem with changing bags and DDS's - SWEAT. 

After I'd shoved my hands in I realised that for some unknown reason I was ramping up more moisture than a half-backs' Jock Strap. Are there such things as breathable changing bags? 

I've looked around and can't find them, but man it needs it, that and a small framework inside to stop the fabric draping itself over your hands at the drop of every hat. I know there's the Harrison tents, however one has only to look at the retail prices of these to realise that whilst they look totally the part, they are beyond the means of most enthusiastic amateurs . . ie ME.

In The Bag, the more frustrated I got with the cloth falling everywhere, the harder my fingers sweated. It was terrible - so much so that guiding the film into the slots in the DDS resulted in the film actually sticking to the plastic of the holders . . what a fckecking palava! 

It was a real nightmare and took me about four times longer than loading film normally takes. Allied to this, I didn't really know whether I'd ruined the film by getting moisture on the emulsion and said emulsion getting ruined by all the shite that was going on. 

I cannot emphasise enough how truly awful the situation was.

Several times the film stuck tight only a handful of millimeters into the slots in the holder and I had to scrabble with fingernails and swearing to free it, only to try loading it again, for the same thing to happen. 

The air was blue, and Ali wondered what the hell was going on.

After every sheet loaded, I put the film back into the box, took my soaking wet hands and arms out of the sleeves, unzipped The Bag and looked at the sheets of condensation which had formed inside The Bag's  material - it was like a greenhouse window on a frosty morning!

I then had to rocket air this to dissipate it, so I could carry on. 

I have never experienced anything like it, but I got there (in the end). 

And you know what, I knew I had to change tack, simply couldn't go through the torture again, so after a bit of thinking, the following two loads were made in conditions which most people would laugh at - they involved the following:

A bed.

A changing bag

Twilight/Night

A sleeping bag

Yep, I waited till it was pretty dark.

Shut the curtains (they were pretty much non-light-tight though).

Put The Bag, folded, on the bed (as a clean and easily made dust-free area . . well it was better than using a mattress that goodness knows how many people had slept in wasn't it!)

Laid out my film box and holders.

Draped a LARGE ex-army sleeping bag over the top.

And proceeded to unload exposed film and reload unexposed film into the holders underneath this makeshift tent. 

I had no idea whether the film would be affected, but I couldn't go back to The Bag alone. 

And you know what? It bloody worked! 

The sleeping bag was capacious enough to not keep draping itself all over my hands, but also of the right size to provide a nice light-tight seal where my arms entered underneath it. 

So all I can say, is if you ever find yourself without a darkroom, but with say a large coat and a darkened room, it is entirely possible to load and unload film. Of course you have to be careful, but it can be done! 

Hackneyed Cliché or Valid Artistic Statement?

Personally I'd go with the former

You have no idea how hard it was to make the above photograph. 

It was a cold and misty morning, my camera (lenses and ground glass) was doing its best to act as a condenser for the vast tracts of atmosphere surrounding me, as were my glasses and loupe. It was damn near impossible to see anything. Allied to this I knew there were several sheets of film in the holders that were totally fecked. However, needs must when the devil drives and this was one of those moments. 

Knowing that the film was possibly in a ruinous condition didn't help, but I had to use it - I couldn't just consign it to the junked sheets of history pile. 

And how do you think it has turned out?

Obviously apart from the composition (which is total shite) not half bad.

You can see there's a small mark about a quarter of the way up the print on the left side . . guess what . . that's it. For all my sweating and the film sticking tight, that was the only damage out of four sheets of film. 

It just goes to show that modern film is remarkably robust stuff. Bomb-proof is what I'd say. 

Oh and before I go, I'll also add that the combination of TMX 100 and 1:25 Rodinal doesn't get spoken about much, however it is as near grainless as a Warburton's bread factory!

Anyway, on that note, till next time I'll love you and leave you. 

It's deep into the lands of processing next time, so make sure you've got some fresh rubber trousers on, because I attempt something with regard to paper grading that is both foolish and interesting. However I'll try and make it a bit more interesting too and not all techie

TTFN and thanks for reading.