News from the creative crisis - December 6, 2008
0 Comments Published by Allan Csiky December 6th, 2008 in UncategorizedDigital imaging technology demands attention for its ability to render images with outstanding clarity.
It’s easy to achieve a decent image with automated algorithms that render pictures of a quality that it took decades for film, chemicals and paper to achieve.
If only it was so simple as great pictures, less work. It’s also sitting at a computer versus standing by an enlarger; pushing a “print” button instead of turning paper over in a series of chemical-filled trays; toning, washing, drying and flattening instead of…instead of nothing except setting the inkjet print aside.
There are no smells emanating from a computer, unless you count that vague ozony whiff of warm silicon. Compared to acetic acid, that doesn’t even count as a smell. Among trays of clear liquids, a wet printer can identify the stop from the fix from the clearing bath by simply putting his head over each. (The masculine pronoun is the traditional grammatical convention, not an implication that women don’t print.)
There is no slippery tactile sensation in software like there is in Dektol. There isn’t the quick disappearance of same when a sheet of paper enters a stop bath. Walking into a computer room doesn’t generate that photo-Pavlovian urge to print that walking into a well-used darkroom with its lingering patina of odors triggers.
My conundrum isn’t “Is it as good? I struggle with “Is it as much fun?”
My experience with computers is that they are work tools. I was an early adopter at work, throwing my typewriter under a bus after stroking out my first sentences on a Wang word processor.
My experience with photography is that it is fun; even if it’s work, it’s still fun. Since I watched he first faint image appear in a developer tray, each print is a little surprise. I’ve read descriptions of drugs that have the same effect on their first-time users, creating an addiction to chasing the big buzz of that first experience. I’ve been chasing slowly appearing ghosts that become photographs after a couple of minutes in developer since I was 21 years old.
I’m at the early stage of digital awareness (December 2008). I installed the current version of Adobe software and read the supplementary Photoshop® and Camera RAW® manuals and have fooled around with a few images, including spotting, grayscale enhancement and other things similar to darkroom manipulations.
I can’t say it was fun. I can say it was interesting, often bordering on amazing. (way cool?) Darkroom work to achieve a certain tonal “feel” is subjective, difficult and inexact. One controls as many variables as practical and then relies on experience, the art of it, to do the rest. When I get it right, I experience a Hot Damn! moment almost every time I see the print. The feeling continues through the years. Not everybody sees it, or more correctly, feels it in a way they can express. They just know they like it or don’t like it for their own reasons.
I have reason to suspect digital printing can reproduce Hot Dam! moments. I also suspect that the mechanics are more precise, repeatable and easier, once a certain familiarity with software and printer characteristics is established.
There are infinite possibilities and controls to learn in order that they become second nature solutions to particular situations. Very similar, really, to knowing film/developer behavior, enlarger, paper and print developer combinations. There’s a lot of knowledge, but it doesn’t seem overwhelming because it was learned organically; not from a book, but from experience, maybe partly from a book, maybe a conversation or how-to article. Photoshop et al seems daunting because of the sheer volume of information crammed onto silicon and easily accessible, once you figure out what to call what you’re looking for.
Digressing for one moment, to pick up on lexicon and nomenclature: I applaud the developers for using traditional photographic terms to a great extent so analogue folks like me can probe digital photography on familiar terms.
On Friday Dec. 5 I strolled through the Whisky Row galleries in downtown Prescott, AZ and found a reference to a fine art printer who will work with me on printing. I suspect I will learn a lot more from him about how to do what I want to do in software to make Hot Damn! prints. He’s an artist/photographer with a techie background and a partner in the Ian Russell Gallery on Goodwin Street in Ye Olde Firehouse Plaza.
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“Can you meet me in Paris on Thursday Oct. 26th (2006)?” At least that’s the way I remember the call from Julie. She was assimilating into a new job and it was time to visit the European operations; London, Amsterdam, Paris. Clearly, a rendezvous was in order.
When I think of Paris, many of the images in my head are those taken by Henri Cartier-Bresson now imprinted as archetypes. And don’t forget those long rainy afternoons in Baba & Uncle Johnny’s converted coal bin where decades of Life magazines were stacked on chronological order. The multiple fruit flavors of Holly “pop” were on the opposite side, so I could hold out for hours (admittedly sneaking an occasional, and absolutely essential, pee break down the basement floor drain).
Where would we stay? How were the flight connections? Was Paris really a black & white city? No problem, I always felt more at home in Kansas than in Oz. Camera and film were no dilemma. Two cameras: The Rollei twin lens that’s older than I am and the M4 Leica that’s a year older than my son, Matt (he was 33 at the time). And plenty of 100 and 400 film (mixed bag of Ilford Delta 100, 400 and Kodak T-Max 100, 400). 35 50 and 90 Summicrons for the Leica, tripod and not many accessories. Carry-on baggage only.
With a few weeks to wait, I took the Leica out to Mountain View, Calif., where we have an apartment convenient to Julie’s work and my Silicon Valley communication clients.
Castro Street is the main downtown artery in Mountain View with a train station at one end that goes to San Francisco, and three dozen or so restaurants of all kinds, though Asian variations predominate, City Hall, the Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts, a handful of coffee houses that provide alternatives to the roasts from the MBAs at Starbuck and Peets and a pace that isn’t frantic. Castro Street offers myriad subjects for an observer with a Leica.
