Function over form

I've never heard of a street department before, but, as you can see, they have one in Lincoln, Ala. I sure am glad that I don't work for them, though, not only because there are not that many streets to manage, but because if I did, I would have to spend so much time in this building 'complex'. It's such a beautiful part of the country, I think I would prefer working for the parks department. 

Shot with the Pentax KP and the 20-40mm lens. The lens is terrific. I admit that it took me a while to appreciate the value of such a short range of focal lengths, especially in the modern era of lens design. I've come to think of this optic as essentially a 30mm lens with fine adjustments to the perspective.

If resolution and sharpness are important to your aesthetic, then the Pentax sensors and lenses would be right up your alley, I think. The files are pretty crunchy right out of the box, and it is taking me some time to get used to working with them. My tendency right now is to alter them as little as possible. In this case, I liked the monochrome version the best.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

A front came through yesterday, bringing cooler weather and some spectacular atmospheric conditions to our neck of the woods. As the late afternoon sun dipped below the distant tree line, the tops of the taller pines appeared to be on fire. This happens every once in a while and I never tire of seeing it. But the scene was particularly memorable last evening. I happened to be pruning some maples but I had the relatively ancient Canon Powershot G11 with its groovy little CCD sensor in my pocket. I captured some 10MP raw files at an ISO of 800. The combination of the older CCD, the low resolution and poor dynamic range, produced a file I am especially pleased with.

Give me a break

I'm not a smoker, but there is something familiar and vaguely comforting about the places we go for our breaks, even if we choose to spend the time alone with our thoughts. Our ten minutes of peace and solitude in the (fingers crossed) fresh air and away from the helter skelter of work. As an outside observer, these places often look pretty shabby, but who among us wouldn't choose to sit in a rickety chair or pace around a loading dock if given the chance to escape the drudgery of work for a few minutes? I wonder what the architect had in mind for this little space. I don't think it was a planned smoking zone. I'm pretty sure folks smoked in their offices when this building was constructed.

 

Savoring the quotidien

I'd never been to Lincoln, Ala. before I made this photograph, and honestly, I have no current plans to return any time soon. But, I sure am glad I was there yesterday and was able to take in spectacular views like the one show here. It was a longish drive, and we were just stretching our legs. It was the first day in over a year when I kept the N95 in my pocket all day, enjoyed a meal out in a restaurant, and viewed some art hanging in a museum. On the one hand it is just an image of some grass, old oak trees, and kudzu. But trust me, it was much more than that. Pentax KP, 20-40mm lens.

Dreamscape

This image was shot on a roll of Washi film, and at first I had a hard time reading the negative. Once I inverted the negative scan, my initial reaction was, 'meh'. Over time, the image as well as the aesthetic have grown on me. All of the Washi stocks give interesting looks, though they are not always repeatable. In addition, the trouble with exploring so many stocks is that you don't spend enough time with one to really get to know it. On the other hand, particular film stocks do work well for certain projects so it is worthwhile being familiar with the available choices. In terms of defining the parameters of an aesthetic, I mean. Everything is a compromise. Just gotta shoot more, I guess.

A tantalizing lack of clarity

I took a walk through a familiar place yesterday. It was hot and the afternoon light made dappled patterns on the path. I had my copy of the Smena 8m loaded with some Kodak XX film. Turns out that the Smena has a shutter cocking lever on the outside of the lens barrel, and that lever can bump up against fat sausage-like fingers after the shutter release button is pressed. This slows down the shutter closing and introduces a lot of motion blur to your photograph. I was a little disappointed. Later, though, I saw an obituary in the NYT. The sculptor Richard Nonas has died. The Times published part of one of his poems and it made me feel better:

I start with memories of how places feel. 

The ache of that desert, those woods, that room opening out.
Places I’ve been, places I’ve seen and felt.
And felt always with some component of unease,
apprehension, disquiet, fear even, discomfort certainly.
Memories of places that seem always slightly confusing, slightly ambiguous.
Places that tantalize, tantalize by their approach to — and lack of — clarity.

