Here is proof that collecting photography doesn't have to cost you an arm and a leg (or, as it sometimes is, your first-born). This month Shawn Dougherty is offering a special limited edition print for only $50 (no, it is not a typo, and I did not leave off a zero). You can read more by going to his Blog.
The Lower Owens River Project section of my website has just been updated. There are now ten additional pictures from my most recent trip in May. I still have ten-fifteen more negatives to print from the trip, and should have those up within the next few weeks. Here is a picture from the trip that didn't properly fit with the rest of the sequence, but I think should still be shown someplace.
Photogasm* 1: Caused by seeing something that makes you shoot, or want to shoot, all your film. Is recognizable by dialated apertures, quick shutters, and passionate "OH MY GOD!!!"s and "DID YOU SEE THAT!??!"s. Note: Can be very dangerous while driving, especially while at high speeds. (Not to be confused, as it is in the Urban Dictionary, with chimping-- looking at the LCD of a digital camera while making an oo-oo-oo sound)
2: The result of photographing very intensely, where everything seen leads to making an amazing, life-altering photograph. Usually, after such a picture, little else can be done for the rest of the day. Note: In The United States, a photogasm usually occurs after coffee. In Iceland, a photogasm is always followed by a coffee.
*the term was first introduced to the world of New Richard by Kara LaFleur
This new picture from my Lower Owens River Project is similar to other pictures of trees I have made in the last few years. These pictures, which are usually very dense, are the ones that I feel push my vision forward in new, unexpected directions.
The photographer, Justin James Reed, posted one of those pictures on his blog a few days ago. It is actually one of the few pictures I feel is a turning point in my work.
When I have consciously set out trying to make these dense tree pictures the results are nearly always failures. The few times where I have made the really successful ones-- the ones that I feel push my vision forward-- are usually the last pictures I make that day, and result from working very intensely in one area for a short period of time. It is as if these pictures are a culmination up everything I saw and felt until that point.
Here is another 19th Century French find from Luminous Lint. I remember there being quite a few Cuveliers at AIPAD this year. Unfortuately, I was in a little rush this year, and I didn't get to spend as much time looking as I have in the past. Here is a particuarly beautiful one from Fontainebleau.
Eugène Cuvelier The Forest of Fontainebleau Salted paper print from glass negative 1860s (early) 19.8 x 25.8 cm (7 13/16 x 10 3/16 in.)
I photographed in Fontainebleau for one afternoon when I was in France last year for Paris Photo. I am considering taking my 8x10 if I go again this year.
Nearly all my photography has been black and white, but for the last six months or so I have had the urge to work in color. I have found that I had to retrain myself to "see" in color, and to do so I have been making Polaroid Spectras for the last four months. I really began in March on a road trip through the South for the SPE National Conference in Miami. I know, I should have used digital, but I still find that holding a print in my hand is far more exciting than trying to see what I did on the back of a camera or a laptop (and furthermore, the only digital camera I own is on my phone). Funny story: While I was photographing in the Keys a woman asked me if my Polaroid camera was a "Really old digital camera" and my reply was, "Yeah, it's old school digital."
I have my holders loaded with color film and I have summoned the courage to expose them over the next few days (now all I need is the money to get them developed . . .)
But until then, here is a diptych I recently made in South Philly (or is it Queen Village?).
I just came across the work of Adolphe Braun¬ a 19th Century French Photographer. As there are an increasing number large contemporary color photographs made I am finding myself drawn more and more toward the beautiful work done at the beginning of the medium's history.
The work here, at Luminous Lint by Adophe Braun, while different, is just as sophisticated as some of the work done in Iraq and Afganistan by Simon Norfolk.
While I had 47 prints from a dozen or so new negatives in the wash last night I took an hour to look through Robert Polidori's After the Flood.
It is almost shameful that I have waited so long to look at Polidori's book, eventhough the shear size of the book is a partial deterrent from just picking up the book for a casual look.
During the hurricane and flood my only contact with the disaster was through NPR news and the subsequent follow-ups. I saw relatively few images (I don't have a TV) but curiously, I didn't seek out those images-- still or video. I thought at the time that I was getting what I needed to know from the radio and conversations with other people.