The Mountain View images were decent. I hadn’t worked with the Leica very often. Medium and 4×5 formats have been my concentration since the mid 80s when I stopped taking pictures as part of my corporate job with GM. I missed a few things and I now had to contend with reading glasses to read a meter and set an f/stop, but the results were encouraging enough that I thought I could get something worthwhile in Paris. You decide and tell me about it if you’re inclined.
A mentor once told me not to drink alcohol on an international flight and to eat the next meal the locals are having after landing. I arrived in Paris – that is the Paris Charles de Gaulle airport – in early morning. It was late morning when I arrived in the real Paris, a hotel on the left bank two blocks from Pont Neuf, a bit further to La Louvre.
I checked in and soon headed for a walk and lunch with the Leica. Julie wouldn’t be arriving until early evening. Some of the intimate café scenes were done from my seat along the sidewalk on the street that borders the Seine near the Institute Francais. (LOOK UP) . The distinctly unfriendly parking officer didn’t like my photographing her at her work. Not many of the others seemed to take notice.
Here was my thinking. What are some of the notions that Paris evokes? Lovers. Café Society. Art, Literature, Music, Dance, Theatre (all proper nouns in Paris). Fashion. History and its monuments. Barges plying the Seine.
I left out aviation and diplomacy intentionally.
Those were the things I would look for, but I would also remain open to interesting people and interesting compositions of light and shadow. My “assignment” wasn’t to get this shot or that; it was to make pictures that would evoke all those curious photographers who had given me my unexperienced image of the city. Maybe Brassai not so much.
How does one make a photograph of the Eiffel Tower that is different from the others?
I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it’s not by lying down on the ground and aiming up as a handful of really creative tourists did. The weather was cloudy and drizzly. Not without hope, as the cloud layer sometimes thinned and brightened, but a plastic bag for the cameras was a good idea.
Julie had a strong need to climb the tower steps. I didn’t.
I crossed the road and climbed the stairs to the monument on the hill. I reasoned that from higher up, I wouldn’t have much of a problem taking the tower straight-on instead of aiming up and making it look like a Pisa tumbling backward. That proved true; level camera, no distortion.
The cloud layer brightened. I noticed a modern building in the background through the Rollei viewfinder. The image didn’t look different from all the others, but it looked pretty good. The light had an antique quality to it, likely from all the moisture in the air. The Rollei Tessar captures all this beautifully. It has a feeling that’s very complicated to describe. Not soft like a pictorialist’s study; sharp but gentle on the final print.
Coming down a different set of steps back toward the tower I saw the Carousel de Paris and picked up my pace with some eager anticipation. I had my unique image of the tower as background to a father smoking a cigarette while watching his daughter enjoy the ride. Very French, right down to the Gauloises Caporal.
The night photographs presented a challenge. Julie and I were experiencing Paris together and the cameras need to rest. As we strolled to and from dinners, took the Seine cruise and simply walked for the fun of it the charm of the city at night became apparent. The night closes in, but the famed lights of Paris make the city exempt. Paris is a cocoon of light within the mass of dark ness.
On our last night, we had dinner early and I set out with the cameras while Julie packed. The scene with the Institute Francais dome foreground left and the searchlight atop the lighted Tour Eiffel seeming to brighten the clouds at twilight.
Julie can be seen in two of the images in the Paris portfolio. In one, hers are the hands squeezing lemon into a Perrier, and in the second she’s petting a rolled-over smoosh of a Siberian Husky. The silver and black of her hair and the dog’s coat are an interesting play off each other.
This journal is a nexus between the visual and the verbal.
I have a strong inclination to let the photographs speak for themselves. I have an even stronger inclination to provide a more complete package, a space where you and I can talk about these photographs and explore the backroads of black and white photography. The dualism stems from my first “real job” after college as a writer/photographer for a U.S. Air Force base newspaper.
Gradually, my work with words and messages as a corporate communciations executive supplanted my daily photography . But photography still held me in its grip; I switched from daily “journalistic” assignments to experiencing the gratification of fewer images on larger negatives.
It seemed natural that my Website would include a forum to exchange ideas about black and white photography, in addition to the expected gallery.
If I read the words above on someone else’s site, my b.s. alerts would begin flashing about now. I’m aware that artists who write about their own work are often self-absorbed pontificators or engage in arcane obscurity as an affect.
Someone stop me if I do that.
My goal is to add a dimension to the work itself that enhances your experience of the photographs. My model is Ansel Adams in his book Examples: The Making of 40 Photographs. (1983, Little, Brown and Co). Ansel writes not only of the technique, but the encounter, of each photographic example.
When he photographed the iconic image Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico 1941, Ansel had misplaced his light meter, calculated the exposure from his knowledge of moon luminance, and by the time he flipped his film holder for a second shot, he had lost the “sweet light.” The resulting negative was extremely difficult to print.
Learning these facts from his writing makes viewing Moonrise a richer experience for me. Ansel also tells of his spots, stains, scratches and careless mistakes, which brings him even closer to my heart.
This journal allows you to participate in the discussion and perhaps compare some of your aesthetic and practical experiences. It’s like a gallery opening without the pretense. And the wine’s likely better if it’s from your own cellar. Experience the photographs and express your thoughts. Continue reading ‘Motivation for the Journal’
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Welcome to the intersection of Visual and Verbal. I have a strong inclination to let the photographs speak for themselves. I have a stronger inclination to provide a more complete package, a space where you and I can talk about these photographs and explore the backroads of black and white photography.more...
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