An Eye for Walls

Picasso is well known for his 'blue period', and much ink (real and electronic) has been spilled in discussing the works produced during that time. Likewise, I think that many photographers experience a 'wall period' as a way of working through their thoughts on photographic composition. Many critics are dismissive of this kind of work in general, believing it is too easy to do, as everyone has access to these public spaces. The basic ideas are already out there and have been adequately covered by those who came before us. I take their point, but I've recently been looking at the work of Keld Helmer-Petersen (Photographs 1941-2013, Strandberg Press) which has caused me to reevaluate my position. Much of Petersen's output comprises this type of highly graphic and abstract urban exploration photography. To see a lifetime's work presented in a single volume really establishes Petersen's mastery of composition in a pretty undeniable way. Being first is not the only important factor. The individual artistic vision revealed by the sum total of the work also matters. In the case of Picasso, the artist moved on to other 'periods' soon enough. Petersen shows the value of focus over a long period of time.

The image above was captured on a Canon Powershot G9 CCD imager back in 2008.

Revisiting the aesthetic of the CCD imaging sensor

To my eye, there is something rather appealing about the aesthetic produced by older digital imaging sensors -- qualities that have held up well over the years. The lower pixel count, the presence of noise at even the base ISO, the greater overall depth of field, the colors produced by the CCD. With the perspective afforded by the passing of 20 years, it is perhaps now easier to overlook what we once viewed as technical limitations, since if we need greater technical perfection it is certainly available to us with more modern cameras. Another thing I had completely forgotten about is the fact that the sensors in these older point-and-shoot cameras were often in the 4:3 aspect ratio rather than the now more common 3:2 frame.

Digital imaging from the turn of the century

About twice a year I take a day or two to really dig in and verify that my photo archive is in good shape. I spot check some of the individual image files, replace old hard drives, add new capacity, all of that stuff. Redundancy, redundancy, redundancy. 

And, of course, I get sucked into the vortex of reliving old memories. It is just part of the process, but maybe the most enjoyable part, if I'm honest. Inevitably, too, I find a hidden gem or three, and then lose more time futzing around to see if I can extract any more quality from the creaky old files by using modern software. Often enough, I can, which is pretty cool.

What is also interesting is that certain cameras and lenses come to the fore as particularly special. In my case, an early favorite was the Canon Powershot G2 from 2001. On the one hand, it is a bit sobering to think that I've been using digital cameras for over twenty years now! On the other hand, it turns out that the 4 megapixel CCD sensor on the G2 was pretty sweet, and the files hold up really well even today. Who knows, the G2 could be a cult vintage digital camera among the cognoscenti.

The image above was taken at Port St. Joseph in the Florida panhandle. It is an amazing place to visit during the cooler months of the year. During the hot and humid summer months, I'd honestly rather be in an air conditioned environment editing my photographs.

Taking the cure

Over the years, many people, most notably, FDR, have to come to Warm Springs, GA because of the natural springs, which are believed to be therapeutic. On the bright Fall day I made this photograph, though, I nearly passed out from heat stroke. The light from the sun was strong and there was no where to hide in the former public baths. The white washed surfaces combined with the strong illumination made for some graphic compositions. The furniture dates from the 1920s. I have to say that the head rest on the chaise longue doesn't look all that comfortable. 

Warm Springs

Recently, we watched a series of television programs called Atlantic Crossing, an interesting historical drama that focused on Roosevelt's relationship with Crown Princess Märtha from Norway. Which, in a roundabout way, reminded me of a trip we took to Warm Springs, GA. One of the local highways runs along a ridge line and every so often, you can catch a glimpse of the landscape beyond. It is a lovely and under appreciated part of Western Georgia, and I don't think these particular views have changed that much since Roosevelt's time.

Nice glass!

We came across this hellaciously large chandelier in Nashville, TN. Some old warehouses had been repurposed as commercial space with maybe a few artist studios thrown in for good measure. It was a pleasant enough experience, but the lighting fixture looked like a separate galaxy, and was the highlight of the visit for me. As you can see, the old industrial scale windows were also pretty great. Anyway, I resisted walking underneath the chandelier, in case it fell. I used the Leica R6, the 35mm f/2 lens, and a roll of Kodak XX film. By the way, the Summicron-R really is a nice piece of glass in its own right.