That is not to say that didn't see any images from the disaster. I saw a good number of pictures at the 2007 National SPE conference that John Woodin, David Graham and Thomas Ness showed. I remember those images as being more intimate than those I say last night in Polidori's book.
But it was in seeing Polidori's the images that the magnitude of the disaster hit home. The vast number of pictures in book is enough to shed light on the scope of the wreckage. But it was his direct manner of documenting the destruction that gave me the real sense of the magnitude of the loss.
Though I came to have a better understanding of what it is to be from New Orleans, I am still having a hard time concluding how I feel about his work. It seems that I am liking and disliking it for many of the same reasons.
So I am new to the whole blogosphere, and in my haste to get started I set up my blog at Blogspot. Luckily it was a misstep that was easily corrected, and now my blog is at home here at Wordpress. Please forgive any formatting funkyness while I settle in. Thanks.
I spent nearly all yesterday and today getting ready for the Art for the Cash Poor event happening this weekend. It is hosted by In Liquid, and is being held at the Crane Building on the 1400 North American Street Saturday, June 9, 2007 from 1 p.m. until 6 p.m.; and on Sunday, June 10, 2007 from 1 p.m. until 6 p.m. Everything in the show will be priced less than $199, so it is an opportunity to find good deals on good art.
Since everything will be priced less than $199 I will be showing many of my smaller photographs, and for the first time, several digital prints from Polaroids I've made over the past three years. I will also be showing my 8x10-inch contact prints, including some of my newer work.
There will be great music, great food and great people. I hope to see you there.
Note: I hope this in the only quasi-technical writing I ever do in the blog. I mention that because in reality, I am one of the most relaxed people there are when it comes to technique—especially when it comes to users of view cameras. I find that all too often people will fixate on technique, and let important things like vision fall to the wayside. I now only mention how I am developing my film because it will affect the way I see and photograph (it also explains why I was up until 7AM with only two hours of sleep for two nights in a row). -----------------
In mid-April I had the pleasure of being the guest of Steve Sherman during a house-warming party for his new darkroom (its the kind of darkroom that we all dream about). When I was there, I saw several prints from negatives that were developed using a technique that he breathed new life into. The technique, called "semi-stand development" basically entails placing a single sheet of film vertically in a tube, and giving it extremely minimal agitation. The results are negatives that appear extremely sharp with better separation of tones throughout the whole scale of the negative. When I first saw these prints in 2004, I was initially turned off by the "unsharp-mask" effect. I later learned from a good friend, Joe Freeman, that more frequent agitation will lessen overly sharp appearance, but will not jeopardize the ability of retaining good local contrast. Joe convinced me when he showed me prints he made on Printing Out Paper with negatives developed this way. They are some of the most beautiful prints I have ever seen.
I learned what few basics I need to know, and set out on Saturday to begin developing my new films from my trip to California this past May.
Before I could do so, I needed to make several tubes for individual 8x10-inch negatives. That was the easy part— I simply cut a 4" PVC tube down to 11-inches and cemented a cap on one end. The hard part was making the plunger that would agitate the film. Taken mostly from Joe's design, I created a plexi-glass disc and put it on one end of a threaded 3/16 rod. I then drilled a whole in a separate PVC cap, that I would place on each tube when it is time to agitate the film. My mistake was in making the plexi-glass disc to large. It scratched several of my first negatives beyond repair. I solved the problem by sanding down the disc and cutting a kitchen sponge a little larger than the disk. I then made a second disc, and sandwiched the sponge between the two plexi-glass discs. Now, if the plunger robs along the film, the soft sponge will be the only thing in contact, and will not cause any scratching.
The whole film developing process takes about 2 hours start to finish, and I can really only do 6 negatives in that time. That is 75% slower than how long it used to take to develop that many sheets! If the results of this new method were not so outstanding then I would not even think about using this new process.
I developed and printed about a half dozen of the new negatives to see if there were any problems before I develop the other 60 sheets of film from my trip.