Turning the Rolleiflex SL66 into a Holga

I shot a roll of Ilford HP5+ through the Rolleiflex SL66 yesterday afternoon. I had the 80mm f/2.8 lens mounted and was working without a tripod. With my current film back and holder set up, I can usually knock out 13 exposures on a roll of 120 film. I wanted to get that last exposure made so I could develop the roll. Just for fun, I set the upward tilt on the Rollei to its maximum value and composed this shot of our bottle tree with a pine tree in the background. Naturally, I was at f/2.8, too. With a late afternoon shadow falling on the right hand side of the frame, I knew I had the look I was after. I had effectively turned my state-of-the-art Rolleiflex into a Holga! Most of the time, I am trying to find ways to increase the depth of field, especially on medium format, but it is also fun to see what happens when you push the limits of the gear or medium.

The modern landscape

What images and scenes from our daily lives become imprinted into memory? Do our surroundings matter as much as we think they do, or are we more resilient than that, only remembering the remarkable stuff, the beautiful? I made this photograph standing at the edge of the playground of an elementary school near where we live. Overall, the scene is about as ugly as it gets; on the other hand, with a narrower field of view, I noticed that the reflections of the trees were remarkably beautiful in this large muddy drainage pond. Are there any pristine landscapes to be seen anywhere anymore? Soon we'll all be carrying long telephoto lenses with us in order to home in on the unblemished part of the landscape.

Too weird for my mother in law

A few years ago, I decided to make a series of notecards based on botanical subjects. Straight documentary images of beautiful flowers and such. Dead, dying, or wilted things were not part of the plan. For one thing, I wanted to brush up on my technique. It is not as easy as one might think to shoot flowers, but I eventually got there. I used a range of lighting strategies, HDR approaches, and focus stacking methods to get some damn fine images from both an artistic and technical point of view. Thing is, there isn't a huge market for notecards these days. That said, my mother in law writes a lot of notes, so I decided that giving her several boxes of cards would be a good thing. Which it most certainly was. And, of course, I eventually broke down and made images of the dead and dying, too. 

Photography and baseball

The photogram is one of the oldest ways to make an imprint on photosensitive material. The silhouette could perhaps be considered a kind of in-camera photogram, or at least a safe way to come close without causing damage to the camera, film, or sensor. Today's photograph is a macro silhouette of the tendrils shot out by the parasitic vines that emerge around here in Spring. Presented this way, they look like a kind of calligraphy. I've never made an entire body of work based on photograms and silhouettes. Perhaps it is something to explore a little bit. I am reminded of a quote from Harry Callahan: "There are no rules in photography (that's why it's so much better than baseball)".

Le Sacre du Printemps

Our wildflower bed is doing great so far this year, as in fact, are all of our plants. It has been a fine Spring for the garden and we should have an abundance of blooms to enjoy. Nevertheless, I went ahead and bought two bunches of sunflowers at the store the other day. They looked pretty promising, too promising to pass up. The sunflowers I grew at home last year only reached a height of about 6 inches and were best photographed using a macro lens. I'm going to try my best to resist any thought of crowns when I look at my sunflowers this season. I'm more inclined to view the sepals as dancing.

Raymond Moore, a Nikkormat FT, and a roll of weird film

 

About two weeks ago, I came across a YouTube video about the life of British landscape photographer Raymond Moore. It looked like a copy of an old VHS recording of a television broadcast from the 1980s. Two things immediately jumped out at me: one, Raymond Moore is a damn fine photographer whose work deserves a wider (current) audience; two, money was not plentiful for him back in the 80s and he was working with a Nikkormat FT camera. In other words, he was producing great photographic art with some pretty basic equipment, even by the standards of the time. These days, a decent working copy of a Nikkormat FT can be had for $40. You know where this is going. I bought one that also came with a copy of the old version of the 50mm f/2 lens for $100. One fine morning, I grabbed a roll of something called Washi Z, a 400 speed near IR sensitive film. After shooting the roll on a hike through the woods, I made the fateful decision to process it in a monobath solution. The first sign of possible strangeness ahead was when I poured out the monobath, which had changed color from clear to bright yellow. The negatives were pretty thin and contrasty with a short tonal scale, not unlike a film from the 19th century. I decided to embrace the aesthetic, and, in the end, ended up with a set of images that I think are pretty cool.

Here's to shooting in good light this weekend!

The woods behind my son's house

A number of folks I know post an image a day to Instagram as part of their practice of photography, as a way to keep their hand in (or, better, to keep their eye in). A further constraint is that the image needs to be made on the day it is posted. Often, that means taking a walk at 5 or 6 AM to fit it in before work. Sorry, but I'm having my coffee at that time of the morning. Today, I got out and did a turn in my local woodland area, but I didn't get home until noon. It is not as if I don't appreciate constraints, though. So, this morning I had the 100mm f/2.8 macro lens mounted on the Pentax KP. That is a pretty tight perspective for a walk among the trees. Documenting this area near where my son lives is becoming a little project for me, I think.

Not *that* grain silo

Old grain silos are an obvious subject of photographic interest, and you can find them in many areas of the country. My wife and I came across this one near Nashville, TN a couple of years ago and we stopped to document it. Naturally, I didn't keep any notes, as this was a casual trip. Anyway, I was trying to figure out more information about it online, but the search results were dominated by news of a mural that was painted on an abandoned silo in west Nashville. My initial reaction was, 'How the hell could we have missed such a huge mural'? 

We are not that unobservant, of course, although by now, this old silo could also have been repainted. Kodak XX film, Leica R6.2, 35mm Summicron. Summer light.

Shutter therapy

I was really hating certain aspects of my job when I made this photograph, and I believe those feelings influenced the composition I chose that day. During that period, I would often take a walk, camera at the ready, first thing in the morning to focus my thoughts and to clarify my plans for the day. In this case, I was using the original Leicaflex and the 21mm f/3.4 lens (the non retro focus design). After the passage of a little bit of time, and some cropping, I like the image well enough. I can see how it might fit into an image sequence that deals with this period of time in my life. Alienation and change were in the air, I just didn't realize it fully when I tripped the shutter.

Illuminate or obfuscate?

I am not a classical 'macro guy', and have no burning desire to make technical images of flora, fauna, or the material world (although I have done). I think that observing our surroundings at different scales can be rewarding as well as fascinating, and, if I'm honest, I really would like to develop a body of work based on close-up images. I just haven't figured out an artful way of doing so yet. I snagged this magnolia leaf on a recent walk and made several photographs of it before adding it to my constantly growing pile of dead things. I recently purchased a lens with 2x macro magnification and enjoyed using it to find local compositions within the greater landscape of the leaf. To me this looked like an aerial image of suburbia. 

Pre- or post-apocalypse, that's the viewer's choice.

Pecans at dusk

A piece of property became available outside of town -- an old Southern home with a large backyard filled with aging pecan trees. As soon as we drove up, I knew right away that we couldn't buy that lot because the neighbors were so unbelievably loud. But the views were spectacular and the lighting was memorable, too, so we spent some time taking photographs. I was shooting the Olympus Pen FT camera with the 38mm f/1.8 onto Ektachrome 100 slide film. I love the feel of the entire set of photos made that day, but there really is a limit to how large you can print these half-frame images without them falling apart. These old Southern scenes are disappearing fast.

Christenberry's world is disappearing

I've always appreciated vernacular architecture, and truth be told, I wouldn't mind having a studio in a barn as long as there was air conditioning and perhaps a few more windows than this example. The roof really appealed to me and there is nothing better than listening to rain on a tin roof. And the scale of this structure is just right, too, nothing overly monumental here. A perfect example of a Southern barn. I saw this one on a drive through rural Alabama, and knew right away that I wanted to photograph it.

An old memory bubbles up

Every so often, I revisit my old photos to cull the herd as well as to look for hidden gems (to mix metaphors). I marvel at the fact that there are over two decades of digital images to go through. By now, of course, most of the rubbish files already have been discarded. Every once in a while, though, I find something I really like that I overlooked at the time it was captured, like this image, which I made in Rome in 2007. It is interesting that modern image processing software can often really improve some of your older files, making them much more presentable. I took this image with my first DSLR, a Nikon D50. Funny, but I don't remember any of the details behind this image. What I do recall is that my supervisor at the time was a real asshole about me taking a week off work to go to Italy with my wife, who had a great opportunity over there. When I ignored his advice and went anyway, he gave me a crappy annual review. I'm happy to report that his silly efforts were in vain. I had a great time, no regrets, and future decent supervisors gave me nice raises that more than made up for the one year shortfall!

Enjoy your weekend, and I hope you have an awesome supervisor.