Here are two of the few that I have printed so far.
This diptych is from Key's View in Joshua Tree National Park, and I am looking toward the San Gorgonio Pass and Palm Springs. You can barely make out 10,000 foot Mt. San Jacinto, even though it is only 50 miles away. Air pollution is causing several problems in the park, and is of major concern. You can read more about that here. The foreground hills here have a more separation than I was able to achieve in the past, and the sky shows no sign of streaking or blotching that is often a drawback to developing film in this manner.
This picture, also from Joshua Tree National Park, shows how highlight separation (seen in the rocks in the lower right corner) can be achieved, even in harsh noonday desert sun. If for no other reason than that, I would not change from this film developing technique.
The registration for the portfolio reviews at Magnum, Atlanta Celebrates Photography and Houston FotoFest is now occurring. I have been debating the importance of going to these events at this point in my career. People I speak with about it say it is too expensive compared to the possible benefits of my attendance this year. For the most part, I agree, but there is another part of me that is hungry to have my work noticed. That is my impatient self. My practical self knows that for what I would spend on FotoFest, I could make two separate trips to California to continue photographing for the Lower Owens River Project. I will, however, continue going to the SPE portfolio reviews
Thinking about these reviews has brought up the question, "Where does my work fit in with the photographs that are currently being shown and published?"
I think that is a subject that requires a full night's rest and a pot of strong coffee before I can even think about tackling it.
Until this point I have held out creating a blog, and I kept my thoughts safely confined to my Moleskin. While I have no intention of laying down my pen and forever locking away the scribbles contained in my growing collection black books into my sock drawer, I think certain thoughts I have compiled there could be expanding upon-- even if only for my own benefit. The pressures of making those ideas public cause me to be sure I substantiate those thoughts as best I can.
In addition to these varying essays and diatribes, I will post updates on my work, my travels, show and book reviews and general items I might find of interest.
In January of 2007, I began photographing the 62-mile stretch of river and delta area that is being affected by the diversion of water from the aqueduct. This will be a several year project that will focus primarily on documenting the reestablishment of the Lower Owens River ecosystem. You can read about the Lower Owens River Project here.
I have been able to find relatively little news about the progression of the project. The latest update I have seen is that the mandated flow rates were met in April.
I was photographing there in early February and early May. I will give my impression of the changes I have seen so far over. It seems like a good time to bring this up because I am in the middle of printing the negatives from the trip this spring.
Someone just asked me if I have seen any significant changes in the Owens Valley at this point? Well, yes and no. I am not a scientist so I can't say authoritatively what is happening in the environment. But, I can look at the trees, and watch the birds and try to catch some fish.
There are locked gates that keep you out of the area from the east side of the river, and there is barbwire along the whole of the road that runs on the east side of the river. That is where they are creating the lakes. You can climb through the barbwire, but then it is a LONG walk to the river from that point.
After I get all the negatives printed from this last trip I am going to approach Inyo Water to get access to all the closed-off areas. I hope I can start working there in the fall.
What most people don't realize is that this is much more than just opening the gates and letting water flow back into the river. They are creating waterways that will recreate small lakes for fish and waterfowl, and creating ways to water pastures so cattle don't disrupt the rehabilitation efforts.
There were always trees along the river, even when it was dry, but they were mostly tamerisk (salt cedar). Inyo Water has been bulldozing and burning those trees (which are actually invasive plants). I walked into one of those areas that was burnt when I was out in May, but it was too hot, and too far of a walk to do with an 8x10. (Although I generally don't like off-highway-vehicles, I am considering borrowing one on my next trip out there in order to go down those roads that are too soft and narrow for my father's truck).
There are certainly more birds than I ever remember as a kid. More even that when I would cruise the back roads to photograph five years ago. I did come across a place east of Lone Pine that might give an indication to how beautiful it will all be in the coming years. Though that also raises a concern, which was one reason for me doing the project in the first place.
My grandfather said to me once something to the effect of, "In a way, LA saved this valley. By taking all the water, they kept all the people away." What will happen to the Valley once people know about how beautiful it really is?