Lensball lessons

It's taken about a year, but I'm finally able to talk without irony about the Lensball. Yes, it is kind of a gimmick, but it sure is fun and doesn't really cost that much, so who cares? Playing with my Lensball has taught me one important thing. Rather, it has reminded me of something important, the fact that optics are such a critical aspect of photography. I mean the physical properties of lenses, mirrors, windows, screens. All of it. The first time I looked through a lens as a child, I felt like Isaac Newton. 

This was the first photograph I made with my new Lensball using the Rolleiflex SL66. Since then, I've made other photographs on both film and digital that range from artful to Escher-esque. It's all good.

Work with what you have

I made this image using my original Leicaflex camera and an old 50mm Summicron. I shot it on a roll of cheap expired film. I don't bother to use the light meter when shooting with this camera, preferring instead to use Sunny 16. Keep it simple, stupid, and trust your experience. I'm lucky to have a nice range of film cameras to chose from when I go out shooting, but even if I had nothing else, the Leicaflex + Summicron combo would be a very fine little set-up for art making. 

I recently came across an old documentary about the British landscape photographer Raymond Moore that I think was made in the mid-1980s, near the end of the artist's life (available on YouTube). Moore is a favorite of mine, along with Fay Godwin. Anyway, I noticed that he was working with a Nikkormat, which was an entry level F-mount camera introduced in the mid-1960s (same vintage as my original Leicaflex).

Moore sure made some incredible work with that old Nikkormat! His eye for composition is pretty much unmatched. His work deserves to be more widely known.

I never grow tired of flowers

I don't know how many supermarkets still have a florist, but I'm certainly glad that our local Publix does. Some of the arrangements are a little over the top for me and a few of the flower varieties are downright psychedelic, but there are always enough bouquets that are tastefully done to ensure that I can have nice subjects to photograph. One of the things that the Rolleiflex SL66 does particularly well is close ups. It focusses using a bellows and if that isn't enough, you can reverse the lenses (all are reversible). I even found a set of extension tubes for mine, so I am all set. The Zeiss 80mm f/2.8 is not clinically sharp close up, but it really worked well here, I think.

I never tire of having flowers around the house, I never tire of photographing them, and I never tire of looking at the photographs I make of them. That's just how I'm wired, I guess.

May flowers

The wildflower garden we planted last Spring is coming back on its own this year. We'll help things along and add more seeds to the bed, but it sure is nice to see another sign of the changing seasons. We relocated our bottle tree to be more visible from various vantage points in the yard and even from inside the house.

I captured this image using the Fuji GL690, the 100mm f/3.5 lens, and Ilford HP5+ film. Years ago I had one of these cameras, but it self-destructed in my hands on a shoot. I finally found a replacement that is in great shape for its age (50+ years at this point). I had forgotten how large a 6x9 cm negative is. I was pleased to get the wild flower in crisp focus and the out of focus areas look artful at f/3.5.

Cold hearted formalism?

I've always enjoyed experiencing abstract images, and I've often struggled with other, more popular, genres of photography. The overly processed landscape photos one sees posted online often remind me of the paintings of Bob Ross, and not in a good way. Likewise, I think street photography is incredibly difficult to do well, and much of what you see on Instagram looks like stock photography to my jaded eye. On the other hand, hunting for Motherwellian or Egglestonian compositions in the built environment is fun, for sure, but haven't these ideas been covered pretty well already? 

So, what about Stephen Gill's latest work, "Please Notify the Sun"? In the absence of context, these are simply abstract images. One could argue that they are an exercise in formalism and why would he do such a thing? But, of course, we are provided with a deeply interesting backstory, and learn that the images are macro-scale photographs of a decomposing fish. A captivating fish story if you will. I guess it is the interaction of the words and images that is the critical factor here; we are engaged because we want to hear about Gill's experience. 

 

  

Nailed it... wait... oh crap...

I was captivated by the contrast between the structure of the old stump and the fungus growing on the edge. I was using a 35mm lens at f/6.3 and I focused on one of the large cracks in the wood, thinking that the depth of field would cover the fungus, too. I wanted both to be crisp. But no, the depth of field was not quite sufficient to make me happy. Of course, I'll gain additional 'depth' due to the small size of the posted file, but that's cheating, right? No worries, I'll return to the scene again later to refine the result. It's kind of like spiraling in to the find the optimum result.